On Upward Mobility, at 23.

[this is a really pathetic post. If you're not in the mood for serious self-pity, please don't read any further...]

It has been a rough few days. Right now, I feel like the part of me that feels anything but that strange apathetic misery has disappeared.
I've been prone to bouts of tears. They come at random times.
Last night, Kevin brought home Chinese food (I'd been camping out on his couch, feeling sorry for myself and watching Mission Impossible) and I cried. So that was awkward. For a man who has no idea how to deal with the waves of feminine emotions, it might have been too much to handle.
"Is there something you're not telling me?" he asked.
Well. About that.

But let's rewind.
5pm Friday.
I was seriously excited to see Katie, who was in town for the weekend. We were going to meet up, grab drinks, and meet up with her/our friend Mark after he got off work.
I'm driving home. 6th and Colorado (I always get held up at the light.) One of my Gmail accounts dings. Mail. I open it.
UCD rejects me swiftly, before the light changes.
I catch my breath. Humiliation sinks in. Shame.
I had considered many scenarios. Many. None of them included being rejected. Flippantly, I'd been saying that if I didn't get into grad school, I'd have no idea what to do with my life. But those statements were made with the underlying assumption that I'd get in.
What?!?!? The email said that while they couldn't tell me why, blah blah blah, something about recommendation letters. I may have ignored one of their requirements that I have two letters of recommendation from former professors. I had one. It was a beautiful letter, but I neglected to get the second, and instead used a family that I babysit for.
Idiotic move, in hindsight.
But regardless of my disregard for the stated process, I am still not good enough for UCD. So, wow.
Of course, I handled it incredibly maturely and proceeded to get absolutely, ridiculously drunk. Classy, I know. Sloppy. And to make matters so much worse, I wore heels.
Now, if you'll remember the incident in Chicago in mid-2010...the one where upon being denied entry to a club due to my status as a "liability", I told the bouncer that I wasn't drunk, I just had double-jointed ankles that prevented me from walking straight. (I actually do have double-jointed ankles, for the record. Should probably stay away from heels any time my BAC is above .08.) It was basically like that.

I'm now a walking failure. Just completely lost. Doomed to pull a tiny salary for the rest of my life. I'm so upset. I can't even tell you the last time I felt this lack of optimism. (Actually, I can. The last time this happened, I got a cat. So about two years ago. But don't worry, I have enough cats [one is always enough cats] and I don't have the cash for anything wild.)

I know that life is a funny place.
I get that.
But watching everyone else around me find contentment and success professionally, personally, romantically, academically...it's all just too much.

I'm just in a position in my life where nothing is going right. When Heidi Klum and Seal announced their divorce last week, I was uncharacteristically shaken. If they can't do it, who can? My own relationship is shaky, at best. It's not meeting my needs, and it's frustrating. I so badly want it to work. I don't think he's willing to meet me halfway. I don't think he quite understands what I need and I'm not sure how to tell him. My job is fine. I love my company, I really do. But it's hard to see a future where I still only pull $1800 month after taxes. It's hard to make a life like that. I want to own a home. My future is uncertain. I hate that uncertainty. That's the worst part.

And don't start with the "but you're young" bullshit. I'm almost 24. I get that I'm young. But when you were 24, did that seem so young? No. It's that precarious time where the shedding of our adolescent predilections is finalized and our adulthood settles in. I was out with a friend and he started in with the "you're young" business. Well, I'm not young enough that you can't take me home with you, so don't patronize me. I can and will play ball on your level. You just need to realize that your level is the same as everybody else's.

I get that I'm foolish and full of thoughts. But I don't think that those stem from my youth. I think that some of us are eternally doomed to steep in our emotions, in our thoughts, in our heads. There are plenty of people at all ages who are just as lost as I am right now. And there are plenty of people at all ages who will never have the qualities that I have. At my core, I am a beautiful person. I know that I'm fiercely intelligent. I'm open to new experiences; I'm polite (situationally, of course); I'm beautiful; I'm funny; I'm kind-hearted; I'm sarcastic; I'm an excellent maker of French toast; yes, I'm hyper-aware of my emotions - it's the greatest gift and ultimate worst curse. I'm constantly growing and changing, becoming more and more the person that I want to be. But at my core, I'll always be a little wild. And I like that.

I've been making a list of things that I can be instead of a therapist, because the door just got slammed hard on that one. But I won't list them here, because they're basically the primetime lineup for A&E and History channel: logger, pawn shop owner, swamp person, etc. (I'm way too much of a girl to be a swamp person, just for the record. And I refuse to eat squirrel.)

And please don't think that I'm not grateful. I may be wallowing (I need a few days to really embrace the depths of the sadness before I can kick my way out), but I'm still aware of the blessings in my life. Sort of. Mostly. Maybe.

On my toes

Life goes on, whether or not you're ready to go with it.

The past few weeks have been a blur of wonderful newness, of comfort and bliss. They've also been full of stress, cancer, death, uncertainty, and pain. But that's how life goes. Sometimes it throws everything at you at once, just to make sure you're on your toes. So that's where I've been. On my toes.

The first funeral was on Friday. I put on the black dress only to find that I had shrunk (or it had somehow stretched two sizes) and it wouldn't be suitable. So instead, I found another black dress. This one still fits. (I really do need to start with this eating business. I'm a little bit bony.) I wasn't going to go, and I didn't tell Dad that I was going until I was on 6th Avenue, headed west, but I feel like I was in some ways obligated to go. It was good. Merrilee was such a funny person, and the last time I saw her was at Jeanie's graduation party earlier this summer. It was good to meet the people who meant so much to her. They had pairs of nose glasses that she used to wear on a board, along with pictures of people wearing the nose glasses. It was good that I went because that meant that I got to chat with Jeanie while Dad talked to everyone else. On a nearly irrelevant note, they had mini quiches. I am such a fan of any party that has mini quiches.

But mini quiches aren't the point. (Unless they are? Wouldn't it be so nice if the entire meaning of life could be reduced to mini quiches? I could get down with that.)

Life doesn't last forever.

Marshall died late Thursday night. He is now listening to the harp music at the great golf course in the sky. (What? It could totally happen. Maybe my personal heaven is bubble baths and wine.)
I sat next to him at Thanksgiving and watched as Juanita fussed with him about whether or not he was happy and comfortable. I was really touched by the fact that after so many years together, they were still taking care of each other. He was constantly aware of her presence and she always made sure that he had what he needed - although there was that one time when someone was missing a cup of coffee and she just grabbed his and said, "Here, have this one." That's the kind of love that everyone should be looking for. It might not always be the most effective, but at least it's real.  They are seriously the best non-grandparents I could have had. (Although, now it's our turn to make Juanita cookies just because.)

Cancer cancer cancer cancer. I've not got a lot to say about this one. Seriously, every time I turn around, someone else has it. We've got two at work, two on one side of the family. I was talking to Mom about this and she reminded me that this is just a bad spell. I warned her that she wasn't allowed to get any more cancer just because everyone else was doing it. So we go on. I come from a family of tough people, particularly the women. We've got this. We'll tackle it like we tackle anything else. Everyone will help where they're needed. We'll cover the gaps and everyone will emerge alright. I promise. And if anyone wants a healing animal, they're welcome to borrow Carlos for a few weeks. Nothing will make you want to heal like having the very grumpy Carlos around. (He's currently at the bottom of my bed with his his paws wrapped around my foot. I love him so much. Best worst decision ever.)

Got an email from the other side of the family today. God, I hate holidays so much. When I am ruler of the universe, there will be no family obligations unless, of course, you want to. I am already stressed at the thought of them cornering me. I'm already imagining it happen. And I'm already tense and terrified. Gross.

The grad school application is limping along, coming together bit by bit.

The giant proposal due at work remains unfinished. Tomorrow will be the ultimate race to the finish line.

But those things don't really matter. I mean, of course they do. I'd be an idiot not to get my application in, since I still have a month left. And I'd be an idiot if I didn't bust my ass to get that proposal done. But in the larger scope of things, there is so much more that matters, well, so much more.

On the brighter side, guess what's awesome?

We went up to Keystone yesterday. Day 5 of snowboarding this season. I'm starting to get it. I did a Blue run with the boys then headed back up to find Emily. Spent the rest of the day on some long greens. It was good. Kevin and his brother came down from Vail to meet up with the group. The boys that we went up with are fun - one of them is in town from Boston, and he'll be on our New Year's trip. I'm starting to be able to do my toe side stuff, which means I'm actually able to snowboard properly. Pretty soon I'll be doing sweet jumps! (That's actually what I dream about.) Mom, best Christmas present ever. Without your insistence, I'd never be doing this. And I think it's pretty rad. Also, pass is officially paid for now. Be stoked on that.

