To Grandmother's House We Go

Whenever I drive away from The Beach and head back to The Ranch there are roughly 3 or more stops that need to happen or else….my world implodes? People will be sad? Not sure, but those stops had better happen or else!

One of those stops absolutely has to be my grandmother’s house.

Now, first of all, I will always refer to her as my grandmother, never my grandma. What is the difference, you ask? In my opinion there is a class difference between the two titles. The word grandmother will forever be classier in my mind. Secondly, she is one of my all-time favorite people. She is one of the most innocent, naïve, classically sweet old ladies I’ve ever known and she just happens to be related to me! I’m a lucky girl. And I mean that relationally and physically, as I could’ve easily been in yet another car accident the other night when I stupidly let her drive us to dinner. In the dark.

I made a comment at the first stop sign about how I bet she never would’ve thought she’d still be driving at 90 years old. Her response: “I didn’t think I’d make it to 90!” That should’ve been my first clue that she is, in fact, fearless when it comes to driving no matter who may be along for the ride, because death is probably a welcome relief from carting around a 90 year old body.

A few blocks later she told me that she doesn’t drive at night anymore. And I’m pretty sure I saw a twinkle in her eye and a smirk on her face. I was starting to get the feeling that my mom and her sister have requested that she not do any night driving and my telling her we couldn’t take my overloaded car just gave her the green light to run wild through the streets at the dark hour of 6pm.




Oh. Shit.

Soon after, we had rounded a corner and I knew we were almost to the restaurant. Piece of cake, right? Wrong. What should be an easy drive down a straight street apparently looked like an obstacle course to this little lady who drives while looking through the steering wheel. We were almost to the end of the street when I couldn’t help myself any longer. My sweaty palms were begging me to say something about how close we were to all the cars on my side of the street.

Me: “So…uh…we got pretty close to that truck back there.”
Her: “Yep, but we didn’t hit it!”

I sat the rest of the way speechless. What else could I say? That darling little 90 year old had a point. Why be scared of what could have been when it didn’t actually happen. There is so much wisdom I have yet to learn from that woman. My all-time favorite person.

Wanderlust Strikes Again.

Wanderlust/ˈwändərˌləst/ : A desire to travel to understand one's very existence.

So, for the millionth time I find myself pausing at a fork in the road. Once again, I have to make a decision between awesome and amazing as I begin planning for the chasing of my future self through Europe.

Boohoo. Poor me, right?

The question du jour: Do I put my life in storage again for a couple months and travel around Europe? Or do I try to find an affordable place to live at The Beach, which is like trying to find a needle in a haystack the size of Texas, so that I have a place to come back to? It's not a super tough decision, it's just a quandary. Which is the smarter move for this City Girl? Hmm.

Italy

So, I've been saying for months now that I want to go to Italy for my birthday. I'm turning a rather pinnacle age this year and refuse to turn said age in a ho-hum city. I want to be somewhere exciting doing exciting things!

Now, I've been reeeeally good lately and have turned down some very fun adventures and put off the new tattoo all for the sake of having enough money to get my patooty to Italy by September. So far, so good. I might be squeaking by, but I think I'll just make it!

There's no place like home.

I drove myself back to The Beach yesterday. I've been staying with good friends since I got here and waiting for "the feeling" to hit me. The feeling that tells me I'm home. The feeling that makes everything all right, perfect. It hasn't yet. If anything, driving around this place kind of feels like visiting my old high school haunts...or something along those lines. Every street corner is so familiar and crowded with memories, but clearly feels like a place from my past.

After 6 or so hours of driving yesterday I did something I never do. I turned off the radio and drove the last hour in silence. It was beautiful. A perfect hour of peace that surrounded me and filled up all the spaces of my car. I had had ideas pass through my mind all day, or rather day dreams, but in that last hour I thought clear, concise thoughts. Thoughts that mattered. Thoughts that meant something to me then and even now, today.

