three months in

Today marks 3 months since I packed up my life and my cat and moved away from home.

I had to say goodbye to my friends; my family; my home. My life.

It marks three months since I struck out on my own. Three months since I got my first little apartment.

... and made it my own little temporary home away from home. With bright yellow curtains, birds of all shapes and sizes, vintage maps, and things I've picked up from around the world.

And of course, precious reminders of home.

Today marks 3 months since this smalltown girl felt her heart drop at the skyline of the big city.

I wish that I could say that it's been an amazing three months.

I cannot say that.

However. I can say that it's been a learning experience. A growing experience. A crash-course in adulthood, that is for sure.

And a crash-course in homesickness.

I've had to learn how to run a household. How to navigate big city living and traffic. How to balance school + work + a household. How to keep myself and my cat alive. How to quell my homesickness (well, that one I'm still working on).

I cant say that 3 months has changed me. It's made me grow, learn, experience. It's made me become more independent. Maybe 3 months in the big city has even hardened me a bit.

But what I can say without absolute certainity? The one thing I've learned in 3 months:

There's no place like home.

the one where my life turns into an episode of friends

Except not as funny.

One of my favorite episodes of Friends is the one where Ross buys a couch but it does not fit up the stairs of his apartment complex. Even over the weekend, when we started to load my belongings onto the truck, we would keep saying "pivot!" and laughing hysterically.

Saturday, when I arrived at my apartment complex, things started to go downhill. And the continued on that downhill slope for the rest of the day. No one ever said moving was suppose to be fun (or easy) and alas, it was not.

All day, we had waited on my couch to arrive so that we'd actually have something to sit on. Because aside from my bed, I did not have a stick of furniture to my name. We were using boxes as chairs by 6:30.

Finally, however, the delivery men arrived! We sang a chorus of hallelujah and welcomed them in. Only after building them a bridge to get to the stairs since it had been raining buckets all day and my apartment was suddenly lake front property.

With the rain still falling, they carried my couch up the stairs and (halfway) into the apartment. However, the angle of my entryway and hallway leading to the living room are a bit awkward. The ceilings are, of course, lower there than anywhere else in the apartment.

So with many attempts, many different angles, and one broken light fixture, they declared that it simply would not fit.

At this point, my step-dad and uncle stepped in, trying to help the two delivery men. They tried countless more angles to move the couch inside. To no avail, however.

My step-dad then decided that if they took the front door completely off (!!!) that it surely would fit. So, they took my front door off its hinges and tried again.

But alas, it still would not fit.

This is the point at which I broke down and cried. I got my couch for a killer deal and did not want to have to go pick out a new one and probably spend more money. Then have to go through this all over again.

The men had one more idea, though. They would simply bring the couch through the back balcony doors.

One problem: I live on the second floor.

The men took the couch around back (which had turned into a lake, too) and with two men at the bottom and two men on the balcony, they heaved the couch onto the balcony and through the balcony doors. And finally, safely into my living room.

I would have taken pictures of the ordeal if I had been present to watch it all unfold. I couldn't bring myself to watch, however, and instead stayed in my bedroom to cry.

Now, the apartment comes complete with a lovely sofa because it is never moving from this spot.

the end

"Are you excited?"

I get this question every time I tell some goodbye or tell them I'm moving. The answer is always a resounding no.

Because, the thing is, I'm not excited. I don't want to move. I know it's in my best interest (eventually, at least) to move and go to graduate school. I need to strike out on my own once and for all. Even if it's only for a brief (17 months - who's counting, though?) period in time.

I can only hope this makes me better. Braver and more independent.

It just doesn't seem like a good thing when I'm forced to say goodbye to everyone I know and love. To say farewell to the town I've come to love and know; the town I've come to call home.

However, I'm often reminded that sometimes the hardest things are the best things. That if it wasn't hard, it wouldn't be worthwhile. I just hope that this is the case for me.

It also gives me some sort of comfort that I know that not all of these goodbyes are forever. Those I love the most will not just fade out of my life. The strongest will remain by my side (even if it takes them 3.5 hours to get there) and that gives me hope for the future. Faith in the future.