I have a boyfriend-thing going on. That was unexpected. I blame the Real World for making me question our relationship situation. So I asked him if we were dating. He said yes. Apparently, that was enough of an exclusivity conversation for him. (We later discussed all of this and figured everything out. It was very reminiscent of our first date.)
I am so ridiculously happy. He's wonderful. He's smart, funny, sarcastic, sweet. We are different enough that it will continue to be interesting for me. But we are similar enough that we just mesh well. He takes good care of me. The thing that I think I like the most is that he's up for anything. When I'm like, let's go to this concert (I've done that twice so far), he's always open to it. He likes the random adventures that I like, which is good.

Broncos game today. I realize that the tickets came to us in the midst of sadness, but on the plus side, Mike and I are sort of going on a double date. I am bringing Kevin, who is awesome and driving back from family vacation in Vail in time for this. Mike's bringing a girl! I think I'm probably more excited for this than I am anything else.

This is not one of those "live every day like it's your last" posts, because those are dumb. But seriously, if you're not doing something awesome, or something that you love, or something that's wonderful, what are you doing with your life? After babysitting, I slept for nearly twelve hours last night. (that's the something wonderful I was talking about.) That was exactly what I needed to do after being an idiot and going out with Katie before I went snowboarding. So today is marching forward and if I don't hurry, I'm going to miss all the excitement.

I almost forgot: I started writing about being on your toes and life and then I looked down and remembered all the bandages on my toes. Yesterday morning, sometime in the pre-dawn hours, while I was frantically searching for snowboard gear in my room, I somehow managed to step into the side of a laundry basket, taking skin off of two of my toes. I didn't think anything of it until I saw little bloody toe-prints. As it turns out, sometimes being on your toes doesn't quite work out the way you'd planned.

Have a beautiful day, world, you deserve it.

On Everything

The Broncos won last night!! Such a good game to be at! The fourth quarter was lovely! And the weather was nice. I'm still not on the Tebow bandwagon, but at least I'm feeling a bit more proud of our team. Uncle Mike wins awesome Uncle of the Year award for hauling us back to the Light Rail station at DU, and also because his commentary during the game always makes me smile. He's the best to sit by.  (Also, Mom and I were reminiscing about the drive to Chicago all those years ago. And he still wins for that.)



Tomorrow is National Adoption Day. Did you know that there are over 107,000 kids in foster care waiting to be adopted? A lot of them won't ever be, which is really sad. Every child deserves a family.
I hope that when I grow up (a little more), I am able to be a foster parent or at least get involved in helping foster kids find good adoptive homes.

http://www.ccainstitute.org/our-programs/national-adoption-day.html

Also, Mike just finished writing a big paper for his psychology class about adoptions and success in life. If you're interested, you might email him and ask for a copy. I know that he spent a lot of time working on it and considering all of the factors that can affect people who've been adopted.

My boss (who has four adopted children of his own) always says that kids who are adopted only want to know two things: why they were given up and who their birth parents are. He's so right. I know why I'm where I am today and I know half of who my birth parents are, but I find that as I get older, the desire to know just what my biological father looked like grows stronger. Where is this nose from?!

I'm stoked to procreate the regular way one day and have kids who look like me, but I think that should I run into conception challenges - I'd absolutely consider adoption over other fertility stuff. (Not knocking all the IVF and surrogacy stuff, just saying.)





Today is Grandpa George's birthday (he would have been 86) and my half-birthday. Mom always sends me a text on my half birthday, and every year, I have no idea that it's today until I get it. (This is also just another piece of evidence that she loves me more than Mike - he doesn't get half-birthday texts or facebook wall posts.)

Happy Birthday Grandpa George! I emailed Grandma to say that this would have been the age we would have started to tease him about being very elderly.




Pretending that you're not as poor as you are is getting to be really stressful. I know that I make a lot of lifestyle choices, including my adventures, but each of those choices involve a lot of careful planning and sacrifice. I am so grateful for all of the support systems I have in my life - I know that if I was desperate, I could call Mom, but at the same time, I'm so determined to be completely independent that I won't dare. There's no need. I won't rely on anyone to take care of me. Not now, or ever.
Once bills and rent and loan payments are made, the daily budget sits somewhere around $15 (give or take) - which sounds like it's good enough until you realize that filling your car up with gas is two days worth of life expenses. Everything comes down to "how many days do I lose?" if I do or eat or buy this or that or the other thing. That said, I refuse to let experiences pass me by. I will not stay home and let life go on without me.  There are so many things I'd like to do (like get Simon a new bumper, one month of life expenses) that fall by the wayside. I spend a lot of time stressing out about this (and retirement), especially since I feel like so many of my friends (all of them) are making more than me.
I realize I shouldn't complain. I'm really lucky. I'm happy at work; I'm learning a lot; it's a laid-back environment (which I need and thrive in).
But it makes me feel like I'm not good enough, not as smart, not as talented, not as driven, not as successful, not as goal oriented, not as focused, utterly lacking potential for growth. (There's a lot of NOTs in there, and I'd like to be able to focus more of my energy on being less NOT and more BE - as in I AM successful, I AM goal oriented, I AM focused, driven, etc.) It's just overwhelmingly frustrating and really scary. I would like just one month where I could buy a new pair of jeans (a week or so out of my budget). Or boots that didn't come from Target (3x the daily budget). Or eat three meals a day. Maybe next year. Maybe I just need to find another weekend job. Or start babysitting more. I've been eating the same damn baguette (1/7 of the daily budget) for three days now, and I'm getting about as annoyed as it is stale.

Sorry, that was ridiculous and completely self-pitying, but it needed to come out. I need to remind myself that I'm wallowing sometimes. It helps when it's public - it makes you think twice before having any self-depreciating moments. It also enhances the wince and the inner shame. Both are great character builders.
:-)




Tonight, one of my favorite bands is in town. I didn't even know they were coming (what does that say about me?) until yesterday when I saw that they had tweeted from Colorado Springs. But they're going to be here! And I have tickets! And I'm beyond excited! Between this concert and the one in two weeks (Mickey Avalon), I am crossing two bands off my bucket list. It's going to be a productive end to 2011.
Shwayze - Get U Home
Shwayze - Crazy For You
Shwayze - Drunk Off Your Love




Tomorrow is up in the air. I'm either going to take Mike's car and go up to the mountains before babysitting, or I'm going to write my personal statement for grad school and get the mountain of laundry done before it threatens to eat both me and Carlos.
I'm secretly hoping that laundry wins this battle. I have just wanted to get rid of everything I own lately. I just want to pare down my clothes pile so that I'm only keeping what I'll actually wear. I would also like to clean the entire apartment from top to bottom.




It's been one of those really long weeks. I'm physically and mentally exhausted. I've done a lot of stuff, though. Boulder, Broncos game, Suite 200 - never again, whatever it was that I did on Monday night. I'm in a great mood and I'd like to channel this positive energy into something useful, like a clean apartment.

Also, because I haven't subjected you to the torture that is looking at cat pictures lately, here's Carlos just waking up. Notice how annoyed he looks to be bothered. I love him so very much. And I'd like to think that he loves me too. I think he does. 

On the Week and Randomness

Your video for the day is Pearl Jam's Just Breathe. Because it always makes me cry, but in a good way.

This week was wonderful because it went so fast.
I've been busy every night, but I haven't felt tired until today.
Last night, I tossed and turned and tossed and turned some more. By the time I was finally ready to really be asleep, the alarms were going off.

We went sledding on Wednesday! I haven't been in what feels like forever, so it was really nice to trek over to the sledding hill and go for it. E's yellow lab came with us and had fun chasing the saucer sleds, as though she thought they were giant frisbees - they sort of are, but they don't get as much air.
Sledding, followed by hot chocolate and pasole, was amazing! We all curled up in E's basement. It reminded me of college.

Last night, instead of going to trivia, K and I ordered Thai (again - we panicked and couldn't think of anything else) and stayed in. I think I'd like to keep him. We'll see how this works out, but I find him to be incredibly interesting. He's funny - deadpan sarcastic at all times; he's super sweet; he wants a Burmese mountain dog AND he likes artificial banana flavor. What more does a girl need? I've had a really nice couple of weeks and am terrified that I'll jinx it somehow.