I realized before I even reached The Beach that no matter where I land next it won't feel like home. At least not right away. The road has become my home. The airport is my living room and hallway. Random couches and hotels have become my bedroom. My life fits best into a 22" x 14" piece of luggage. Wanderlust has become my lifestyle.

Somethin' from Nothin'

Secondary title: One more time with feeling(s)!

I'm in New Mexico this year for Thanksgiving which is a far cry from Disneyland-my usual stop for this time of year. And while I wanted to be in Disneyland this year (like all the years before) I'm so glad I'm not. Since I got here I've been showered with praise from some of my very best good friends and I needed it oh-so-much! Although, I didn't realize just how badly I was in need of a boost.

Since losing the job I've had for the past 3 years, I've decided to stop trying to work for someone else. At some point it's not going to work out. Either they will let me go, because the economy will shift and people will stop advertising or I will once again long to be my own boss. In fact, I find that to be the reason more often than Scenario A. I love being my own boss so much that I end up scrutinizing how my bosses runs their businesses and how it can be done better.

So, when one more part of my life seemed to crumble away this month all I had to look forward to was a few projects from my own clients and one last adventure in the southwest. And let me tell you a little something about the southwest: it's the most visually barren and depressing place I've ever visited. It's also the only place I visited this year where I've laughed and felt so much joy and thankfulness every single day. Ironically, as my friend pointed out while I was here, I just traveled to a whole lotta nothin' to get a whole bunch of somethin'.

Hair Evolution

This year has been a big one for changes. Seems to be the common thread throughout all my days of 2010. I witnessed life being brought into this world, a handful of deaths of people who were family to me during my growing up years (as if those were actually over...), gallivanted around this country like I was on tour, made new friends, broke up relationships, dated various boys in various cities, learned things about myself (some things I liked, some I did not) and changed my hairstyle more times than Hillary Clinton.

The starting point.

I realized something the other day as I posted an album on facebook about my hair evolution: My hair has been my one thing I could control this year. The only thing, really. In a time when nothing is as it seems and everything around me changes in the blink of an eye, I've had nothing to hold onto. Every last thing I thought was predictable or under my control performed a circus act before my very eyes and contorted into something unrecognizable, unfamiliar.

New hair cut, take one.

So, what's a girl to do when her life has been glued to the ceiling and nothing is grounded? Well, this girl cut her hair. That's it. That was my big "I'll show you!" move. I cut my hair. And then dyed it. And then chemically straightened it. And then cut it again. There was some rhyme and reason to the first cutting. (I donated about 8 inches of my hair to Locks of Love in honor of one of the lives lost this year.) But after that, there was no semblance of common sense or thought put into the other actions. I only knew that I was determined–determined to do whatever the hell I wanted with what little bit of belongings I had with me at all times.

New hair cut, take two.

My hair currently looks like the edgier version of Julia Styles' haircut in the first Bourne movie. I'm happy with it. For now, anyway. And I like how with each new haircut I've either learned something or taken back a piece of myself that I didn't know was missing. This year has been a strange one, to say the least, and it's not over yet! There's still a solid 6 inches of my hair left. So, stay tuned.

Right or Left? Up or Down?

I've never been more confused in my whole life.

A plethora of cities, a mish-mash of dates (some amazing, some not), and then trying to picture myself living in a new city with new friends and old. I'm baffled. There's no other way to say it. I don't know what to do next or where to go. Having all these options (really fun options) just makes my head spin.

I can have any adventure that I want. Which one do I choose?

Happy Birthday to me!

So many new things learned. So many ideas had. So many days passed, but not forgotten. So many random coincidences and I have nothing to say. For once. I have nothing noteworthy to post.

I am in The Longhorn State this week and enjoying some much needed laughs with an old friend. I love this girl! She is funny, interesting, intelligent and one of the best people I know. I've had a hard time trying to decide what to do tomorrow. Tomorrow is, after all, a big birthday. The beginning of the last year of my twenties. No pressure here, but I think in about a year's time I'm supposed be wiser and more grown up.