I haven't even shed a tear yet.

Promising, I think. Because, logically and realistically, I do know that I will come back. This will be my home again.

a fond farewell

With only one week left to go until I am among the unemployed, coworkers, friends, and guests gathered together at one of my favorite local spots to bid me farewell.

We ate. We drank (a lot). We laughed. We reminisced. We talked - about the future, the present, the past, and everything in between. And we laughed and drank some more.

Honestly, there is nothing better than all of the above. Pure perfection.

And all of that was shared with great people who I've come to know, love, admire, respect in the past 3.5 years of my life.

There was this girl. Who is not only my coworker, she is first and foremost my best friend. And while we met in high school (through our mutual best friend) it wasn't until she started working with me that we became the best of friends.

We are often confused for each other. People come up to me often and mistake me for her. I stare blankly at them while they talk about something we've never discussed before. They are amazed at my long hours on the job (16 in total if we work different shifts the same day). Though, most of the time this works in my favor as she is wonderful, sweet, and amazing. And it doesn't hurt the ego to be compared to someone who you think is absolutely gorgeous.

If we're not confused for the same person, we usually come away with sisters or twins. We think we look nothing alike. And we act even more differently. We are polar opposites and yet, somehow, we've overcome all of those differences, and become best friends.

I will miss her like nothing else.

All in all, I'd say it was a successful night. Full of food and drink and laughter and friends. And yet another reminder of how damn much I am going to miss all of these wonderful people who have graced my life in the past few years. They have become permanent, daily fixtures in my landscape and it's going to be hard to part with them.

Even harder not to have them be a part of my every day life. I've grown so accustomed to seeing their faces and hearing their laughs and expecting them at my side, that to not have that anymore will certainly be a hardship.

And so, I learned how much brighter my life has been with all of them in it.

I learned how much I have to come to expect and appreciate their lives being a part of mine.

I learned how much I am going to miss each and every one of them.

And I learned that after 3 electric lemonades, your tongue will turn blue.

making a list, checking it twice

I may have previously admitted that I have a somewhat obsessive personality. I'm relatively laid-back, so it's hard to admit to my Type A, perfectionist tendencies, however, one of my greatest pleasures in life just might be crossing things off my to-do lists.

And boy oh boy, the to-do list for this move seems to be growing rather than shortening. Over 2/3 of the items on the list have been crossed off, but what remains seems to be rather daunting. Packing is probably the worst item that remains. I did not realize that I had so much junk.

The only things I have packed so far are books (5 boxes!) and clothes/shoes. It's hard to pack clothes when one isn't sure what one will need in the next week and a half to wear. Especially when one is planning on going out to dinner multiple times and a couple of going away parties. And when that person happens to be the most indecisive dresser known to mankind.

While a lot of the tedious tasks on the lists have been crossed off, namely calling people to schedule pretty much everything off, I'm still daunted by the list that remains. Shopping, packing, confirming, etc.

I suppose no one ever said moving was suppose to be fun. I just didn't expect it to suck so damn much.

It makes it much harder that I only have a week and a half less but in the 11 days that are left until D-Day, I'm working 8 of 'em.

Slowly, but surely, the list will be completed in the next 11 days. Packing all my crap included, no matter how boring or time-consuming.

But I'd so much rather be planning dinner's out with my friends and family. Crossing off all of the goodbyes I'm meant to say in the next 11 days to those I love most.

Tomorrow starts the first round with my boss throwing me a going away party.

I'm thankful that electric lemonades will be plentiful to console my bruised heart and fraying nerves.

the first of many

Today, I said my first of many goodbyes. With little more than two weeks remaining to the move, goodbye's are inevitable. But no one can ever really comprehend just how hard they are until you're living through them.

And I suck at goodbyes. I draw them out. I make them longer than they need to be. I talk more, talk faster. I linger.

By some miracle of miracles, I was able to get in today to get my hair cut, even though I had only called yesterday. My hair has been in a ponytail every day for the past 2 months. It's at a horrible length with no real style. So, it was in desperate need.