Tonight, J is DJing at a gay techno party, so I'm headed there in time to see his set. I can't stay late because I have to be a responsible human being all day tomorrow. But hopefully there can be wild shenanigans tomorrow night (i don't know) and then snowboarding on Sunday, followed by the mad dash to the Avs games for H's birthday.

It should be fun!

Again, I can't stress enough how important it is to do self-breast exams. Please, please, please know their topography. Talk to your doctor at the first sign of any change. It could save your life.

On Breast Cancer

"I wanted you to hear it from me," she said. "I have breast cancer."

My birth mother's voice was steady. 

In the past two weeks, both my stepmother and my birth mother have been diagnosed with breast cancer. Neither case seems serious; both were caught early on. Treatment plans have yet to be finalized, although my stepmom's is further along in the process. Neither will lose their breasts. Both will lose lumps and endure radiation, possibly chemotherapy. 

My hands reached up to feel my own. 

"Damn it, Mom," I said later last night, "I worked so hard to grow these things. I can't lose them now!" 

She laughed. I'm serious. I have stressed about them since before they showed any promise of ever becoming real boobs. I've been known to declare "They're growing!" when they most certainly are not. I have obsessed since I was 13 and got made fun of on the playground for being underdeveloped. As the years progressed, I grew to love them. I'd like to think it's mutual respect. 

I've always assumed that I'll end up getting breast cancer some day. My birth mom's mom died of it. And now she has it. I'll be the third in a long line of cancer. I have tiny boobs - it's not like I'll miss a lump. On the plus side, after they have to take them, I can get a sweet new set. 

I guess I need to go get the genetic test done to see if I have the gene mutation indicative of breast and ovarian cancer. I'm scared to get it though. Not because I'm afraid to have breast or ovarian cancer, but because I'm worried that it'll preclude me from getting insurance coverage based on "pre-existing condition" bullshit. I guess it'd be nice to know about ovarian cancer before it happens, so that maybe after I have kids, I can  be proactive about minimizing my risk. 

I was getting my hair cut yesterday and my stylist was telling me about the breast cancer walk. (I was going to walk with Dad and J, but didn't because her daughters were going to be there - we have consciously avoided meeting and I didn't want to make an important day weird - so I declined.) She teared up as she was telling me about her boyfriend's mother and sister, who both died of it. And I found myself tearing up a little too. 

I have a doctor's appointment on Friday to discuss all of this. I'll be interested to see what they recommend, and I'm curious to see how my insurance will handle coverage for the test based on the fact that I'm adopted - will they still count my biological mother and grandmother, as well as various aunts, as close family incidences of breast cancer? I mean, they should. (Medical history-wise, being adopted sucks. I always write question marks on family history forms.)

I don't want to lose two out of my three moms. Not to breast cancer. I don't want to lose me, either. 

Let this all serve as a reminder to feel your boobs, people! Have someone else feel your boobs. Whatever it takes. Those monthly shower examinations could save your life.  

On Monday

Spinster, by Sylvia Plath


Now this particular girl
During a ceremonious April walk
With her latest suitor
Found herself, of a sudden, intolerably struck
By the birds' irregular babel
And the leaves' litter.
By this tumult afflicted, she
Observed her lover's gestures unbalance the air,
His gait stray uneven
Through a rank wilderness of fern and flower.
She judged petals in disarray,
The whole season, sloven.
How she longed for winter then!--
Scrupulously austere in its order
Of white and black
Ice and rock, each sentiment within border,
And heart's frosty discipline
Exact as a snowflake.
But here--a burgeoning
Unruly enough to pitch her five queenly wits
Into vulgar motley--
A treason not to be borne. Let idiots
Reel giddy in bedlam spring:
She withdrew neatly.
And round her house she set
Such a barricade of barb and check
Against mutinous weather
As no mere insurgent man could hope to break
With curse, fist, threat
Or love, either.












Flights to and from Chicago have been cancelled. 
The future of that adventure is no longer certain.
I finally did what I've known I needed to do for a long time. 
And with a heavy heart, it's been ended.
Of course there are loose ends, the tired scraps that guilt leaves behind. 
Now there will be great stretches of silence. Of misplaced habits. Of euphoria. 
Eventually there will be memories. A city destroyed. 


But on the plus side, I have $200 in plane fares to anywhere Southwest flies. I want to get away. 

On Impatience

No one would ever call me a patient person. It's just not in my nature, I guess. Once I want something, I want it right then and there. I'm not good at playing waiting games.

But lately, I've been wondering if we're not more impatient as a result of our media consumption.
I watch tv with Mike - usually one of our shows. They're an hour long (with commercials, average of 41 minutes without). In that hour, we see a situation unfold, explode, and be resolved neatly by the end.

So how much of that are we carrying over to real life?
In simulating real-life situations via television, broadcasting them, creating fantastic realities in which ordinary people do extraordinary things, are we limiting our ability to actually process like humans? Have we redefined reality to be a mirror of these simulations?

Television shows and movies have necessitated the cutting of extraneous things - such as waiting - from their plot lines. It won't do to have the entire courtship shown in an under 2-hour romantic comedy. Instead, we are treated to a montage, often accompanied by music. Or some sort of situation that represents the relationship.

So the time between things is often understated and underrepresented.

Arguably, our society has started to do the same things. Gone are the days of snail mail, instead, love happens via one-night stands and text messages. War, something sensationalized by television and movies, glorified by the 24-hour news channels, is left forgotten once there is no quick conclusion. We triumphantly marked the fall of Saddam Hussein but have neglected to mark the minutes since.

Everything looks easy. Conflict is solved with a single conversation, brooding becomes a beautiful expression of anguish, and all love affairs are solved with a passionate expression of love at just the right time. People wait for other people, their schedules always magically line up.

Are we becoming jaded? Bombs? Cars blowing up strategically?

Would any of us even know what to do in case of an actual emergency? "I saw this on tv once" certainly isn't going to help. Those bombs and magic fires that burn exactly where they're supposed to are movie magic rather than the stuff that real life is made of. Mike and I were talking about being a spy. And I reminded him that being a spy in the real world is hardly as sexy as it seems on screen. Lots of dead drops and waiting.

Even criminal behavior. It's not that easy to hack into just any old bank system. Or any government computer. Of course, magically, the screens you need are up just in time for you to enter your data. I spend a good percentage of my work day digging through our drives, looking for a single file. And I know the layout. Imagine walking in cold to steal data. Yes, it can be done. But it's just not that simple.


I often wonder if I am a victim of this kind of conditioned thinking. How have my expectations been molded by the media I take in?
How have certain things become normalized?

Sublimation. Or the Gray Area I Call Home.

When you're younger, the answer is always easy.

Second grade math problems are just like all others: there is only one answer.

You're either right.

Or you're wrong.

You learn the opposites. Hot. Cold. High. Low. But you never really learn about the states in between.

Adulthood is a great languishing.

Of course, there are highs and lows and hots and colds. But mostly, there's a lot of nothingness. It's the kind of nothingness that stems from the fact that you thought it would be all hots or colds. Or highs or lows. It's not always a bad nothingness, not at all. It just is. There's certainly room for debate, for argument, for decision making (steak or chicken? reply today or tomorrow?), for progressive thought. All of these are followed by fits and starts of manic activity (sometimes solely contained within the still hopeful mind).

The melancholic side of the nothingness brings about the inevitable introspection, which leads to planning, which leads....back. And sometimes, a little change is enacted and you've suddenly reverted from melancholic nothingness to that blissful nothingness, where everything is calm and smooth and beautiful.

For a time.

Alas, we've arrived back in the gray area.

There are no answers.

There exists no right, no wrong. We're all waging war against opinions.

After pining and creating this odd little relationship (that isn't one, he'll be quick to add), everything has fallen into place.

Or out of place, perfectly.

Whichever is a more apt statement.

He came this weekend.

He met Mom and Dad and Mike and G and AJ.

I met his friends.

He stayed at my house five nights (all except for Friday) - which was something I definitely did not expect and something that wildly pleased me.

He told me he wasn't going to be with any other girls.

I smiled.

We began to think ahead (a bit), based on the thought that he may end up back in Denver as soon as January. Would I be his girlfriend then?

The cracks appeared, began to show and spread.

With my detective hat on, I began putting clues together.

It's a minor incident, but it may very well be the deal breaker that ends it all.

It's seriously little better than an episode of the children's show Blue's Clues.

Clue #1 was a chance glance, a peek. Too bad I'm an incredibly quick reader.