I wouldn't put money on that.

In any case, I decided that I don't care what I do tomorrow. Aside from not having any preference of what happens this year, I just don't care. All I really want to do is have fun with my friend. If she is there then my birthday will be great. I just know it.

It's my birthday, I do what I want!

I have a birthday coming up in a couple weeks. I can't decide if I like birthdays or if I hate them. Either way, it gets a girl thinking. I can't help it. Every year I pull out my mental life chart: Where am I and where should I be? Am I where I thought I would be at this age? Usually the answer is no and whether I had been aware of it or not in years past, it added to my stress level.

I've decided that this year will be different. This year I will burn the mental life chart.

I will be in The Longhorn State, eating bbq and hopefully buying myself a sweet pair of boots. Boots I'll probably wear twice and laugh at every time I open my closet, but who cares! This year I will worry a lot less about what other people think I'm doing or should be doing. This year I will have fun no matter how old I am or where I live. This year I will live life the way it should be lived.

And I would appreciate it if you would hold me to that!

The plan is there is no plan.

I'm about to head out on yet another adventure in a couple weeks. This time to Texas, Massachusetts, New York and Oregon. And I'll be insanely busy while I'm out there with work to do, dates to go on, weddings to be in, and new people to meet. I'm excited to go, no argument there. I'm also curious about what will happen and with whom. I'm anticipating a few things and I'm nervous about the things I can't possibly know. And I find myself day dreaming an awful lot these days.


The question on my mind, while I housesit for a friend, has been, "Where will I find myself living next?" I noticed that it's become more of a fleeting question than a stress inducing thought. I've been poking around craigslist every now and then, looking at different rent prices in different cities. I gave the house buying scenario a shot, in hopes that buying a house would somehow sit right with me. And nothing has struck me as "the thing to do" just yet. I said it before and I'll say it again, I have never in my life been without a plandeadlinegoal.

I sort of gave myself a timeline though of when I'd like to have something figured out and/or started (October-ish), but I'm not making myself any promises. In fact, I'm not making any promises to anyone or anything these days. It's kind of nice. Having the chance to dream big and not feel like any of my choices are boxed in...it's most incredible feeling.

Best laid plans: Part Deux.

I realized today that I've left this post undone. Or rather, unfinished. The remainder of that day went something like this:

11:15am Make it to the other gate. You know, the one they didn't announce would be the actual place one would need to be in order to go home.
11:30am Get to attendant's counter to double check my confirmed seat. Am told that I don't have one. The flight is sold out and attendant is unsure why United would tell anyone they could go home. I tell attendant, fire burning in my eyes, to find me a seat.
11:31am Confirmed seat is magically found for me. Probably out of fear of being accosted.
11:45am Announcement is made that the flight is delayed due to mechanical problems. I anticipate an hour delay at least.
12:00pm Flight gets canceled. I laugh hysterically and start to resemble a state hospital patient.
12:05pm Wait for grumbling, exasperated people to clear the area and call United to rebook. Think to myself, "Those suckers are going to wait in line at customer service for hours. But not this girl! Hahahaha!" (More maniacal laughter.)
12:30pm Find myself in said line just to get my hands on a hotel voucher. Make friends with guy headed to Germany. Think he's funny. And gay.
12:45pm Discover short cut to said voucher. Make my way to the front of the airport and make sure I look pathetic, but agreeable at the ticketing counter.
12:55pm Get set up with a bitchin' hotel room for the night, warm cookies and a meal ticket to boot.
1:30pm Finally get a shower. Almost pass out from all the excitement of my current dream coming true.

The rest of the day was awesome (dinner, shopping, laughing with an old friend). And the very next day I did, in fact, make it home! It was the best feeling....Felt like I had accomplished something. Although, in reality I just showed up at another doorway and hoped it led me home.

Best laid plans.