So, I know, big deal, you just said goodbye to your hair dresser. But she's the hair dresser I've been going to since I started 6th grade. And now, here I am, years later, and I'm still seeing her, right before I start graduate school. I told her today that I would come home specifically to have her cut my hair - no one else will ever do.

I love her because 1) she's awesome at what she does 2) she is the sweetest person in the world 3) she loves to travel and talk about it in turn 4) she gossips 5) she listens well 6) I trust her 7) she's cheaper than therapy.

In preparation for the rest of the goodbyes I'm destined to say in the next two weeks, I lingered over this goodbye to her. This sweet, good, wonderful woman who's been in my life for these past however many years. Who's seen me through hairstyles - long, short, somewhere in the middle. And all of life's milestones in between those.

I will miss her.

And it really sucked saying goodbye to her.

Just like it's really going to suck saying goodbye to all of the rest of the people who have touched my life, no matter how big or how small.

Goodbye's are never easy. But I don't know that they're meant to be this hard.

*above photo: august 2008

my hair will never look

like that again.

this winding road

"If you don't know where you're going, any road will get you there."

Lewis Carroll

In the midst of all of this stress, this is the quote that provides this perfectionist with a modicum of comfort. Even if I have no idea where it is I'm going or where it is I hope to end up, it does not matter which road I take, which choices I make (or don't) I'll end up there.

Eventually.

I hope.

But for now, in the midst of all of this amazing stress that has been tacked on in one day, less than 12 hours, actually, I'm going to hold on tightly to the belief that in the end, I'll get to where I need to go. No matter the road I take to get there.

*photo taken august, 2008

mykonos, greece.

sinking

As I stood in my boss' office one evening last week it began to sink in that I really am moving away in four-ish weeks.

He sat at his desk, going over my paycheck trying to figure out just what kind of 401K I have so that I would know what kind of IRA I needed to roll it over into and I stood behind him, silently freaking out that moments such as these were quickly coming to an end.

And I was thinking just how damn much I would miss the man in front of me when I move.

I realize that to most it's an odd thing for me to say that I will miss my boss. But, for me, he will be one of the people I miss the most when I move. He's been a permanent, present fixture in my life for the past 3.5 years and it's going to be hard to give that up.

Honestly, we clash on most things. He's a conservative, I'm a liberal (a wacko liberal as he so lovingly calls). He likes plaid, I like polka dots. He prefers decaf, I prefer regular.

Even in our similarities we often butt heads. He's ridiculously stubborn, as am I. He's overly sarcastic and I am as well.

And yet, somehow, through all of those things that should potentially keep us from getting along, I have found in him a good friend and a mentor. It is his advice I value most (except on politics, of course). I go to him when I'm in crisis. I go to him when I'm in need of a financial advisor. I go to him just when I need to chat or need someone to relay my latest crazy dream or encounter to.

I know I drive him endlessly crazy. He does the same to me in return. But I honestly cannot imagine these past 3.5 years of my life without him. Or where, exactly, I would be if I hadn't waltzed right into his life.

It is in large part thanks to him that I have a relationship with my father. I have him to credit for my confidence to pursue a maters in nonprofit management. He also gives me the best financial advice and spurs on my love of travel with his own passion.

He makes me more confident, more adventurous, smarter, more courageous, less apt to be so extreme. In short, he makes me better.

So, yes, I will miss my boss. I will miss him thinking I am a crazy, left-winged liberal and telling me how horrible Obama is. I will miss his sarcastic remarks. I will miss the way he laughs at practically everything I say and holds me to a higher standard.

But most of all, I will just miss him.

*above photo was taken in 2006.

during cocktails on the veranda.

where i was forced to dance.

to 'at last' by etta james.

'twas a wonderful night.

skipping down memory lane

I've been feeling rather nostalgic.

As I move closer towards a huge life change, I've been craving the past. Not just one moment in time when life was good and happy and seemed as it would stretch on that way forever, but for all of those little, happy moments that have made up my past. Each and every one I wish to relive and savor.