Intrigued but not irate, I put it aside.

Clues #2 and #3 were more tangible. A story of a meeting, an incorrect name. There it was again, my brain flagged it. And three pushed me over the edge.

What's wrong? he asked me as I sat slumped, nauseous from the ill-advised blood donation without any food. I guess he gets points for discerning anger through nausea.

We talked. He told me she was a girl he knew in college.

I'm no moron.

Our night continued with his promise of some modern form of long-distance fidelity.

After he left, I spoke to one of my co-workers, a woman I have mad respect for, who told me, "Honey, let me tell you something. They never grow up. Trust me." Great.

I spoke to one of my dear friends in Chicago. "You need someone who impresses you. Who gets you. Who respects every single inch of you." I asked her why it is that I have such terrible taste in men. She laughed. "Daddy issues. You can totally blame it all on him. I certainly do." We commiserated over the fact that there are so few intelligent, mature, responsible, fun, adventurous, adorable, assertive-yet-not-an-asshole men.

I called him on it last night. I told him that it wasn't the other woman (but it is, and we all know that) but it was the lie (that's a serious violation for me. I don't lie, cheat, or steal, and I expect the people I associate with to do the same). The words "trust" "respect" and "honesty" dominated my appeal. I remained calm, collected and clear (odd, right?). I laid out the situation. I laid out why I was angry. I listened to his responses, called him on his bullshit, and told him I didn't know how I wanted him to fix it. I told him I was too angry with him to cry. I pushed him. I'm glad I did.

Frustrated and tired, I told him I had to sleep. Of course I didn't. I stared at the dim screen of my laptop while it played reruns of 30 Rock.

Today, I woke up numb and even more exhausted, if that's at all possible.

Dragging through the morning, doing my very first support bit - eek! I'm going to have to start handling technical issues with our product, and as exciting as it is, it's really scary, too! - and then it came. The buzzing of my phone. I didn't look. Three more buzzes lead me to believe something catastrophic may have happened or that I'd just received a novella.

It was in fact that latter.

A novella of contrition. Of admission. Of (his) understanding (of the situation). A little bit of my anger melted away when he admitted that he's been taking me for granted, and that last night made him realize how much he stands to lose if I bail. (duh, I'm Katie Barry)

I'm still hurt, still annoyed, still frustrated. But it's salvageable, I think. We spoke again at lunch today, a soft, quiet conversation. But positive. Communication is not a bad thing. But my bullshit meter is on high alert (threat level orange).

And while I am well aware that this may be one of my more fantastic mistakes, I also think it's a fantastic adventure. Sorry, Mom, I know you've tried tactfully to hide your disapproval, but it's going to be awhile before this is over.

Welcome to life in the Gray Area (I'm imagining that it must be something like the Twilight Zone, although I'm not entirely certain).

God, give me the strength...

And so it begins anew.

This is a continuation of previous post, which can be found here. (I got a bit heavy-handed with my use of [Redacted] in that post, and for that I apologize, but also smile a little - I think it's odd that I attempted to apply such civility to that post. It adds a small element of youth, of naivete, of hope, I guess.)

Again, I share the sentiments that I am entirely confused.

I guess the refrain is this: I cannot understand what I've done wrong.

The email came from G on Thursday, and can basically be summed up as saying, "Let's meet in Washington Park on Sunday night to celebrate the 57th wedding anniversary."

I was keen.

Friday night, I get a text from Aunt X saying that they're in town. How about Saturday? I respond that I'm unable to do Saturday as I'll be babysitting (Barney live, anyone?).

The response comes via email. Here's my favorite line: (Katie & Mike can't make it...understandable at it is a Saturday night and they are in their 20's!)

I am in my 20s. But the implication lying beneath that sentence would have you believe that I was out partying, rather than helping a family with three children attend their first Barney concert. For the record, they loved it. It was a really magical experience for them, and the day went smoothly. I stayed there from 2pm until 8pm. After, I went to Aunt S's birthday at other G's house. I arrived in time for lemonade and cake. And then I went home and went to sleep, as I had to babysit another family the next morning.

No partying at all this weekend. Babysitting. (Just so we're all clear about my priorities.)

I texted Aunt X and asked for a drink/coffee date so that we could have a heart-to-heart. She responded that she'd get back to me, then asked if I could let her know if Dad was going to be coming that night. (It was Saturday) I responded that I hadn't talked to him.

At this point, I was livid. Fury. I am a passionate person, but I'm slow to anger. Once I'm there, though, is a different story. But don't think that just because I'm angry doesn't mean I can't be rational - I consider myself very logical, rational, even cold, at times.

I will not relinquish a point simply because I feel pressured to do so. I don't lie. And I'm not fake, so pretending nothing's wrong isn't my style, either.

And so Dad, Jeanie, Mike and I had a lovely evening in City Park last night, listening to jazz and playing frisbee. It was non-argumentative. It was light. I gushed about S and blathered on about my exciting news and future plans.

This morning, I woke up happy. Calm. Family is what you make of it, good or bad. And creating your own family is something that's the most fun to do.

I got a text from Aunt X saying that we were meeting for a picnic at the pool at 6pm tonight. I groaned inwardly. I don't get off of work until 6 at the earliest. I'm not trying to use that a crutch, I've got time quotas to meet.

So I wait, text my brother, see if he's going. He is. I text back that Mike is in and that I'll be there as soon as I'm off of work, what can I bring?

I am not by my phone when I get the call.

I listen to the voice mail. My stomach lurches, the hurt crawls back up into my heart. My ears ring. I turn up my music. I gulp for air.

I call her back. We exchange muted pleasantries, and then I say, "First of all, I want you to know that I'm not looking for a food hand-out. I offered to bring something, and I'd be more than happy to bring whatever you'd like. Just let me know what I can bring."

And suddenly, she's off on me. Talking about the medical conditions of her hostess, my G, and this and that and how she'll take care of dinner and she'll haul it over to the pool by herself. I cut in, "I am well aware (of the medical conditions)," I say. She tells me not to bring anything. Just to show up. The line cuts off.

My hands are shaking.

I'm more confused than ever.

I consider myself a strong woman, not one to back down from something that's seriously upsetting me. But I'm finding myself unable to find a logical opening on the other side. It's as though every step I try to take is a misstep.

I guess I'm not sure if this means that it's time to stop trying so hard to be a part of a family that seems to be making it very clear that I'm not welcome.

My Aunt X once told me not to go to grad school, and then made some joke about "not everyone can be a housewife." Well, being a housewife isn't everyone's dream. I mean, it must be nice. (Don't for a second think I'm negating the stresses and workload of the domestic spouse - it's a very necessary and overwhelming experience. The raising of children is a complicated matter.)

But for someone to question why I babysit and who I babysit for - that's crossing lines I'm not prepared for. I don't want a running commentary going on about the rich people I babysit for. That's hardly the case. Sometimes two parents work - it must seem strange to someone so removed from that - but in that case, childcare becomes a very necessary, and expensive, expense.

And that's where I come in.

I babysit for two reasons: I love it and I need the cash.

I love children. I am not making enough at my day job to sustain myself, and in order to not have terrified tears streaming down my face at the end of every month, I work extra hours to make ends meet. It's not a new thing, the idea of two jobs has existed forever.

I'm great with children - all of my families love me, have loved me, and continue to love me. I'm engaged, polite, I uphold their disciplinary standards and their values. I've sat for Christians, Jews, atheists...and my manner has not wavered. Respect, I believe they call it. I'm not sure if they are teaching that in churches these days or not. (And yes, that comment was derogatory and disrespectful. I'm not turning my other damn cheek - I am no doormat. I wasn't raised to not stand up for what I believe in and I'm sure as hell not going to back down now, especially because I am the one who has been attacked.)

I find it interesting that the financial element keeps rearing its ugly head. I've been told no less than three times this weekend that I've got a financial obligation toward my Gs. I wish I could explain that I've offered to bring over dinner, that I do offer consistently. I provide my G with a magazine subscription, something that I know he really appreciates. That's a lot of money for me, and it's something I do out of love. If I had more money, I'd be more than happy to buy groceries, to treat them to things, but the fact is, I don't. I could start mailing some small amount every month, if they'd like. It wouldn't be much, but maybe it would help.

But again, I'd like to reassert that I'm not asking for anything monetary or good-related. I don't need crackers and chips or snacks or food or cash in an envelope. If that's who they think I am, then they need to step back and reassess.