Getting from Point A to Point B has never been so difficult. Three flights to get from The Second City back to The Country is a bit excessive by any standards, but then to delay flights, miss flights, get bumped over to stand-by status and end up spending more time in the airport than on an airplane is just plain ridiculous. Capital R. And in true City Girl form, it was a highly dramatic happening.

I have now spent 1.5 days in three different airports, run through the current airport four times (a literal run with sweat. gross.) and spent the night in a strangers bed. I think it would best be summed up with this timeline:

8:00am Knock back tea so hot it takes off the first few layers of skin in my mouth. Leave friends apt and go downtown with her to her office. Meet her boss. Mention that Long Beach State sucks. Find out it's his alma mater. (Awesome.) Come to the conclusion I will never work for this company. Don't find him funny anyway.
10:00am Hop on blue line to airport.
12:20pm Discover I have left important items at friends house. Leave The Second City and fly to Middle of Nowhere, Oklahoma. 
2:30pm Arrive in Middle of Nowhere and find out my flight is delayed another 2 hours on top of the 2 hour layover I already anticipated. No biggie. Still going home today. (Or so I think.) Also discover they are cow tipping champs. They have the shirts to prove it. Make friends with a commissioner for the AFL and his gay assistant. Find it ironic that a gay man works for the AFL.
6:40pm Land in The Centennial State, home of the Rockies, race to the gate, almost cough up a lung, and learn that I just missed my flight home. Ok. Not ideal. Not going to worry though. I have a friend who happens to be gracing the area today and call her up for a good time.
8:00pm Go out to dinner with friend and live it up! See a good chunk of the downtown area and decide that if I were to live here I would perpetually feel guilty about not being a hardcore outdoorswoman. But love the fact that everyone rides bikes and owns a dog. Decide I might come back someday for a visit.
10:00pm Run through the airport at break neck speed and see that the flight was delayed another 20 minutes. Realize I will indeed make this flight. Correction: Realize I will indeed make it to the gate in time to get on the plane.
10:13pm Arrive at gate hot, sweaty, tired while waving my ticket wildly in my hand and announce, "I made it!" Look over to see that the door is still open and I have a chance.
10:14pm Flight attendant tells me she gave my seat to a standy-by flyer. I tell flight attendant that I'm here. In case, she was talking to herself, is blind, has multiple personalities and has confused me as one of them or refuses to see me standing there in the flesh all hot, sweaty and tired.
10:15pm Flight attendant doesn't care about my appearance or physical state. Hands me a ticket for tomorrow and a discount for a hotel and sends me on my way.
10:16pm I start to lose it. Mutter an obscenity under my breath and walk away. Send out angry tweet in hopes of the CEO of United discovering a disgruntled customer.
10:40pm Get picked up by friend. Rent a movie. Notice that house is slightly cleaner than gutters in India before eyelids begin their final descent. Don't care. Fall asleep in friends bed for the night while watching said movie. (Actually, it is someone else's bed. Friend happens to be sleeping in it.)

Next Day
6:55am Roll out of bed and head for the airport. Again.
8:30am Call airline and tell them of my woes and the tragedy that had befallen me the day before.
8:40am Receive free flight voucher from airline. Twitter about how all is right with the world again.
9:40am Get told I will not make the flight home. Get sent to the other side of the airport.
10:00am Near tears, I call the airline again and negotiate my way from stand-by to a confirmed seat on the next flight home.
10:30ish am Blog about injustice.

My hair is greasy, my clothes look like they past travel-worn about ten miles ago, I'm hungry (but refuse to leave this gate for fear of losing my seat again) and need a nap in the worst way. And as luck would have it, an alarm just went off at the gate next to mine.
Terrorist alert?
Fire?
Tsunami in The Rockies?
Bring it on.

Just the facts, ma'am.

Alternative title: Know when to say uncle taxi.