I realize that I'm romanticising the past. There were probably more downs than ups, but as you move forward, you forget the bad and hold onto the good. There have been many years of my life that have just plain sucked, but there have been moments sprinkled in there that have made everything worth it. Every single bad memory has been made up by the good.

It's in those good memories that I'm reminiscing over lately. It's much easier to remember those good than look forward to the unknown.

I do not do well with change. I am a creature of habit. I dread change. I fight it kicking and screaming. I'd do just about anything within my power to make sure everything stays exactly as it is.

But, I realize change is inevitable. It's a part of life. And so, I have to move forward. I have to make this change to better myself.

It just sucks.

I have moved once before. 10 years ago. 2000 some miles from north to south. In the middle of 6th grade and it was, by far, the hardest thing I have ever done.

I had lived my life with the same people since I was 4 years old. Gone through every milestone with them until then and leaving them behind was hard. Beyond hard. It truly is like leaving a piece of yourself behind.

So, I'm trying to relive those moments spent with them. Laying in the grass on summer days, trying to come up with something else to do. Crossing all the railroad bridges with them by my side. Biking all over creation. Running through sprinklers and careening down slip 'n' slides. Eating cherries off the tree in the neighbor's backyard. Dancing around streetlamps at night. Starting the first day of school with them to hold me down. Crying with them in the rain the morning I moved away.

Those sweet, hopeful memories of girls I loved as my own sisters. It's easy to savor them all - to want to go back in time and soak up their laughs, the smells, the heat of summer and the feel of prickly grass.

When I moved here, I never thought this would become my home. But slowly, over many years, it did become my home. It became the place I loved with people I loved even more.

The people are what makes the place - the friends.

The friends I have made here have become my family. Their families have become my family.

And they are what I will remember when I move away. I'll yearn for the days of skipping school. Sleepovers and drives to find Old Man Hawkins at 4 am. Laughing and dreaming. Parties (especially surprise birthday parties - see above) and dinners out. I'll miss it all.

I already do.

it's in the little things

It goes without saying that when I move in less than 6 weeks I will miss my friends, my family, my work, my town. But as time ticks closer to moving day, I'm beginning to realize all of the small things that make up the life that I love here and just how hard it is going to be to say goodbye to all of those simple, small, mundane things. While seemingly insignificant those are the things that carve out my life here.

The things I will miss more than words can say.

It's easy to focus on the fact that I will miss being 15 minutes away from my best friend who, at the drop of a hat, will bring me medicine for my killer migraine. That's a given.

But, I will also miss going into my local Subway and knowing that I don't have to say a word, they already know my order. It'll be a hardship not to know the people behind the counter, who poke fun of me for said order and always chat business with me.

I'm moving to a town where I've only been twice, probably for a collective 3 hours spread over those two visits. Where everything is (oddly) painted the same color and I don't know where a dang thing is. I'll have to learn my surroundings. Find a local Target, grocery store, everything. And while all of that is obviously to be expected when you move to a new town, it's going to be hard not to see the same people. It's going to be hard not to go to Publix for my donut fix and hope that the girl at the bakery doesn't recognize me. Even though she does every single time but pretends not to notice my addiction.

In 6 weeks, I will be unemployed and despite how much I complain about my job and am so ridiculously tired of working 6-day weeks, I am going to miss my work. My coworkers and my bosses. I've spent the past 3.5 years there. 4 birthdays and 3 years of college.

Obviously, after you've spent 3.5 years some place, it's going to be hard to leave it all behind. I know that. It's just that I've come to realize how hard it'll be to do without the little things at work: the familiar handwriting of my coworkers; Honeynut Cheerios every morning; hotel pens with caps on them; impromptu chats (sometimes political debates) with my boss; the click of my name tag; the swivel of my chair; the faceless voices of all of the other front desk clerks I talk to on a daily basis.

And there's so much more. There are bigger things, of course, and much smaller, so that's only a sampling of all those little things that have been weighing on my mind recently about what, exactly, I'm leaving behind in 6 weeks.

