decorating

I'm finally hanging my crap on the walls! (Not literally. Gross.)


Here's the series of things behind my loveseat. It was the main wall and it was all empty.



And here's the giant Chicago poster I got from my friend Catherine. It's HEAVY. I waited forever to hang it up bc I thought I needed help and stronger hooks. Turns out I had hooks and I didn't need anyone other than me, myself and I.

So are the days of our lives...

My dad was in town last night.  Whenever we're in the same room, I usually get filled with this anxiety because my apartment is a mess, or my car, or I've not done some things I should've or I've done things that I shouldn't.  This time was a little different.

He lost his job a few weeks ago, and it's been really hard on him, esp since this came only a week after my grandmother (his mom) passed away.  Today he was traveling to Montgomery to take some tests, and it was just easier for him to leave from my place in Birmingham.  When he arrived, we chatted for a bit and then decided to head to dinner—IHOP, his favorite. 

We had some nice conversations, and it's times like this that I think, "Wow, when did I become grown-up enough to have adult conversations with my dad?"  We talked about work and life in general, and my anxieties about getting up and facing the day.  I'm having a lot of trouble doing that.  I've gotten into this mentality that my life is a giant hourglass, and the grains of sand are passing through much too quickly, while meanwhile, I'm just drowning in them.  I feel like I've got nothing to be proud of it, like things are just happening around me and time is moving way too fast.  Like I'm going to die soon, and it'll all just be over.  Why can't we live forever?

Anyway, moving past my existential crisis…we came home from dinner (after stopping to get a gas station cappuccino, another of my dad's favorite treats) and strapped on our tennis shoes to squeeze in a quick walk around my neighborhood.  My dad told me that he had been terrified to turn 30.  When I asked him why, he said simply, "Because I wasn't ready to let go…of my 20s, of being young."  At that point in his life, my dad was married, had one kid, and was making a pretty decent living at the steel mill in Gadsden.  But he still felt that way.  That gives me some comfort.

After getting back to the apartment, we sat and talked some more on the balcony, looking out onto the glittering city.  He told me that he knows that I love where I live, but that he couldn't stand it.  As he put it, he was "born in the sticks, made to stay in the sticks."  We talked some more about how I was freaked to turn 24, how I felt like I only had about 50 good years before I bit it (I know this is totally irrational and ridiculous, but I just feel this way).  I told him that I'm tired of not being able to enjoy the day, of being scared of the way the weeks are flying by, and feeling like I'm in a slump.  I told him about how I wondered if it gets easier when you get older, if you get a peace about "The End," and this coming to a close.  My mom told me once that she still feels that way.  My dad?  "It's a gradual thing," he said, looking down into his water glass (which was essentially a plastic Red Lobster cup—another example of my feelings of failure:  I can't have anything nice).  "I know that this isn't the best life, and there are things I wish I could change, but it's got to get better than this.  There's got to be something better." 

I'd like to say that knowing that my parents have felt the same way that I do makes me feel better, but it doesn't, really.  It makes me scared that this will never go away, that I'll always be living my life trying to keep the sun from rising on a new day.  And I don't want to feel like that.  I want to look forward to things.  I <i>do</i> have things to look forward to.  I just get so overwhelmed.  For everything I should be happy about, I find ten more reasons to shut those feelings down.  Right now, I'm back to my list-making.  Sometimes I think if I can just get all out on paper, it'll be in front of me, and I can just cross those things off the list and out of my mind, one, two, three.  If only life worked that way…

...can you ever just be "whelmed"?

Well, I'm slowly but surely getting more settled into my new apartment. At times I feel like it'll be just like that last place: never unpacked, never finished, never home. But I really want it to be different. I spent about 3 or 4 hours yesterday after work trying to get some stuff done. I organized the bathroom, put away clothes, hung up my sheers in my bedroom...definitely made some headway.

I've developed this unwanted feeling over the years, however, that always settles in whenever I move. I think: Don't get too comfortable; you won't be here forever. I know I won't be here forever, but who's to say I won't be here for a few years, at least? I mean, I like Birmingham. A lot. I think that while I was in college, that was a definite thing—I knew where I would be and what I'd be doing for about 4-5 years. And I've never renewed a lease on an apartment because something always happens and I have to move anyway, which is why I think I always feel so temporary.

I'm really trying to work on myself this year and my whole outlook. I always seem to get so overwhelmed by things because I either try to take on too many things at once, or I have so much in my head that I get bogged down thinking about all the things I'll never be able to do or flat-out won't do. I forget so many things, too...I need to focus more on the right here and right now and not think too far ahead and enjoy what's going on currently.

For example...I keep thinking about fixing my apartment. Then I think about how I want things on the walls. Then I think about putting pictures up. Then I start thinking about all the pictures I want to print out and frame. Then I think "I'd better get those together." Then I tell myself to keep reminding myself to do it, but then I say, "No, there are so many other more important things." Then I see something I want somewhere, and I think I don't have any money to waste on those things; maybe another day. Then I go in someone else's nice apartment and think that my place will never look as good as theirs, so why bother...it's enough to give someone a really big headache.