Fact: I am smitten. I really do love The Second City. It has me baffled, turned around, full of genuinely nice people, clean streets, cool architecture and has me wanting more. I've had a chest cold that sounds like walking pneumonia the entire time I've been here and every day I would step outside into the heaviest, loveliest humidity I've ever experienced. It was like walking into a life-size humidifier. The only thing that would have put this city over the top was if I were to get a personal rub down with Vick's every day by Chicago's pet, John Cusack. (I guess I can let that one slide.)

Second City: You have a chest cold?
CG: Sure do. And it's the worst!
Second City: No problem! Just step outside and we'll see if we can't get rid of that hacking cough!
CG: Sweet.Thanks!
Second City: My pleasure. P.S. I think you're cute. 
CG: *blush*

I felt about this awesome all week.

Fact: I almost never take a cab when my legs will get me to my destination just fine. That is until I walked about 15 blocks in the wrong direction the other day and fell prey to the heat of The Midwest. While I appreciate the thick air opening up my lungs and making it easier for me to breathe, the sweat that accompanies that kind of weather had become unbearable the day I got lost and found myself standing in front of Wrigley Field surrounded by a sea of hot, sweaty baseball fans reeking of beer and hotdogs. I finally cried uncle taxi and flung my tired hand into the air. I probably would have hopped into a strangers car at that point if I thought they had air conditioning.

Ironically, isn't that what riding in a cab is all about?

Fact: I'm dreading going home to the land of no cabs and a lot more dirt. Sometimes I wonder if The Country is my real-life nemesis.

Fact: I have two bucket lists. One for the single life. One for life in general. The life list is about a mile long while the single life list has dwindled down to just a few things in the last year. Seeing Wrigley Field (and later seeing a Cubs game) helped to cross of an item on both lists which just made this city even more amazing in my eyes.

If this beach bunny can hack living through a real winter then I will seriously consider moving here. Stay tuned...

I spy with my little eye...

Today I saw...

Two girls flaunting unshaved legs. One guy with a neck beard that looked like a fur coat. The pavement a little bit closer after I tripped on an uneven sidewalk. One guy carrying his laptop in a child's pink backpack while riding a beach cruiser. Buildings that looked like brownstones which reminded me of New York. Rain falling in the middle of July. One guy shouting talking so loud I could hear him through my headphones. Squirrels zig zagging through busy sidewalks. The neighborhood of an ex-governor. A teenage boy skip (very uncool) through a crosswalk. A little girl scream down a sidewalk wearing a tutu and Tinkerbell shoes. A farmers market that sold more bread than vegetables. A very unflattering reflection of my windblown hair and flushed face in the store window reflections. An eclectic book cellar, full of hippies, sporting a coffee and wine bar. A manboy so tall he appeared to be on stilts. More yuppies than I could count. A group of very excited foreign exchange students noisily chattering away. An army of children in various parks playing baseball in 87 degree weather with 100% humidity. For, what I assumed to be, love of the game. A sea of runners seemingly unaware of the heat. A flirty Puerto Rican waiter who offered to share a piece of cake with me. A smile from a good friend at the end of the day.

I think I like The Second City. Almost as much as The First.

Life in The Windy City

I'm in The Second City this time and still day dreaming about living in a bustling environment, again. After a long flight and a 45 minute delay on the runway, I finally made it to my friend's apartment on the south side and have loved every minute of my last 12 hours here.

So far I've observed a few crazy differences between this city and life back home:

• They breed in bulk in The Midwest. I witnessed armies, called families here, march through the airport at heights I've only seen on TV during March Madness. 
• The weather is a mix of heat/humidity reminiscent of Florida and the snow scene from The Shining.The lack of sunshine for half the year is very apparent in the skin tones around these parts. It makes me sad for them and happy for me. I've never looked so tan!
• I finally saw The Average Girl. She is a normal size with nary a bony limb on her healthy frame. She walks around in a size 10 outfit with a content look on her face. And she boldly wears shorts, blissfully unaware that there are places in this country where women are wrapped up in diet crazes so strict they confine themselves to a painful size 2 or smaller. Not to mention, these women would never dare wear anything as revealing as shorts if they thought an ounce of cellulite could possibly peak out below the cuff. 
• There is nature in this city. It followed me here. I walked out onto the deck this morning, coffee in hand, and inadvertently disrupted a squirrel's fresco breakfast on the railing. I'm not sure who scared who the most.
• I'm pretty sure meat and potatoes is the mantra in this land. The variety of produce is quite a bit slimmer than I'm used to. Makes me wonder what people eat all the time. Casserole? 
• Prejudice still reigns supreme. I was warned last night not to ride the train off the red line. Whatever that means. All I know is that if I stray from that illusive red line I could get beaten or worse by another race. I love people. All kinds. My mind can barely comprehend this concept. I'm tempted to ride off the red line and hug a stranger. 