I feel as though it's taken me 10 years to create this life. In a city I love, surrounded by people and places I adore. While the people will stick with me, those sweet, small things will slowly fade away into the noise of my history and wont carry me through. But they have, in their own simple and unique ways, created the life I have led here and though I know I'll probably forget the girl from the bakery at Publix or the scrawl of a coworker, I will not forgot the feeling of how all of these things have created a life for me.

They have created a home.

what happens once you find your first apartment

It seems as though most things in my life become an ordeal.

This whole apartment thing seems to be no different. I think I just happen to me a magnet for this type of thing. I wish I would attract something better than silly mishaps and confusion. Say, cute boys? But alas, ordeals are what always seem to find me.

I thought that finding the apartment would be the hard part.

But, no. That actually seemed pretty easy. That should have been my first clue that what followed would not be so easy.

It's everything that's come after it that seems to be the difficult part.

The following is everything that happens after you get approved for that first apartment. [warning: it ain't pretty!]

Tuesday

I called to check on my application, since I mailed it off to them rather than drive 3.5 hours just to drop it off.

Apartment lady says: "oh, you're approved."

Then apartment lady proceeds to tell me that due to the summer special they were running, apartments are going fast and in order to secure one, I need to put down a deposit and fast. Especially since I am difficult and absolutely must have an apartment on the second floor.

Problem? I was leaving for Georgia on Wednesday (the next day). I tell apartment lady that I can come Saturday to look at the apartment I'll be getting and put down the deposit.

After about a dozen calls to and from the apartment on Tuesday, including talking to the manager, it's decided that I can come on Friday and pick out an apartment. And they'll try to find me one on the second floor. I was also warned that these apartments are not in showing condition, but they'll make an exception for me.

Saturday

Suckered my mother into coming with me. Even though we'd spent the last 3 days in the car, including 8+ hour drives to Georgia.

We drove 3 hours to the other coast, missing exactly one toll booth (which resulted in me sending a check for ONE dollar to the toll booth people instead of a $100 fine) and arrived in record time, just after they opened.

Meet with frazzled, hair-brained apartment complex lady. This lady was a mess. An absolute mess.

Apartment lady shows me a giant map of the apartment complex and tells me to pick which building I'd like to live in. I pick one. Second floor, corner unit. Sounds perfect!

We go to look at the building. The apartment? Not on the second floor. She discovers one in that building that is on the second floor, so we go to look at it. It's not a corner unit, but center. I can deal with that. It has brand new carpet, it's getting a new fridge. Works for me!

After returning to the office, she is surprised to find that apartment is already taken. Shucks!

She sends my mother and I out to choose between two other buildings, both with center units on the second floor.

When we get back, we're left with only one choice. One of two apartments is on the first floor. Go figure.

We go to look at this apartment with apartment lady. It is an absolute, disgusting mess. I was warned beforehand that this would be the case and I'd like to believe I have a pretty high tolerance for things as this. But this was just awful.

I can see past that all, though. I can see past the dirty linoleum. The filthy kitchen. The dusty light fixtures. All of it.

Only.

I cant see past the absolutely disgusting carpet which apartment lady isn't sure is going to be replaced. I mean, I could get over the stains and the snags with a few area rugs and a runner (hello bird runner at Pottery Barn!) But what I cannot get over is the way the air conditioner leaks water right onto the carpet. Into one big, sloppy puddle in the hall.

That just wont do.

But. I don't have any other options. If I want an apartment and I want to live on the second floor (safety reasons, you understand. I'm a single, young female), then it's this apartment.

I give apartment lady my deposit. Pray that she doesn't lose it. And am assured with promises that she'll talk to the maintenance manager about replacing the carpet and call me back as soon as she hears from him.

Thursday

Still no word from apartment lady about the carpet.

I cannot stand the anticipation any longer and call the apartment myself.

Different lady answers the phone. I ask about the carpet. She tells me to hold. Comes back, tells me that yes, they are replacing the carpet.

Yes! New carpet. New linoleum. New fridge. New microwave.

Perfect.

Only. New apartment lady asks me what old apartment lady told me the rent was.