From more than one of the U or A's, I've heard that someone or someone else doesn't want to cook, or entertain, or this and that. I'm not asking to be fed (again, I don't need a food hand-out). I'm just asking for some face time. I'm not asking for a five-course meal, or for treats, or for anything. I'm not asking for money for holidays, or my birthday.

I just want to see my family.

I want to feel like I matter to them as much as they matter to me.

But it's clear that it doesn't work that way.

Being rejected by people who should know you, people who you love, is really hard. And it's tearing at me. At the very least, I'd like some closure on the subject. I'd like to be able to understand fully what I've done that is so reprehensible that they can't be civil toward me. That's all I'm asking for.

It's one thirty now. I have four and a half hours until I leave work. Four and a half hours to decide if I should show up or not.

I'm a proud woman. I am proud of who I am, proud of what I do, proud of what I stand for. I live my life in the best way possible. I try to make sure that my actions have few ripples, and other than a few minor skirmishes with friends (no more than anyone else I know), I maintain a very balanced life. It's full of love and loyalty, and people who genuinely care about me. I genuinely care about them as well.

I call a friend for advice:

"What are you maintaining, other than this idea of a family?...your mom's side loves you. It's not like vindictive and gross and vile as your dad's side is being to you...It sounds like they can't even pretend to be decent. Why do you keep trying to make amends? It just doesn't sound right. If you do have this obligation toward your grandparents, then they'd better start treating you right."

That friend is right.

I try to explain that I guess I want to stay in it for my Gs and cousins, but at the same time, I wonder if their minds have been poisoned against me as well.

This is where I'm sure that the root cause of all of this must be bigger than me. I honestly can't believe that I could have done something so egregious as to be excommunicated from my own family.

I really hate to stir up trouble in an otherwise happy family.

So perhaps it's time for me to back down and back away.

Family. What does that word mean to you?

From Forbes.com: Retirement is Blocked by the Revolving Door

I did an informal poll at the office asking the following question: if you had adult children (say age 30), would you want them to live with you, or would you encourage them to get out and be independent? The answer was overwhelmingly for independence, and one man even said he’d feel like a failure if they returned home. Everyone who was available today was under 45 years old, and few actually have adult children, but their answers were interesting. Our culture fosters independence. I asked the financial planners what they were hearing in their one-on-one meetings with pre-retirees and I heard a different twist. The employees feel that they have no choice but to help out their family members during these tough economic times, and it was a drain on their finances. In an ideal world, while preparing for retirement you wouldn’t have this additional expense, but then again we are not living in an ideal world.

The planners heard these stories:

“My daughter is a very hard worker and has three jobs. Yet she never seems to get ahead. She got her wallet stolen at the pool yesterday and the thief left her wallet and ID but took her cash and her credit cards. Fifty dollars may not seem like much to some people, but it was a lot to my daughter. Couple that with no access to a credit card when she had $200 worth of school expenses (she is a teacher) and she won’t be able to make her rent. I had to loan her $400 to get by. I was not expecting that expense and it was not a trivial amount.”

“My son is working and going to school and having trouble making ends meet. When a necessary expense comes up for my ten year old granddaughter, what am I supposed to say? I can’t say no. It now costs $89 to register her for public school because I am in a state that is broke and my son doesn’t have the money. Now as a grandmother, I am ending up paying for the necessary things instead of the fun things.”

One of the biggest challenges of retirement planning is to estimate your future expenses. We assume housing costs may go down in retirement, when your mortgage is paid off and medical costs will rise, so at least some estimates can be done. Unplanned and unpredictable high and recurring expenses, such as assisting adult children and grandchildren, can certainly prevent the parent from being able to retire.

This is a growing phenomenon. As I mentioned in a blog a few weeks ago, the number of adult children between the ages of 25 and 34 living with their parents has exploded in recent years, going from a little over 10% in 2003 to 13% in 2010. Unemployment certainly is a big factor. According to the Bureau of Labor Statistics the unemployment rate for 20-24 year olds in 2010 was 15.5% and for 25-29 year olds it was 10.9%. With the economy struggling to produce jobs, this is a problem that pre-retirees with adult children and grandchildren can’t ignore.

Many will argue that families should take care of each other and that is what family is for. In other cultures, families have been living together in multi-generational households for centuries, so we are the odd culture in encouraging our family members to live separately. That may all be true, but the key isn’t so much where they live, it is the support they need when the pre-retiree still has to fund their own retirement, and that support is often an unexpected high expense. The challenge is to manage the pull of caring for your family without sacrificing your own retirement.

Ideas on how to help adult children without going broke:

Rethink your emergency fund. Carry a high emergency fund balance even in retirement. We normally think of the emergency fund to replace 3 – 6 months of income if you lose your job. In retirement, we used to be able to keep less in liquid savings because of steady retirement income. Consider keeping additional liquid dollars available for unexpected expenses.

Lend rather than give. The teaching goes, “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime.” A gift or a hand out can turn into a steady stream of support. Lend your children money with a clear payback structure at a low interest rate rather than a hand out. This sets a clear boundary with your adult children and shows mutual respect.

Ask that they contribute. If they are living with you, ask that they contribute to the household by paying rent and helping with other household expenses. Even if the rent is a nominal amount, it sets up an expectation and lessens any financial drain on you. Set a time limit if that is appropriate under the circumstances.

Make sure they make the most of the situation. This is a time for them to improve their financial literacy by sticking to a bare-bones budget, getting out of debt and living within their means. Financial lessons they learn from the economic downturn can be an incredible opportunity for them to realize how valuable the cash flow of a job is or how expensive it is just to run a household.

Don’t sacrifice your own financial future. In our college planning workshops, we always remind parents there are no grants or scholarships for retirement. Set limits with your children if you plan on helping them or supporting them until they get their feet on the ground. Determine what you can afford and have a meeting with your child to make it very clear.

During the Great Depression families stuck together and they did without. Stella Anderson is 97 years old today, and she is one of six sisters who grew up on an almond ranch in Northern California. During the depression, her parents couldn’t afford to send her to college (they sent her older sisters before her) but she didn’t complain. She delayed her education, stayed at home and helped out on the ranch for two years before moving on to obtain her college degree. She and her parents took the practical approach and did what they could at the time. That kind of practical mentality will serve our families well today while getting through tough times together. It may even make the family bonds stronger. Plus, in your later years, you can lean on them like they leaned on you. That is what family is for.

by Liz Davidson link to article here

Self-sufficient

I've decided that I'm sick of hearing that I don't do enough.

That I go out too much.

During the month of July, I went out 2x on a "school night," not counting trivia on Thursdays.

I hardly think that's excessive.

I work my regular, full-time 40+ hour/week job. I show up, I work, I go home.

On top of that, I regularly babysit for 3 families (others are in the rotation, but I've got three regulars). There are weeks that I'll be at the office five days and babysit five nights, including the weekend.

I don't have time to breathe, let alone party.

It's not fair for people with combined household incomes far exceeding mine to tell me what I can and cannot do with my money. I work damn hard. Most Friday and Saturday nights, I'm more than happy to sleep rather than going out. Why? Because I am either exhausted or poor or both.

So if I want to go to Chicago, then I will. Trust me, I make up for the financial cut in other ways.

For example, when I was in Chicago earlier this month, we went to the grocery store and got food/beer for the weekend. I made no meal outside of the home. I bought no beer at a bar.

I manage to pay all of my bills on time. I'm more self-sufficient than a lot of people I know. And it's not like I expect anything to come easy, but I would just to wake up one day and not have to juggle fifteen different schedules. It'd be nice to have a free afternoon, just saying.

I'd one day like to have a job where I don't have to work like a madman outside of work to make ends meet.

I'd like to not have to keep pushing out starting my IRA.

I'd like to be able to save a little bit each month.

I'd like to have a "just in case" fund for when I need new brakes.

I'm sick of worrying about it constantly and I'm even sicker of hearing about it from other people. I'm doing what I have to do, thank you very much. I realize that part of being 23 is about being poor and making sacrifices, but this isn't healthy.

It's time for a change.

"That that is just the person that you are."

There are moments, usually quiet moments in the dead of night, when the world shifts. I found myself relaxed, calm, anxious for my phone to buzz with the continuation of the nightly conversation that I look so forward to.

I sat and heard her start to tell me a story. I wasn't all there, my mind drifting off to Chicago while maintaining some semblance of concentration.

What she said broke my reverie and brought me swiftly back to my body, sitting on the steps staring across the darkened street.

No, what?

And there it was.