Much better, thanks!

Thank you Rob Hardin for this photo. Who ever you are...

Every time I hit the road (or the skies) it feels like a fresh start. A new life of sorts, new beginning. A completely different chapter in my book with the same theme throughout. I'm still me when I travel. I'm the same girl wearing heels, getting out of a cab as the one who goes running on uneven back roads in The Country. Almost feels like a double life.

When I was a kid I went through a string of fantasy careers in my head. I always thought I would be some big corporate yahoo with a giant expense account, living in a fabulous penthouse on the top floor of a fancy high rise in the city. Or maybe I would be a doctor running around the ER, wearing scrubs, saving lives. Or maybe, just maybe, I would be a spy. A double agent. Someone who leads two separate lives. One highly dangerous, one feet-draggingly normal.

I still want to be Sydney Bristow oh-so-bad!

I may not have become a spy (although, I'll never tell!), but I did get my double life. One on the road, one normal. And every time I hit the road I can't stop my mind from wandering. And I almost always come back to the same thought: Oh man...life isn't going the way I planned at all. Thank God! This is way better!

Actually, a lot of days are like this...

Last night I drove back to The Beach with a good friend. And as we drove by the water I felt as though the car got sucked back into a bubble. The bubble I used to live in. And I have never been happier to see this place. The place I never planned on leaving had it not been for my "rock solid" plans changing. Although, if I hadn't left the bubble for my double life I never would have experienced all the amazing places I've been since.

Couple days at a castle by the sea, anyone?

Thank you austindara.com for this last photo!

Can I make that house payment in Euros?

I had an enlightening conversation today that made me wonder if I should rename this blog: City Girl Takes on Yet Another Adventure.

I miss my friends from The Beach. I miss them all the time. Almost every single day. I haven't been able to put my finger on it. Until today. I had been thinking this lately: Do I still miss them, because they're so much cooler than most other people? Or maybe it's because I just haven't found the perfect set of friends up here just yet. Or is it because I just simply miss them?

The answer is: not quite. I miss them, because they are the rowdiest bunch of adventure seekers I've ever met. There's no doubt in my mind that my motley crew of friends have an insatiable desire to constantly chase adventures the world over. That's our meeting point. The one thing everyone has in common. And everybody's adventure schemes always look different, but it's still the same underlying excitement of seeing new places, meeting new people and trying new things.

Jumping into bodies of water buck-naked? Check!


Anyway, the enlightening conversation went a little something like this:

E: "A friend of mine told me the other day, 'I can't wait for you to have your own house that you can decorate and settle down in.' Not one ounce of me has ever wanted to do that."
CG: "Me either! I had someone tell me the other day how I would stop traveling when I have kids. No I won't!"
E: "Yeah, I don't think I'll ever settle down like that."
CG: "I just always figured that when I finally do have kids I'll just buy another hammock. A baby hammock...for the treehouse we'll live in. Ha!"

The reason this conversation lit up my face and entire day was because while I want to buy a house, I've been sort of dragging my feet about the whole thing and feeling somewhat bummed about the idea. Almost like I was being pressured into living in a big house all alone. I couldn't figure out why. Why wouldn't I want to take the next grown up step? What's the big deal about buying a house? (A cheap house at that!) And it hit me....I never had plans to actually live in it. Everyone else around these parts buys a house to live in it. Raise a family in it. Have dogs running around the yard. I want to buy a house so I can rent it out to weekenders from The City. I have next to no plans of actually spending day after day in between those four walls, working from home and watching daytime TV. I want a house for completely different reasons than the average bear. I want something that pays me to go on adventures.

