Archive: October 2006

Today is our house-aversary!

Okay, I know that’s a fake word. See, last year, on this date, an intrepid group of folks helped JG and me pack up our one-bedroom apartment and move into our new house: #716. After a quick rundown of my system (“Here’s the fragile room”, “This is stuff that can go on the bottom of piles”, etc.), they artfully packed up two pickups, two minivans, and several cars full of red Staples copy boxes and our paltry hand-me-down furniture. Due to our general lack of possessions, we started at 8am and finished in time to have lunch, which was provided by JG’s parents, bless them. I can’t look around this house without thinking about our friend who unloaded and sorted our many books; there’s also a very handy friend who changed our locks for us right after we pulled in the driveway. I am so grateful to have had that support when we were moving, and without those great people, that day would have been so very stressful. Instead, it was pretty fun and definitely memorable.

We never had a proper housewarming party because the first few months of home ownership were a blur of sorting through boxes and figuring out things like water and heat, so! Today, we tried to make up for it with a house-aversary party – an open house with lots of snacky foods, tours of rooms we’d painted, and stories of the past year.

Our fresh jack o’ lanterns welcomed our friends throughout the afternoon, and we enticed them into staying with mulled cider, taco dip, veggies, candy corn, and baked goods – chocolate chip cookies, brownies, and snickerdoodles, oh my! I gave a few tours of the house, making a point to emphasize the six (!) rooms that JG painted since April. Everyone murmured admiringly, especially regarding his cutting-in and taping expertise. Our friends’ young boys individually added to the entertainment value by thumping out a beat on JG’s klong yaw, discovering The Complete Calvin and Hobbes with a little hyperventilation, and wearing a Dalmatian costume for the entire time. My made-up holiday was such a great excuse to make a lot of food, invite friends over, and talk and laugh about the past year. Our friends couldn’t believe it had been that long already, and honestly, neither could I.

After the last guest had left, we’d blown out the candles in our pumpkins, and set the house back in order, I sat down on the couch with a leftover mug of mulled cider cupped in my hands. I sipped and reflected on how different the house looked in just twelve months, how automatic to me that the notion of home was equivalent to this little blue split-level in the middle of our street. It warmed me to know that people loved our house because I love it, too.

Happy House-aversary, #716!

I didn’t know that there is something oddly satisfying about reaching a hand into the center of a pumpkin and emerging with a handful of stringy entrails and dripping with juices. Ah, Halloween.

It was my second stab (ha) at carving a pumpkin. The last time was three years ago when JG took me to his parents’ house in an effort to continue reclaiming my childhood. See, his growing-up was filled with rituals like carving pumpkins, taking bike rides, and going sledding. For me, these were rare, if nonexistent activities, for better or for worse. Ever since I’ve met him, JG has been catching me up, so to speak. He cleaned out my pumpkin before I cautiously carved a picture of a witch, and my first-ever jack o’ lantern came back to school with me for its place of honor in my dorm room.

Tonight, JG had to give me a refresher course on the best way to dismember my victim. I let him do the initial incision and cut out the cap, and then came my task of extracting the innards so that JG could toast up some seeds for snacking. It’s my habit to anthropomorphize things, and it was a strangely visceral motion to grasp the guts of something, even if it was inanimate. I thought, morbidly, that it was how I imagined harvesting organs might be … not that I know anything about harvesting organs. For the next couple of hours, I sat pretzel-style at the kitchen table with my pumpkin cradled in my lap as I punched out the creepy Welcome sign pattern and connected the dots with a tiny saw. JG finished his pumpkin at least an hour before I did and he got to work on the seeds. Soon, the aroma of toasted seeds mingled with the fresh vegetable smell from wet pumpkin on my hands. Two blisters and a sore right arm later, I had a nicely carved pumpkin for our front stoop and pumpkin seeds to nosh, plus the tension-taming experience of wrestling a big old gourd into submission and quality time with the boy. Maybe it’s not everyone’s idea of a fun Friday night, but I’ll take it any day.

Technology, you have not been my friend of late. In light of recent events, I approach our relationship with trepidation and I hope that you can be nicer to me in the future.