There are always just so, so many thoughts racing around in my head. Lately I've been just trying to narrow it down to the most important ones. Set things out in tasks, and then just complete them as I can, in an orderly fashion. I worry a lot about work, too...I know what's going on with the economy and the world (somewhat), but—sad as it sounds—I'm trying not to think about it. I want to feel protected in my little Summer bubble, and not think about it because I know if I do, I'll get really depressed and won't be able to think about anything else.

pack it up, pack it in, let me begin...

...actually, it's pretty much the opposite of that right now: I have a massive amount of unpacking to do right now. And as much as it sucks to have an apartment full of boxes, it's also kind of fun. I like being able to go through every single thing I own...I find lost items (the top to my grandmother's tea kettle!), throw things away (stacks of old magazines), and basically just take inventory of all the crap I consider to be so important that I've brought over to my new place. I'm trying at the moment to go from room to room, unpacking boxes and decided what goes where. I'm just ready to make it a home, like put stuff on the walls and make it feel like it's mine. The last place I was in, I hardly did that at all, and I never quite felt comfortable there. This place just feels more inviting.

But it’s been a tough weekend. Let me just recap a little…

My dad took a half-day from work on Friday to drive up and help me with a few things. He was going to take my washer and dryer back home that evening (I have no hook-ups in the new place) so we wouldn’t have to worry about it on Saturday. It just so happens that we practically had a monsoon. My dad called me the night before to tell me there was a 100% chance of rain. Excellent. At least we were prepared. He came up anyway, and we went to lunch and to sign my lease.

As I said, it rained and poured. But after about 45 minutes of signing and reading and listening, the ink was dry on my new lease, and the keys to my new apartment were in my hand. My father and I braved the rain to go check it out. He’d been pretty skeptical, but when he saw it, his face said it all: He loved it. Feeling a bit of relief, we trudged back out to the car to head back to my old place. We decided in the end it would just be best to get the washer and dryer the next afternoon, when he and my sister would be heading up to help me out.

He dropped me off, and I began the laborious task of finishing my packing. It was fortunate that I’d started early, but it seems you never start early enough. J came over, and we continued to box things up, emptying drawers and gingerly wrapping up knickknacks. Sometime after nine, we began loading boxes into the car, hoping to do a little preemptive moving. Trying to be respectful of my neighbors, we stepped lightly and began working in a sort of assembly line manner. I soon realized how incredibly out of shape I am. Huffing and puffing, I carried box after box down the stairs to the front door, where J was traversing back and forth from the car to the apartment. When we could hold no more, we headed over, stopping at the Waffle House for some dinner.

Of course, it started pouring pretty much right after we put the last box in the car. Smiling at my good luck, I put the key in the ignition and prepared to leave. Then I remembered—the new apartment keys were still inside. Cursing myself and my slippery mind, I put my hood up on my jacket and sprinted back up the stairs (three small flights) to get the forgotten keys.

After dinner, we unloaded the cars in the new apartment and headed back for more. We made two trips and decided to call it a night. It was almost 3am.

My dad and sister arrived sometime around 10am the next day. We had some light, drizzly rain and a chilly wind, but it wasn’t so bad. We broke for lunch and pressed onward as the rain grew heavier. When my family left, it was freezing outside, and there was still much to do inside. I was determined, though, to leave that place for good and not have to come back at all. It was almost 4am when we got back to my new apartment…and I still had to return to the old one for my vacuum and a bag of clothes that needed to go to the Goodwill.

As if the weather hadn’t spit in my eye already, Mother Nature decided to deliver a curve ball that seldom occurs down south, here in Alabama—snow. Yes, it frickin snowed the first night I was in my apartment, while there still boxes of my stuff that needed to come up. It was everywhere. And while we Southerners are usually in a bit of awe at the sight of a winter-white wonderland, I was just pissed. Not to mention, every single muscle in my body like it had been tied in a knot, and my head was pounding. Muscles I didn’t even know I had screamed at every step, threatening to take me down if I refusing to give them rest.



A view of snowy Birmingham from my balcony.

I didn’t even get out of bed until about 2pm, and by the afternoon, most of the snow had turned to slush. J and I bundled up to go grab some dinner and run some errands, including rescuing my beloved vacuum from the old apartment. We returned home, still exhausted and sore, and began trying to make some sense of the mess. I finally fell into bed around 1am.

While this weekend presented me with many problems, several out of my control, I still feel the same way—I’d do it again in a heartbeat, even in worse conditions. I love my new place! It’s so much better than my old apartment. I don’t quite feel like it’s mine yet. I told J that I feel like I’m in a hotel or something. I took some pictures, but please don’t judge the fact that it’s teeming with clutter or that my stuff is strewn about the rooms.


This is the kitchen. It's kind of small, but there are a million cabinets with tons of storage, and the counter space is incredible. I love it. It looks better than this now; I've put away most of those things that are on the counter now.