I tell her. She hesitates. I start to freak.

She says she'll look into it and call me back. It's 20 minutes to closing time for their office.

She never calls me back.

I go on a killer run to try not to freak out and have a heart attack. The new rent is $125 more than the discounted rate I was told. There's nothing like getting your first apartment on sale.

The run doesn't do the trick. I make cookie dough. Make 6-ish cookies and eat the dough.

Continue to freak out.

Friday

11:30am and still no word from the apartment. I call them myself, prepared to fight tooth and nail to get the discounted rent.

New apartment lady answers. I remind her who I am. She puts me on hold to get my file. Comes back and tells me that yes, I am getting the discounted rate.

I tell her thanks for giving me a freaking heart attack and causing me to eat cookie dough; I'll see you in August.

*Above photo taken on the way up Mount Vesuvius. Really, if I think working out all the kinks for this apartment is hard, I should just remember trying to climb up a volcano.

how to find your first apartment: part 2

Step 1: Find an apartment that looks too good to be true.

Step 2: Call the too-good-to-be true apartment and discover that it might not be too good to be true after all. Hallelujah.

Step 3: Sucker one of your best friends into going on an impromptu road trip with you the very next day.

Step 4: Drive 3.5 hours (plus 3 stops for food, gas, and a drink) across the entire state. Paying no less than $5 in tolls. And believe that the $2.50 to get onto Alligator Alley was definitely not worth the price of admission.

Step 5: Drive in the pouring rain at times.

Step 6: Get lost only one time. Pay .50 to get back onto the interstate.

Step 7: Thank your lucky stars that you suckered one of your best friends into coming with you or your less than stellar sense of direction would have gotten you even more lost.

Step 8: Tour the apartment.

Step 9: Picture all of your furniture and decorations that you've been collecting over the past few months in the space of the apartment.

Step 10: Think it'll all look pretty damn fabulous in the space.

Step 11: Picture yourself cooking... um... ordering takeout in the lovely kitchen.

Step 11: Ask if they accept neurotic, 3 pound tabby cats. Only, you leave out the neurotic bit.

Step 12: They do! Hallelujah.

Step 13: Congratulations, you've found the place you'll be living in 9 weeks.

Step 14: Drive 3.5 hours back home, getting lost only shortly while you try to find food but discover everything is painted the same color. Odd.

Step 15: Get back home.

Step 16: Realize that you have to move in only 9 weeks.

Step 17: Cry.

how to find your first apartment (in a city you've never been to)

Step 1: Search the entire internet for apartments (apartments.com, rent.com, forrent.com, apartmentguide.com and every website in between).

Step 2: Turn to the local (online) newspaper to expand your search options.

Step 3: Have your mom's coworker in another office (in the city you've moving to) overnight you the Sunday paper so that you can look for apartments in print.

Step 4: Call the apartments you've found that are semi-reasonable.

Step 5: Be told that the rent is at least $200 more than advertised on the websites/newspaper on every apartment you call. Oh, and they wont even accept your 3 pound tabby cat, despite the fact that they do not even know yet how neurotic she actually is, for being 3 pounds and all.

Step 6: Cry.

Step 7: Swear you're not even going to move since you cannot afford it.

Step 8: Discover that your mom's coworker has a friend in the area you're moving to.

Step 9: E-mail sweet, helpful friend of a friend of a friend.

Step 10: Receive lots of helpful advice on which area to concentrate your efforts and even an offer to help show you around when you actually come to said city for a visit.

Step 11: Once again search the entire internet for apartments in said specific area the friend of a friend of a friend suggested.

Step 12: Realize you cannot afford any apartments in the area.

Step 13: Repeat steps 6 & 7.

Step 14: Actually discover a cute, affordable apartment in the cute area suggested to your by the friend of a friend of a friend. It will even accept your cute little 3 pound tabby cat.

Step 15: Get your hopes up.

Step 16: Are told, once again, that the rent is $200 more than you expected to pay.

Step 17: Repeat steps 6 & 7.

Step 18: Search, search, search some more.