The reasoning, his version of the truth, conveyed to me via her. The nerve of this slimy coward. To later tell a mutual friend that it wasn't his fight to fight, yet to have never even told me about it.

It.

Allegedly.

Apparently, it - that alleged indiscretion - happened on the fourth of July. Happened when I, the sober driver, was saying goodbye. Well here's a sweet goodbye for you...

It was an anger I have not felt in some time. My jaw clenched, my eyes narrowed, I was, in that moment, comprised solely of steel and tingling fingertips.

Untruths!

Annoyance filled my steel-skeleton, and I drove home in a concentrated rage. I grabbed my phone and sent a message - abrupt, rude, sharply displaying my acute disapproval.

I did not expect a response, but when I saw it, my anger flared past steel. I am molten iron now, white hot.

I still am. It's been some hours now, edging toward twenty four, yet I cannot break the script from my mind.

"...everyone conceded that that is just the person that you are."

What am I?

I have lists of occasions I could reference, all to refute this claim that "that that is just the person that" I am.

But they fall far short of the damage I wish to inflict.

Self-control serves me well, but in all honesty, I am so hurt by this assertion, this accusation, the untruth of it all, that if we come face to face, I won't hesitate to show him just what kind of person I am.

Dreams

It's been one of those weeks where your dreams are too real. I am living in those moments, making conscious decisions, and ultimately, freely thinking my own thoughts.

That's the weirdest part for me. The thoughts.

I woke up startled, not quite terrified, on Thursday morning. I'd just had a pregnancy-labor dream. I realize I've probably just been reading too much of NPR's Baby Project (it's sort of cute; if you're into that sort of thing, you should check it out).

In my dream, I was in labor, at the hospital, walking around with my mom and wearing one of those horrible hospital gowns. But the strangest part of the dream was that I kept thinking how I was only x amount of time into labor and already bored.

I sincerely hope that someday, my worst fear for childbirth is how bored I am. I reached down and felt my flat stomach and breathed a sigh of relief. Carlos meowed as he usually does when I bother him too early in the morning, and then came up to snuggle me, and I fell back asleep just as the sunlight was starting to creep through the trees that shelter my window from the street.

And last night, again. But nothing like babies this time. Last night I was an assassin. Don't ask - it was one of those vivid, shifting dreams where it's suddenly winter and you're in Minnesota and then you're creeping around a house/building/warehouse and you're killing people. I went down a faux-grass (astroturf) slide like a fish and killed a Japanese guy with crazy hair and a nice suit who happened to be a better at imitating fish movements than me.

That was probably really weird for you, so: Imagine a dark room with a giant, twisty slide that's not a slide at all, but rather an astroturf covered ramp, and in order to get down it with your gun in your hand, you have to flop like a fish. (I'm not even graceful in my dreams. Great.)

This is the prime example of why I'll never work for the CIA. I'm not graceful, I'm bad at stealthily fish-flopping, and I have a conscience.

Usually, these wild dreams mean I have a lot on my mind and that I'm overtired. Surprise! Guess what? Both are correct.

The Chicago trip was so worth it, but it nearly killed me, even though I got to spend most of Monday asleep on the couch (as much as I hated missing work, it was so nice to veg out and watch bad television).

Anyway, I'm hoping to get caught up on my sleep this weekend. Babysitting means I'm usually exhausted by the time I get done, so there's little chance I'll want to go out dancing (which so bums me out - I haven't had one of those wild, reckless and possible regrettable [just kidding] nights in ages). Which means sleep - definitely necessary since I have to work essentially a full day tomorrow. The 9-5 hours I missed on Monday and then more babysitting!

Maybe I'll be able to get to the park before I babysit on Sunday. Or maybe I'll get to work and log more hours! (That's ambitious - it won't really happen and we all know it. I'll sleep, I'll probably make some pasta, I'll be slow to get going - and by then, my weekend will be over.)

But I'm excited for real work tomorrow because I am in creativity mode and thus more prone to devoting my attention to the task of brochure creation. We'll see how it actually turns out.

Relationships

This article in the New York Times is well worth your time.

Dan Savage is an advice columnist whose columns deal primarily with sub-cultural relationship problems. I don't always agree with him, but his advice is generally pretty solid and backed up by a wide knowledge base.
This particular article questions the point of a relationship: stability rather than monogamy, perhaps? Everyone does it differently, but I think it's important to realize that people have different needs. 

I've been spending a lot of time lately thinking about what makes a relationship and what kind of relationship I'd want. (I can see you rolling your eyes right now. It's fine. I rolled mine when I started writing this and rolled them again upon re-reading.)

I've been more or less single since my last serious relationship came to its natural conclusion in January 2010. So a year and a half. I've had plenty of dates, and semi-boyfriends, in the months since, but no one has ever materialized as potential-long-term-partner material. 

I'd desperately wanted freedom. I found that, and have loved it immensely. I love being able to fall asleep knowing that I don't have to move my computer, or the stack of books I share a bed with. 

And yet lately, I've been starting to really question the idea of "partner." Through that questioning, I've begun to crave it. But perhaps with age comes selectivity, because people aren't managing to hold my attention as they should, or as I'd like them to.
The biggest test for me is errands. I find it romantic. I want someone who I will enjoy going to Costco with, someone who makes buying a blender exciting, or at the very least, less mundane. 

Of course, there are the few that manage to keep reappearing in my life. From a December party, at a friend of my then-boyfriend's apartment until now, we've maintained this strange and delicate relationship. It began with harsh words, thrown out off-handedly, then my answering, equally harsh lecture, then Mexican food, then this or that and a few other things. Flash forward to this January, actual consumption of Mexican food and then the strange events of that evening and Englewood. Then to April. I flew off to Chicago with few expectations, no presumptions, and came away tear-stained and puffy, joyous and fulfilled, hauling a backpack full of clean clothes. It was wonderful and terrifying because the glimpse of what I could have had screamed of normalcy. Here I am, off again, to walk on the edge of expectations and to figure out if my future lies therein. Is that the normalcy I've been seeking?

But what am I getting myself into? What is this? What will it be? We can't answer these questions because we're not sure if that's even where we want to go. "We"? Is there a we? Could there be one someday? What if it fails? The phone conversations are growing in length, in depth. What do I want? What does he want? I fall asleep with tired smiles on my face. I feel like he shares that (unless he doesn't, so that'd be awkward). It's weird to be on the same page, to have somehow gotten lost and landed there, separately. 

Jesus, this is ridiculous. 

But I like it. 

So I guess it's going to be alright. Or at least an adventure.

Ten days.

Ferocity.

Something I'm learning from Carlos.

Act preemptively and base everything on your gut.

Your past guides you more than you think but shouldn't affect anyone's future perceptions of you.

I'm hurt; I'm annoyed; I'm angry.

No one should make me feel like I'm less than a human being, whether it's intentional or not.

I am Katie Barry and I do what I want.

Odds and Ends and Saturdays

I got an email from Mama P this morning. You'll remember Priscilla, my absolutely insanely wonderful host mother in South Africa.
Her emails are always short and to the point. They never say much, but I'm grateful for them. Today she said that the weather is turning cold, and to say hello to Mike and James Dean for her. I laughed out loud when I read the last bit; I had completely forgotten about that. So here's how it goes:

The night that James was coming to pick me up for our first date, I realized I had no idea what his name was. I knew it was either James or Dean. So we had all just referred to him as James Dean the entire week. I realized that this was eventually going to present a problem, so I called him, and luckily, he didn't answer his phone. Voicemail clued me in on his real name and that was that. But we still called James Dean.

It's amazing how much I miss that place. I know it will never be the same, but it will always have a beautiful place in my heart. I want to get back there, to stand at Muizenberg Beach and feel the waves crash against my feet and fight my way onto the train and off again.

However, my life here is growing daily. While I like that I'm learning a lot at my current job, I'm not satisfied with the compensation and have taken on babysitting to make extra cash. (This supports my lifestyle, which you may be surprised to hear isn't quite as wild as you might think.) Anyway, I've got four families in the rotation and the balancing act is getting a bit hectic.

This week, for example, I will be working all seven days. And twice this week I had to go straight from work to babysit. The other nights I went directly home and was in bed relatively early. It's all fine and well, but I'm not getting any decompression time and am beginning to get a bit stressed.
Hopefully this week will provide ample opportunity for sleep as I'm not scheduled to work any week days.

