June 20th, 1953

Since I mentioned the anniversary in the last post, I thought I'd show you how lovely they were on that date.

Life Advice From Granddaddy Roy

So my grandfather died. This is delayed a great deal, but the sentiment is the same.

My grandmother was married to him for 56 years, an eternity, and it's clear that she doesn't really know what to do with herself. I left yesterday morning, and she insisted on making me breakfast. She asked what I wanted to drink and when I said, "oh, don't worry, I've got it." She goes "NOW YOU LET ME BE BUSY." So I let her pour me a glass of OJ to go along with the bacon and eggs she also insisted on making. As she was making breakfast, she misted up a bit and said, "now this is when I start to miss Roy." Roy E., as she called him.

Later, I asked her if I should strip the bed I slept in or make it, and she said I should leave it. So there were comforters and pillows all over the place and I feel a little guilty, but on the other hand, what is she going to do? She dropped me off at the airport (something she wouldn't have been able to do before, since she's had to call someone to keep an eye on granddad in order to leave the house for quite some time) and it was clear that she felt pretty good about being able to do that. Then again, I overheard her at the visitation saying "You know, I'll be able to leave the house now. Of course, I'd rather have Roy in the house than be able to leave it."

The woman is a force of nature, and the only ever time I'd seen her cry was on their 50th wedding anniversary, when she said "Fifty greatest years of my life." (Of course, she hadn't lived 50 years without him, but it was touching all the same.) She plans to go to England for her 80th birthday. She has all her original parts. She makes a mean pie (though with the wrong flour it gets all messed up and she gets really upset). And you know what? She'll be okay, eventually, and she'll get to England and eventually get used to the empty house. She deserves to do whatever the hell she wants for the rest of her life.

As for granddad, well. It's hard to know that he ended the way that he did. Part of me wishes I had had the chance to see him one last time, to say goodbye, but part of me is glad that I only saw him toward the beginning of his steep and (really, thankfully) quick descent. He was stubborn as a mule and sharp as a tack and I think he would have hated knowing what was happening to him. That it only lasted a few weeks at the worst of it was thankful, if heart-wrenching.

As for me, losing two grandparents in four months is not how I imagined the fall season going. I think I sort of thought that they were invincible. In a "I know everyone dies eventually" kind of way, I never really thought they would die.

Anyway, here is the eulogy that I gave at the funeral (something grandma insisted on, and how do you say no?):

Life advice from Grandaddy: Keep your chin over the table. Quit bangin' on that piano. Find a hollowed out oak.

He was stern, yes,believed everything had a way, and wanted all of us to find our way, to be the best we could be, and also he wanted us to not get grandma's jam on the carpet. We didn't, around granddaddy, because he inspired us in a lot of ways to be better than we were, to sit up, to be respectful.

But he was also a loving man. He was funny, goofy, told stories. He didn't want us bangin' on that piano, no, but he did want us to play it--he got a lot of joy out of hearing the music of Steve and Jim, one of his favorite things in the world. Like I said, he inspired all of us to be better at whatever it was that we were doing, whether it be attempting to play piano or acting in school plays--granddad came to my 5th grade theater debut--or studying in school. "Are you getting all A's?" He also took me with him to the golf course a few times, his favorite place on earth, let me drive that golf cart he loved, and taught me to putt. He wanted us to be the best at everything, and I think that's when I first discovered I'm really good at watching golf.

One of my favorite things granddad did was come in and tell me bedtime stories, and I used to pretend to not be able to fall asleep until I heard one. They were all the same, but it was something about his voice when he talked about the cold and the snow that inspired the little boy and the little girl to stop worrying and hide out in an old, hollowed out oak until morning. I loved it, and the same man that fought in World War II and won a Distinguished Flying Cross and golfed three days a week with his buddies and told me to keep my chin over the table loved telling me those stories.

He was a great man, and a great grandfather. I love him and I miss him.

Roy E., the man that caused my grandmother to swoon:

Granddaddy Roy, the man I knew:

So remember my happiness entry?

Everything I said in it was true.

Which makes this whole "I'm miserable" thing that much worse.

I broke up with Jon. Yes, he's the type of guy that blahblahblah all that stuff I said before was true, and I'm sure it will serve to make someone else happy, but he's just not the type of guy that would make me happy. So I'm single, I'm happy to have made the decision I did, and I'm trying to enjoy being 22. I think I have a date Friday? I'm unsure. The point is, Jon just wasn't right. And I feel like I noticed that before he did, but I think he'll notice it eventually, if he hasn't already.