Can I get an amen!

Penny for your thoughts.

I've had a few thoughts circling my brain lately. None of them are connected, but still circling around up there nonetheless. I figured if I got them out of my head and on this blog I might get some new ones. So, here goes:

My parents' house burned down a little over two years ago. The original plan was fairly extravagant and changed into something half it's original size by the time they had finished. All the walls were up, the roof was on and all that was left to be done was the staircase when it mysteriously went up in flames. With all the new wood, fresh paint and coats of sealer it burned to the ground in about an hour, despite the fact that it was snowing that night. To put it simply, it was sad, but no one was really heartbroken. It sucked that they were only 2 weeks away from moving into it, but other than that it was just an empty shell and something that caused headaches for the last 2 to 3 years. It was just a plan that didn't work out.

Six months later they started to rebuild. And the task of rebuilding turned out to be a joy. An unexpected blessing of sorts. They were able to build an even bigger house for almost half the cost. And now they are once again talking about how excited they are to move into this house–an even better house, a house that they love not loathe–and make it a home. And I can't help but notice how something that seemed horrific and overwhelming has turned out to be the best thing that could have happened to them. Their plans were squashed, but remolded into something more beautiful. Thinking about this gives me hope.

I've always been fascinated with the Italian lifestyle. How great would it be to live life like an Italian? I've started reading Eat, Pray, Love for the second time. I loved it the first time around. And am falling in love with this book all over again. Maybe it's because I, too, am in transition and so I can relate to almost every word on those pages. Either way, my favorite part of the book has always been the first few chapters where Elizabeth Gilbert spends four months in Rome. And it's there that she learns how to live life like it was meant to be lived–a goal I've always had, but never truly reached. My attempts at living in the here and now and enjoying life's pleasures is still an on-going process, but I can't help but wonder if I could get a better handle on this if I were living in Italy...

Slowing down, but losing patience. I've slowed down. A lot. I'm wondering when the shock and anomaly of this will be over. And in the meantime, I'm losing patience with how slow my life seems to be going. Sure, I'm still traveling around the globe (or at least the state for now) like a wild woman hoping that all this recent change will finally make its point. And as of late, my time seems to be used up, but I feel like I have almost nothing to show for it. I've always made a point before to never say this, because I think it sounds like whining. And whining is something that I have little tolerance for. But I'm breaking my rule today: I hate waiting.



If whining could be summed up in one quick movement I think it would look like this. So ridiculous.

Ever get the feeling that God is working just as hard and just as fast behind the scenes? Like He's the wizard behind the curtain, spinning wheels and pushing buttons? And that someday in the not-to-distant future the question of why all this waiting and being in limbo will be answered?

Which leads me to my last and most current thought: To travel or not to travel? I'm kind of tired of living out of my car. The suitcase part is ok, but the car.....I think it's just as sick of me as I am of it! I'm finding myself adjusting the seat every time I get in it. It's become uncomfortable. Every time I start the engine and put the car in drive I just want to pull over and go on a 3 mile run. It's the same thought I have when a movie finishes and the lights go on: my knees ache and my legs hurt from sitting this long.

I've been pretty good about passing up traveling offers from other people and just sticking to my own plans. But a good friend of mine just sent me an email yesterday begging me to do a girls trip, just the two of us. Part of me wants nothing more than to hit the road with this chick! Every time I think about traveling with her I picture us in a convertible with our hands in the air, screaming down a long stretch of open road. The other part of me wants to tell her that I'll do it with her another time. Although, I know that at this point in the game "another time" is so far away that we'd likely be road tripping for someone's 50th birthday. And while I sort of cringed when I hit the road for SB last week it was a good trip. There was so much good that came out of my discomfort that I can't help but wonder if a trip with her would be just as great.