I think I know when we started to grow apart. I was setting up my laptop, and when I lifted it slightly over my head to adjust the cord, I let out an earsplitting “AUGH!” and flopped on the couch. I flopped partly out of pain, but mostly due to humiliation, because I somehow managed to drop my laptop on my face. My klutziness rewarded me with a fat lip, a bruised ego, and JG muttering about how he’d be called up for spousal abuse one of these days, blah blah blah.

And then you got back at me for my flagrant misuse of my laptop as a weapon, albeit against myself. I set up my power cord on top of the couch cushion next to me, and suddenly, I felt an intense pain in the top of my head. Every time I moved, it got worse, and I panicked, making trapped-animal noises while JG looked at me, stunned. I reached up, discovered the problem, and whimpered, “My hair…is caught on my power cord!” My superfine hair was snarled around the rubber button on the belt-like part of the cord. JG had to unwind it as I cringed all the while.

So, now I’m a little bit wary of the new toy you’ve brought into my life. After years of old-school day planners, I finally took the plunge and got a PDA. Aren’t you proud of me, Technology? So far, this little iPod impersonator hasn’t smacked me around for being klutzy or long-haired, so I’m beginning to think that you’re using it to get on my good side. Or maybe also to give me alerts about meetings and provide a central holding place for the contact information of my friends who insist on moving or getting married. (Or both! Geez.) If you’re trying to make nice, you’re doing a good job. I’ll try not to drop my laptop on myself in the future and we can call it a deal. Okay?

I was not a patient child. I am not currently a patient, ah, young adult. When I was younger, I was told that “a watched pot never boils”, which never made sense to me. The literalist in me knew that water would eventually have to boil, given enough heat. Who cares if someone’s watching it? While I’m on it, the pot doesn’t boil, the water does, so ha! I bring up this tired cliché because I find myself watching yet another pot, and I don’t know if it will boil, much to my dismay.

A few months ago, after a particularly trying week at work, I made a decision to start looking for another job. It wasn’t an aggressive job search, but I wanted to see what else might be available. Since then, I’ve started interviewing for a position at a company that has an amazing, if not the best, reputation in the area. The position is fairly similar to what I do now, and there are various opportunities and areas where I could grow; in my current company, my professional development is no one’s priority except mine, and that is a continuing frustration. One of my interviews was with a girl who has the job currently, and as corny as it sounds, I felt like we were kindred spirits in our love for spreadsheets. Each time I’ve come in for an interview, I’ve felt totally welcome and comfortable, and after three interviews in three weeks, I’m excited about the prospect of taking on this role.

Or as I might say outside of an interview setting, I reallyreallyreally want this job!

My second interview at the beginning of this month was supposed to be the final one so that the department could bring someone in by the end of the month. When I expected to have a decision by mid-October, I got a call for a “supplemental interview” instead. I took the afternoon off last week, had more good interactions, and was told that I’d hear something by last Friday.

When my cell phone vibrated, I jumped out of my skin, took a deep breath, grabbed a notepad, and answered it, trying to sound as cool and collected as possible. Agh – false alarm! It was my darn eye doctor, scheduling me for my annual appointment! It turned out to be my only call that day. The response to my cautiously inquisitive e-mail read, “Sorry, please give us until Monday.” Okay. As if I had a choice.

I didn’t stew too much over the weekend, but I slept terribly on Sunday, my mind gears turning all night long. I wasn’t nervous as much as anticipatory, and I’m not sure which is worse. The next day, I watched my cell phone as if it were about to escape and compulsively checked for voicemail when I got up to grab something off the printer. My day was hellish enough to make me yearn for a phone call and a job offer, so when I received neither, I was nothing but nerves, and frayed ones at that.

I sent yet another e-mail when I finally got home, skipping the previous polite niceties, and received a response this morning: “This is not typical for us, and I completely understand your need for an answer. With decision makers out of town, we will not be able to get back to you until later next week.”

Ugh. I hate waiting. If the water in this pot doesn’t boil, I will be really sad.