I still love this city, and I still think of it as kind of magical, but I am concerned about rent. About groceries. About everything. I'm not sure I can get on my feet in a city where everything costs this much. I'm putting a lot more on my credit card than I ever have, and it makes me squeamish. And my college loan payments haven't started. I don't know how I am going to be able to do it.

And the internship has gotten worse. I hate it. I still like the idea of what I'm doing, and everyone says that's a good thing, except that it's not when the economy sucks bad enough to where you can't really be choosy. So it might be more advantageous to feel still at a loss as to what it is that I want to do so I could justify applying to every vacancy on a website that doesn't work, as admitted by the government itself. That said, if I could work anywhere on earth, my number one requirement would be that it NOT be where I currently am. They have made it very clear that I will not be returning, and have already extended an offer to one of the other interns to return. They clearly think I'm incompetent, which is so frustrating because I feel like I'm working my ass off for them. And they don't seem to think that I am intelligent at all, and one woman implied that I was a liar the other day. And I just feel so much like they don't know me at all. And they don't care to. And it just sucks.

I wrote that if I fall on my face, I have options. Which is true, except that I feel like I'm failing. And that's the worst feeling ever.

Anyway, I need to stop complaining. And start the process of getting ready for the week at this terrible terrible company I call mine at present.

I'm trying not to complain. As you can see, it's working wonders. Eff.

The Perfect Weekend

So this weekend BC and I went to visit Kerri, one of our sorority sisters, in Virginia Beach this weekend. I swear, it was the perfect perfect weekend.

I had had kind of a rough day at work on Friday, but BC picked me up and we went straight from there to Kerri's house party.

First, she has an INCREDIBLE home. So large and spacious and wonderful. EVEN A GUEST BEDROOM. That is how I will know I've made it in life: I can afford a guest bedroom.

Second, Kerri is one of my favorite people, like, ever. So obviously upon arriving, the entire day's stress was just like...done. And here's Kerri, waving Kamikazes in our faces and making us merry.

So, yeah, Friday immediately upon arrival, we were integrated into the house party and met a bunch of people in Kerri's new hometown. It was a night not unlike my final quarter as an undergraduate, getting silly with a few Tri Deltas and whoever else decides to join in. We even met girls who were DDDs at a different school, which is one of my favorite things in the world.

Saturday we woke up and pretty much had to pry ourselves from the bed. We went to Waffle House and ate too much and talked too much and giggled too much. And ate too much. Seriously.
I hope you believe me next time I say "we ate too much" without my having to physically show our gluttony. We ate all that. BC didn't eat her waffle in the place, but that was the only thing that actually came home as opposed to getting eaten in one sitting (she's weak).

We also drank a lot of Pedialyte, which is not recommended for taste. But nonetheless helped tremendously, along with a post-brunch nap. Holler.

We watched the Buckeyes win a game and then went to the ocean and little touristy shops and a seafood place and it was just a ton of fun. And I love love love BC and Kerri. This is us in front of a giant Posidon statue, one of the symbols of Tri Delta. Unfortunately the random we got to take the picture didn't understand what we meant when we said "please get him in the photo too!" Whatever. It's cute anyway.

Today, we woke up and made a million GHOUL cupcakes!
Unfortunately, they looked better than they tasted. BUT THEY LOOKED SO CUTE! And they were sooo fun to make. (And this is my current computer background.)


We also went to the beach this afternoon and walked around. It was just a lovely time. Unfortunately too cold to swim, but thankfully we didn't burn our bridges with Kerri and we will be back. Hollerrrrrr.


I think that photo about sums up the entire weekend.

Except the part about how I had a dream where I was dating Aaron Carter, and he owned a cupcake store. Bailey and I agreed I probably shouldn't even bother sleeping again, since it can't possibly get any better than that.

As Promised...another reason to be happy.

Isn't he the greatest cat in the entire world? That's what I thought.

P.S. BC and I had our housewarming party, which we called "Sir's" on Facebook, and he got ill during. Apparently he's allergic to the medication. So I've stopped giving it to him. And I feel a little guilty, but ultimately, he's doing fine and he was much more unhappy about the pills than he ever has been about his diet. Or I mean, I think.

Happiness

You know what? I'm happy.

I'm stressed as hell, yes. I had to go to a restaurant down the street to apply for a job as a server because I am worried about the size of my first paycheck, delivered yesterday. I freak out about my grocery bill, because I've never purchased groceries with my own money before. Who knew meat costs so much? And, like, why? Don't they breed chickens by the thousands to lower costs?