I love this movie, but I'm willing to forgo committing murder, a police chase and driving off a cliff.

Lessons in Learning How to Rest, Part One.

Lesson 1: Slow the Heck Down!

After two trips to Sacramento, a day trip to San Francisco and repeatedly watching Smallz (my baby nephew) overnight, I realized that I suck at this slowing down thing. I am trying to shift myself into a slower speed and not get ahead of what's to come, but it seems like the harder I try the sadder my efforts look. BUT! I will say this: I have managed to squeeze in an abnormal amount of sleep lately. It's a weird thing to go from having a completely packed schedule to a life full of empty time slots. (My phone has never been so quiet!)

On that positive note, I've also passed up a number of very fun traveling adventures! I'm never one to opt out of a good time, but my M.O. lately has been to say no to just about every invitation that sounds the least bit exhausting and/or labor intensive (ie: driving farther than 15 miles). And if it weren't for my upcoming roadtrip to Santa Barbara I would officially be off the radar.

Today's count: Two steps forward. One step back.

I swear, I am a walking contradiction in terms.

My life in ruins...er...Roseville.

It was the beginning of the end. Only I just figured it to be a weekend away. I went out to Roseville for a quick visit and a much needed break from my life last weekend and ended up hitting a wall of exhaustion so ugly and so mean it landed me flat on my friends' couch for three days straight. No drinks. No happy hours. No staying up late and laughing until all hours of the night, reminiscing about the old days. No fun. Just an abrupt halt. I didn't see it coming, but I had hit the end of myself. I'll spare you the dirty details, but let's just say that I have never felt this tired in my whole life.

I should have known there was a reason for my adapting to the slower pace of country life so quickly!

The day before I moved up here I had inadvertently forgotten to put any jewelry on. I know, I know...this seems trivial and completely unimportant to most people, but for this city girl jewelry is not only a must before leaving the house it's a crime against fashion. But I was in a hurry to get on the road and figured anyone I would see that day would be forgiving of my lack of fashion sense and that I would remember the next day. But then I forgot again. And again. And before I knew it I couldn't even remember where I had put my bundle of bobbles. In my family, the women always leave the house with what we call necessities. And if we don't remember to bring them along we label ourselves naked. The mishap of not remembering is usually a sign of tiredness. A sign I managed to miss entirely!

Technically, I've been naked for weeks. WEEKS!


Since the weekend of ruin, I have slept at least 11 hours every night. (One night I slept 14 hours.) I was starting to wonder if this was a sign of depression given my lack of interest in anything and the fact that I just uprooted myself from Paradise and planted my behind in the depths of The Sticks. But I soon realized that after 10 years of going full speed, non-stop, exhaustion and everything that comes with it had finally caught up with me. So, I recounted all the things I had done in the last 8 1/2 years and here is the aftermath: 3 years of college, 8 years of treating and finally beating an incurable disease, 12 jobs (At one point, I worked 5 at a time for a full year. Needless to say, I worked 7 days a week that entire year.), 2 different apartments, 14 different room/house mates, traveled to 4 countries and all over The States, at least 25 road trips, 10 trips to Disneyland, 5 boyfriends (I lost count of the number of dates in between that I've been on...), and countless parties. Of course, this doesn't include all the other day to day stuff that will make you tear your hair out, but you get the picture!

Ha Ha! Those years getting tutored in math have finally paid off!

So, now my biggest (and let's face it) only goal is to learn how to rest. I've never been good at this. As a go-getter, I am always determined to be the best at whatever I try and I almost never stop until I've won. And so far I'm giving myself the grade of D+ (at best!) in the Taking It Easy department. (It's an embarrassing fact, but I once went on a job interview and date (not in the same day) while sick with the flu.) So, for now I've temporarily packed myself up and relocated to a place far enough away from the everyday stress for a little R&R.