Alas, today brings more babysitting, volunteering at a choir concert that one of my co-workers is singing in, and then date night. And tomorrow brings babysitting.
I really love the families that I'm sitting for this weekend - I find it much easier to babysit when I'm actually enjoying myself as well. One family has three little girls, and then, of course, there are the twins.   I find myself hoping the symphony season won't end!

Last night, Jacob and I went to see a production of Macbeth at UCD. Jacob was personally invested - he did the music for the show. I went because I waffle back and forth on my hate/love of Shakespeare. This play was pretty well done. The costuming choices were interesting - mostly just corsets - and the cast was tiny, but the leads delivered their lines really well.
After that, we went to an art gallery where they were serving pancakes and alcohol (strange combination, but hey, whatever). After paying $5 to get in and being told that drinks were free - we ended up having to pay $4 for a small cup. Ridiculous. The gallery was cute, but it was trying too hard to replicate the scene in New York. There were topless models being spraypainted (when done properly, it's actually really beautiful), but it just felt like an afterthought, especially as the crowd began to diminish.  After meeting up with our friend Claire and her girlfriend and wandering around looking at some art, we bailed to go dancing.

And so we danced. The night drew to a close, and I was grateful, because the tired had begun creeping through my bones. I went home, said hello to Carlos and Mike, and was asleep nearly immediately. I woke up tired - I didn't get nearly enough sleep. I'm hoping for a nap while I do my laundry.

Tonight, once my obligations are over, I've got a wild night planned (as usual). The guy that I guess I'm dating (I don't know - we eat dinner together sometimes. He made me waffles. I think that counts as sort of edging toward dating?) is going to come down from Boulder (and maybe bring his adorable dog!) and we're going to go see Claire's band play and then (depending on how tired I am or how bored he is) head to a weird art gallery/warehouse for a space party ordeal.

Jacob is super into the electronic scene, which means I find myself at a lot of events. I joking called it a "space cult" based on the theme of the first party he invited me to. Now, we call them space parties. They're not really - just a bunch of people in a room listening to really good (or really bad, depending) music and maybe drinking.

And yes, we may have to relocate Carlos for the evening. Jacob is more than happy to babysit and Carlos has been itching to get out and explore.

Today's fortune in my lunch:

Peace comes from within. Seek it in yourself.

I'll take that.

Wikileaks: Or, How My Nuclear/Extended Family Fell Apart

It's been awhile since you've been party to an angry rant directed at someone you're familiar with, so get ready:

Preface: I understand that the airing of "dirty laundry" in the internet is frowned upon. I thought about that for a long time before I did this. It's all based on the lack of transparency. I don't want anyone to question where I'm coming from or think that I'm neglecting my duties.

I don't have a solution to the problem below. I'm just thinking thoughts. I do my thinking when I'm typing. I like to record bouts of emotional turmoil for reflection and later, growth.

I love everyone in this post. I've taken out names. I want the same things they want. A husband, a family, a full life.
I have a very full life. I am very loved. Don't question that for a minute.
So what if I like "alternative" culture? We can't all live in polo shirts in plaid (it makes my thighs look fat). Black is much more slimming. And the vampire look is all the rage these days. (Ew)

Of course, this is very personal. But it involves me, too. And yes, it's incredibly self-centered. It's how I feel. This is my space. I can write about whatever I want, and that's what I've chosen to do.
I'm pissed, so this might lack the eloquence I'd usually try to use to cloak the emotions I'm feeling.
I don't sleep well; I have dreams about this situation all the time; I'm generally annoyed.
For once, I'm at a loss for words. I've let an email reply sit out there on the interwebs for more than two months because I literally cannot think of a suitable reply to that reply. I'm stumped by the inability to respond without losing my dignity by accepting a weak excuse, or without burning a bridge, or grovelling. And if there's one thing I don't do, it's grovel.

It's been a long time coming.
It started long ago. It's part of who Dad is. Weird.
I get that, and I understand that sometimes it's hard to be around him. But my argument against that is thus: You're his family. You can stand to be around him for four hours at a time, like four times a year. It's much harder to be his daughter than to be his brother, or his sister, or his mother.
Your counter-argument: But, our children!
I counter like this: He's not a sexual predator. He's not on drugs. He's not a drunk. Yes, he's a completely degenerate bum, but he's not (at heart) a bad man. Your kids will have to learn how to interact with people who aren't as affluent or as socially graceful as you someday, they might as well start now.

I've been talking to Mom about this for awhile now, trying to puzzle out why we're so often excluded from Barry family events.
And then Christmas happened.
The text message came in just before 7pm Christmas Eve. "We now have other plans tomorrow. Hope to see you soon."
Burn. Well played, Uncle [redacted]. The smoothest dis-invite I've ever had, without any admission of the actual invite ever existing. (Actually, the only one. I don't think I've ever been dis-invited from anything.)

Here's the email I sent:

Hello,

I hope you're all having a good start to the year.

Now that all the holiday rush has died down, I just wanted to drop you

a note to let you know how incredibly disappointed I was in the way

that Christmas was handled this year, and in the way that many

family/holiday events are often handled.

In the future, if you choose to renege on invitations at 6 o'clock the

night before a major holiday, please just don't bother inviting me at

all.

I can't speak for [redacted], so I won't, but I am incredibly hurt. It's not

that I minded crying a little bit, but even worse was having to listen

to [redacted] cry on the other end of the phone the day after Christmas.

While I hope that I am correct in assuming that you didn't want to

have any contact with [redacted], I also hope you understand that [redacted] and I

are both independent adults who are capable of social interaction

without him. We haven't lived with him on any consistent basis since

we were 16 and have displayed none of his odd social proclivities.

If that's not the case, and there's something wrong with the two of us

or with me personally, I'd prefer to address it now rather than be

continually excluded from Barry family events.

Sincerely,

Katie

However, it turns out that I was incorrect. I spent hour agonizing over the text of that email. I consulted. I edited. I won't post the entire response, because I consider myself to be not that much of an asshole, but here are specific excerpts that relate to my post today. And I don't consider them privileged.

My text the night before was to make sure nothing was

"assumed" even though we hadn't discussed anything firm and to get [redacted]'s

number. The only way this was triggered was that [redacted] had begun to leave

several messages indicating he wanted to come over.

Another point that disappoints us is that you make no mention of the

numerous holiday events over the years in which you were included.

Often times those events were adjusted to fit your schedule with your

Mom's side of the family. We were happy to do this, but to be told that

we've "continuously excluded" you confuses us.

You mention [redacted] in your note. Right or wrong, holidays and family

events have certainly been impacted due to [redacted]'s behavior. For all of

his great qualities, it's no secret that his behavior can often times

add stress, drama, etc. I really hate pointing this out since he is

your Dad, but I want to be fair to you and as an "adult." I don't think

you'd find this surprising. Unfortunately, his impact has played a role

in not spending more time with you and [redacted] over the years. For so long

it was always a "package deal." I'm truly sorry that you've been

"caught in the middle" in so many instances. Thanks for pointing out

(right or wrong) that it's no longer the case.



I cried when I read this email.

But then I got mad. That's why I haven't been able to respond. I have nothing to say. I do, but I can't say it. I don't know. And now it's just too late to say anything.

RENEGE! (I'm not going to respond to that bit. I'm biting my tongue.)

I don't talk to Dad. I see him maybe once every couple of months. I'm not a pipeline of Barry family information that goes directly to him. I'm not inviting him to events. 

I was a child when they rearranged all of their schedules. I'm not the one who made up that horrible divorce custody schedule; I'm just the one who got dragged along for the ride.

You do realize I hate Christmas, Easter, Fourth of July, etc? The only consolation is that divorce brought double the Thanksgiving dinners and two distinct styles of cranberries. I'm pro-divorce as far as Thanksgiving goes, and very thankful for them.

And I'm also thankful for all the rough rearranging that was done, but I apologize for it. If I had known it was such a problem, I guess I could have....wait a minute, done nothing. I was twelve. I don't want to hear about it.

Now, of course, complain. If we were demanding change now, you shouldn't have to acquiese. Don't rearrange anything for us. We're autonomous adults ("adults" is a term of debate for another day, but we're self-sufficient, theoretically productive members of society, which in today's world, qualifies us as adult). We are capable of handling ourselves in public, in private, wherever. We are capable of managing a schedule. I recently synced my Outlook calendar with my phone calendar and began actually logging dates in there. I'm legit. (Small step for me, large eye-roll for the rest of you.)

I don't manage Dad! It's not my fault he calls you!

I would also like to address the part where (you don't get to read that part) Uncle [redacted] says that he'd like me to list family events that I've been excluded from.