Work is great, except. Except. I love the work, the theory of what I'm doing, what I feel like I'm accomplishing, but there's the pace. There are days when everyone is overly stressed out and no one has any time at all to breathe, and then there are days when I spend all my time on gchat. I like PR, I hate agency life.

But you know what? I'm happy.

Jon is...I don't know, the type that buys flowers on a Thursday because. Because it's Thursday, because he's going out of town for a weekend, because. Because. The type of guy that tells me I'm being totally ridiculous when it's deserved, even when I hate hearing it. The type of guy that nags me when I need it and shuts up when I can't hear it.

DC is... I mean, it's the greatest city on earth. I got lost the other day (I blame Jon. So does he. He's just that type of guy.) and ended up in front of the Capitol. And as upset as I was that I had no idea where I was supposed to go from there, which stresses me out to no end, there I was. In front of a building where so much happens, where everything matters and everyone cares. I can't explain the way I feel about it, except that I feel like it's just magic. There's an electric feeling in the air, a breathtaking quality, even aside from the stunning aesthetic. I have always sort of known that I wanted to live here, and there I was. Here I am.

And even the job. I love the work. I love the theory. I think I want to be in communication, I just am quite sure agency life isn't for me. And that's a pretty huge step toward figuring out the rest of my life. And you know what? I'm happy with steps. As long as I'm taking them. Here's to progress! Right?

Am I doubting myself? Yes, of course. But there's also a sense of, you know, here I am. There I was. I'm getting to where I want to be--wherever that is--and knowing that I'm getting there is a sort of achievement on its own. I still get emotional about things like seeing new photos of my nieces. That I won't see until Thanksgiving. That's hard. Thinking that there's a small chance I won't do what I want to do--what I've always done--for Thanksgiving. That's hard. (Thanks to that one guy, I've secured a ride for Thanksgiving via BC. But she's unemployed and hoping to get a job in local news, which would require her to work Thanksgiving. And every other holiday ever. If that happens, I'm SOL, because by the time that happens, flights are likely to be out of my budget. Like they are now, only more so.)

But I feel like growing up is a process, and a painful one, and one that still causes me to get misty-eyed at Twitter updates, text messages, blog posts, Facebook statuses, emails, gchats, and everything. Like hearing that Patrick is at a bar with Tri Deltas, girls that I love with a very dear friend that I miss and haven't seen in far too long. When he visits, I'm used to that meaning that I get to see him. But instead it means he gets to see people I want to see. That's hard too.

But you know what? I chose this. I chose wisely, with a healthy disregard for my emotional safety, with an attachment to a city I never knew could yield things to me the way that it has (an attachment strengthened in a way I never guessed), with the fear of failure that I also think is a little healthy, and with the knowledge that it's entirely possible that I could fall flat on my face. But also with the knowledge that should that happen, I've got a few options. And you know what? Those options are pretty damned good. And I'm happy.

Life in Our Nation's Capital for Real

I guess today is the perfect day for an update. It has been kind of hectic in the nation's capital.

First, the apartment is great. Sir doesn't hate it, which is a plus, and now sleeps on my bed every night. The pill issue is annoying, but I've gotten used to it. If you follow me on the Facebook, there are several pictures posted that sum up the place, and maybe in a less lazy moment I'll put some on here also. Or one of my adorable cat in a tie(!).

Work is really great. I like the type of work I'm doing as well as the type of clients I am working with. It's pretty crazy somedays, and totally quiet others, but all the same, I like the people here a ton and the work is always interesting. In other, less exciting news though, I just found out what this company pays an entry level person. It is not a lot. Like a whole lot of NOT A LOT. To the point where my take home pay as an intern is probably more than what it would be if I were hired on as a real live employee. Kill me now.

The things they say about crazy partiers in this city are true. I went out with the Tri Delta alumnae club here for a happy hour this Tuesday (it was at a little wine and cheese place literally five doors down, couldn't skip!), and was planning to just have a glass. Then everyone else ordered a second, and what am I supposed to do? Then they all decided to go to a bar in the area, and what am I supposed to do? So it's like 10pm on a Tuesday, right, and I'm all, I HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW! And they're all, SO DO WE! WELCOME TO DC!

...So yeah, Wednesday morning was my first day as a real DC resident, apparently. I guess McDonald's breakfast in this town does a lot of workday business.

Also, yesterday, I went to a farmer's market that Michelle Obama has been trying to organize for some time, and since it's the first of several this fall, and her pet project (read:White House Victory Garden), she spoke about getting kids to eat healthy and the start of a new program that allows farmer's markets to take WIC and other government food programs; also, when you use those at farmer's markets, you get double your money. Which is cool, because a lot of families on those types of programs can't use their resources for fruits and veggies, which are more expensive in a lot of cases than less nutrious things. Basically, what I'm saying is, I buy all her hype. I have a girl crush on her (like all American women, I think).

AND HOW COOL IS IT THAT I FOUND OUT ABOUT A WHITE HOUSE EVENT AT 1:30 AND WAS THERE BY 3? I LOVE THIS TOWN.

image from dcist.com

Day Before

In Columbus, leaving tomorrow AM at 9. Sir is doing well, considering the circumstances. He has eaten a fair bit and has found a few favorite hidey-holes in the guest room where he has been staying all day. Also, BC got him a tie to wear as a housewarming gift. I'll upload a photo when my camera comes, I cannot wait to see it on him! I decided not to give him his pills today or tomorrow given the trauma he is already experiencing. We'll start up again Sunday.

While Sir seems to be functioning at least somewhat normally, I was unable to sleep last night and it's 1am at present. I'll get there.

Tim drove me up here in his truck and we unloaded it and got it all into the UHaul. Now all we have to do is make the 7 hour trek. Awesome?

(Technically, because its 1am, this means that I move TODAY. How exciting/terrifying/nervewracking/sad/wonderful!!! [My whole day was like MadLibs: emotions edition.])

Holler!/?

Last Day in Town

So, I went to the mall today. And I got my hair done, and I was rushing out to go to The Little Place, which is this little greasy spoon in Burlington that I love and needed to visit before moving. It closes at 3, which I don't really understand, but I refuse to complain because I love it so. So anyway, it's 2:15 and I'm telling myself if I can get there by 2:30, that's not too terribly rude, and I can eat quickly and be out by 3.

Well, so, I'm like speed walking through Florence Mall, and this lady at a kiosk accosts me, as they are wont to do, and I'm pretty effective at blowing her off. Then she goes, loudly, in a thick accent I can't place, "CAN I ASK YOU A QUESTION?" And damn my natural instincts, because I hesitated. Briefly, but still. These women are paid (how much?) to seize the hesitation and ATTACK.

And attack she did. In retrospect, I'm glad, because this is the conversation that transpired.

Woman: ARE THOSE YOUR REAL NAILS?

Me: Yes? (WTF? Is she going to compliment me? They ARE getting longer, and relatively evenly, if I do say so myself... I still haven't picked up on the sales pitch. What can I say, I'm exhausted and stressed.)

Woman: Ooooh.

She grabs my hand and picks up a 4 sided buffer.

DEAD SEA NAIL BUFFER, SO GOOD!

She begins buffing, calling out each of the sides as she uses them.

RED SIDE! Removes the yellow!

BLUE SIDE! Increases bloodflow to your nailbed! (Does the first one not do that equally as much, because of the movement? Is there some magic Dead Sea shit in there I don't understand?)

WHITE SIDE! SOFT AS SILK!

Then she rubs the white side on my hand to demonstrate that it is, in fact, as soft as silk. (I'll give it to her AND the Dead Sea people, it was.) Then she moves to my nail, saying, as she's doing this:

THE MINERALS FROM THE DEAD SEA WILL BRING OUT YOUR NATURAL OILS IN YOUR NAILS! PREPARE TO BE AMAZED! SAY HELLO TO YOUR NEW NAILS!

Me: ...

Woman: SAY HELLO!! (Refuses to stop buffing until I say it.)

Me: Hello?

She stops rubbing and moves the buffer.

Woman: LOOK! AMAZING! THAT WILL LOOK THAT WAY FOR TWO WEEKS, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU WASH YOUR HANDS!

(I said hello to my nail today. I may just curl up and die.)

But the thing is, I swear to God, it's amazing. I keep touching that one nail. It's been hours, even. I called the kiosk to ask how much it was.

Totally unfortunately, it only comes in this kit thing, and:

Me: So how much is that kit?

Woman: TODAY? FIFTY-NINE DOLLARS!

...In other news, I move tomorrow.

That G-D Cat

Today Sir reached a new low.

I had to shove the pill down his throat, coated (as per usual) in butter, and he spit out the pill. Totally clean.

Ugh, what am I going to do with him?