Let's start now.

The day after Christmas I'm housesitting. I get a call from [redacted]. She's nonchalant. We talk. She asks me how yesterday went, we're both tip-toeing around what we know is about to come up. She tells me that it was nice, they opened presents, they did this and that and the kids played with this and that. Pretty soon, we're both crying. I have to hang up because this is bullshit.
[Redacted] and I are both pretty chill people. We don't expect big dinners. I'll host! I'll cook (badly). [Redacted] will cook (better). We'll put on the dinner, we'll have a cold cut and cheese platter. I don't want to see you for your food, I want to see you for you. I love pajamas. I own a bunch, for all occasions, even Christmas.
I cry. That's when I know everything is really broken.

It's a Tuesday. I have dinner plans with Mom. I get a call from Aunt [redacted] saying that they're in town and want to have dinner. I call Mom and cancel.

At dinner, [redacted: cousin] asks me if I'm going to California. I ask, why? She tells me they're all going to see [redacted: other cousin] graduate from high school. Oh, I say, I'm sorry, I have to work. Inside, I'm thinking, huh, definitely wasn't invited to that.

Throughout the meal, Aunt [redacted] is constantly saying how nice it is that we're so flexible, and blathering on about how it's so nice that we can just be spontaneous. It's all for Dad's benefit, because he's complaining and pressing them for details.

I get that.

Then I find out that they've been in town since Friday. Then I find out that we both went to the parade downtown on Saturday. I would have liked to have seen them. I was sober.

I bring that up because I believe that my father's side of the family has not received the most accurate information about me since I stopped living with my father. He's got a set of assumptions about my behavior that are entirely incorrect.

Yes, I drink. Yes, I go out.

Yes, I'm 22, and I have a full-time job and I babysit on the side. I have responsibilities and I'm not neglecting any of them. I have a cat-son and a dilapidated car that I love. I get regular oil changes. I vote. I can pretend to be Catholic when necessary. I'm spiritual. I believe in a g-d. I've never been arrested. I'm going to stop. This is getting weird.

(I don't know, what makes a person a good role model?)

Those are two recent examples, but I can dig further if necessary. I'd prefer not to, though.

I would like to have a good relationship with my younger cousins, but it's very difficult. I was really excited about this summer, when I had the opportunity to drive through the state where some of them live (most awkward attempt to talk around that ever) and stay with them. I had hoped that I was able to leave a positive impression and set a good example for my cousins. I talked with my Aunt and Uncle and was grateful for their hospitality and their generosity.

The base of the problem here is that I wouldn't be so upset if I didn't genuinely care. These people are my family, and just because I'm now mostly estranged from my father (for my own personal sanity), I don't understand why I've been shut out as well.

When I was a teenager, and just starting to have problems with my dad, I spent nearly every weekend at [redacted]'s house. She really saved me, and those are some really nice memories. We would go get our toes done, or we'd cook dinner, or we'd run errands together. I cherish those times and am eternally grateful to have had somewhere else to go when things weren't great. She never said anything about it, but I respect her for understanding that I needed somewhere to go.

When we didn't have any furniture or good sheets, she took me out and we bought flannel sheets, a comforter, and a rug for Christmas one year. I still have all of that (except the comforter). I still remember how excited I was to decorate my rom.

That same year, in what I now know was an attempt to pull my struggling self-esteem up, she and Aunt [redacted] took me to buy makeup. Oh my g-d, I still have dreams about that stuff. I was so genuinely happy. And I am still genuinely grateful. I love my Mom but she's not great at super girly stuff that like, and I really looked up to Aunt [redacted] because to me, she was epitome of what a woman should be. She was funny, smart, happy. I wanted all of that, too.

But now I realize that I'm not exactly like them. I have literally been racking my brain for months (years, really) to try and figure out what it is about me that doesn't jive.

I honestly don't know.

I think it's that sometimes I forget to send out thank you notes. I really do write them. Every time I move, I find a bunch of thank you notes that have been addressed, sealed, the whole works, just not sent. I'm sorry about that.

Or maybe it's that I don't send enough gifts. I want to blame Dad on this one, but here I am trying to assert my independence, so obviously that's not going to work. I'll try harder.

Or maybe it's that I'm not Catholic. But I went to Catholic grade schools, a Catholic high school, a Catholic university. I graduated. I did what they wanted. I'm not a heathen, I'm just not a Christian. But I don't tell their kids that. I answer their questions honestly but sometimes I do lie just to protect their upbringings. I know Catholicism in and out. I'm good.

Once, when I was like fifteen, Uncle [redacted] and Aunt [redacted] found a lighter at their house. At that time, I had just become a black-cotton-clad child and was expressing my inner rage, so naturally, they thought it was mine. I denied it, because it wasn't. I later found out it belonged to [redacted] but he was too scared to say anything. Maybe that was where it all started to go wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't lie.

I don't lie. I don't cheat. I don't steal.

(That's my life philosophy. It's not that hard to do, really. I feel like aiming for those goals is good. From there, you can expand yourself into the best person you can be.)

Anyway, those are my theories. I'm sorry my father is a nut. It's not all his fault. It's the [redacted] syndrome. It affects him socially. Granted, even after the mitigating circumstances, he's still a lot to handle, but a lot of that is also generated when the people who are supposed to love him unconditionally get irritated. (I'm guilty of being the ultimate hypocrite here, I realize that. But seriously, if there's a group, four hours doesn't seem so bad, does it? I manage dinners, coffees, whatever. It's not going to kill you.)

I'm not invited to Easter, go figure.

Let's just all be estranged and call it good.

I will at least say that my mom's side of the family is always willing to rearrange things for us as necessary. And sometimes they even go out of their way to see us. It's nice. I know that if I call Aunt [redacted] for something, a favor, or a plan, or an activity, she'll respond. In a timely manner. Who'd have thought?

I guess it comes down to this: you can't choose your family (even when you're adopted), but you can choose to interact for the better or the worst. Some people love me for who I am, even if I'm not following their idea of the perfect life path. Some don't, I guess. It hurts. I'm not good at conflict; I'm not good at trying to figure out why I don't belong. But I guess this is a chance for me to get better at it.

Ugh, Easter. People wonder why I get so agitated around the holiday season. Wouldn't you?

Money is the root of all evil

There are days when I realize how much I really love my mom and how great a job she did raising me.
Ha, I realize that sounded a little funny, because I'm not some high-paid executive with a bright future. I'm just her daughter, the one that has all the weird issues, who lives in Chicago, who finally has a nice boyfriend, who believes in karma, whose car got smashed, who loves her life, who is going through so much weird trouble it's insane, who can't imagine what she's going to do after college, who's considering grad school, who loves her mother so much.

I sat on the phone with her for like an hour and a half today, just talking about life and everything in it. Talking about Hunter, our future, his future, my future, our relationship, Emily, the money issue, values, belief systems, life, school, the Dominick's/Safeway regional manager, rent, money, etc. It's hot today here, hot like I've not felt all summer.

Also, in relatively lame news, I may have been exposed to Hepatitis C when I was in the hospital in January for surgery. How fail is that? Some crazy nurse lady was stealing painkillers, injecting them into herself and then leaving the dirty syringes filled with saline for the patients. So I received a certified letter informing me of my possible exposure and then they told me they'd like to test me. Great. Love getting tested for Hep C. It's going to be awesome.
Good news though: out of the 5700 people possibly exposed, only like 7 have it. So hopefully I won't be number 8.


Ah, money, the thing we can't live without. The thing that drives us and drives us nuts.
Hunter is stressed out right now, and I don't blame him. He's hoping to get a second job at Starbucks (free coffee and health benefits!), so that should be nice.
I'm hoping to survive summer school. I've got a small part in an independent film shooting in August and I'm helping one of my professors cast a movie this next week.

Busy enough.

The Dominicks/Safeway regional manager called me today. He apologized, listened to me tell him that I was treated like a criminal, explained the policy (which is absolutely moronic, in my very valid opinion), I told him I understood the policy, but questioned its implementation. This exchange went on for quite awhile. In the end, I got a sort of apology, the promise that the store manager will be hearing from him personally, etc. etc. I told him not to get the workers in trouble, but that it was the manager and his female goon that embarrassed me and hurt my opinion of the integrity of the store. So you know, we evened out. Whatever. At least my emails got the attention of the regional manager. I feel a little bit better about that.

Well, a nice summer party tonight. Emily is out of town, so I'm heading down to South Michigan Ave to a friend's, where we will all hang out.

Good day.