Here's the bathroom. The sink and mirror are separated from the shower and toilet, which is nice. The lighting is really cool (embedded in the ceiling), and if you look in the mirror, you can see the best part: There's a little counter on top of some cabinets, with two more cabinets above! The shower part of the bathroom has lots of cabinet space, too.


Of course, this is the shower. It's a pretty big tub (bigger than my last one, by far), and I love the stone-like tile on the walls.


Here's the bedroom. It looks so sad right now! There's one big window, which I plan on hanging my sheers over very soon, and there are two closets off to the left (that you can't see). I plan on moving my TV and dresser in front of the bed. Off to the right, there bookshelves made into the wall. It's about the same size as my old room.


This is the view from the hallway leading into the den. Again, it's so super messy.


Here's the den, overcrowded with my shit. You can see the vertical blinds that cover up the sliding glass door that leads to...the balcony! (I love sitting outdoors.)


And this is the gorgeous view of the city from my apartment. It's so nice right at sunset...sigh. I can't wait for warm weather.


I love the bar pass through window in the kitchen. Now I won't feel so closed off from anyone sitting in the den while I'm working in the kitchen. Not to mention I can watch TV while I cook!


The view from the walkway outside my front door.

valentine's day...yes, I know it's march.

I didn't get a chance to write about Valentine's Day...so I'm doing it now. And I know it's March, but I don't care. Boo ya.

Ah, Valentine’s Day. Usually a day I like to avoid but never could—I worked in a restaurant for over 5 years. V-Day was more like D-Day in that it was an inescapable evil, perpetuated by insatiable couples pawing at each other while we made sure they had enough cheese biscuits on the table and water in their glasses (as if they needed it; I had a lot of customers who looked like they were going to each other alive as it was). $2 tips from the happy couples only helped to fuel my fire and convince me that February 14 was a day I wanted no part of. Here’s a brief look back at where I was three years ago. EDIT: Ok, the link isn't going where it should, instead it's just linked to this page, so here's the actual link: http://thatswhatsummersaid.blogspot.com/2006/02/happy-tuesday.html

This year was different for me. I've never really had a valentine, never been dating anyone around that time of year. Well, except for that one time. In fourth grade. He turned out to be my very best friend in the whole wide world. (Also, did I mention he’s gay?) But it was a good one. I remember V-Day was on a Wednesday, and he gave me balloons and other presents on that Monday and Tuesday, and then he gave me this adorable stuffed white tiger from Hallmark. I still remember the poem on the card:

I wild about you, and that’s putting it mildly
But then, tigers always do everything wildly!
So love me to pieces, it won’t be atrocious
Because I’ll be loving you something ferocious!

But I digress.

This year is different. J and I have been together (officially) for 10 months, dating almost a year. I didn't really expect anything for V-Day, considering I didn't really have anything to compare it to (save for my white tiger). All I really wanted was to cook dinner and hang out, but I really wanted to recognize the fact that it was Valentine’s Day, for the very reason that it meant something to me. Maybe that’s dumb or whatever, but that’s how I felt.

The week leading up to Valentine’s Day, nothing was really said about the fact that Saturday was February 14. All that had been discussed was that I had an appointment to go check out apartments that day, in the afternoon, and there was a party at my friend’s house the night before. We went to look at places, as was planned, and he helped me by being my voice of reason. Afterward, we decided to walk down to 5 Points for coffee. Once we got there, he gestured over to the 5 Points Grill and asked did I want to just go for lunch, since we were going to need to eat soon anyway. So we did.

We were treated to a sign advertising Valentine’s Day specials, including $2 mimosas and $8 bottles of champagne. Being the lushes that we are, we opted for the latter. Our waiter brought us both the champagne and a carafe of orange juice in a nice little ice bucket, accompanied by champagne flutes. It was all so fancy. And delicious.



We ordered our food, and while we waited, we talked about the day’s events, and then, the day.

“I’m sorry I didn’t really have anything planned,” he told me. Then he said we should cook dinner that night. I told him that’s all I really wanted…that, and to actually make plans. I just wanted to know that it was Valentine’s Day. I told him that.

Then, after talking about it, I realized that I didn’t have to have plans, or hear him say it to know that he loves me and that he was glad to be spending this day with me. He took my hand in his and told me he loved me anyway, and that was really all that mattered.

We finished our yummy lunches and headed back out into the crisp air. Later that night, we headed back to his place to make dinner, where he surprised me with a box of chocolates. It was then that I remembered all the little things he does—playing my favorite music (actually knowing my favorite music!), cooking my favorite foods, watching my favorite TV shows—and all the reasons why I love him. I love the silly things, too—like when we were looking at my new place for the first time, and he spun me into a slow dance, humming one of our favorite songs, then singing along with his own made-up lyrics.

I love him just as much on March 3, or November 8, or July 21 as I do on February 14 and every other day of the year. I already feel special enough; I don’t need a special day. Nonetheless, it was the very best Valentine’s Day ever.

My delicious lunch.
J was equally as excited about his food.

My chocolates!

apartmentally insane

As I stated earlier, I'm currently living in a sucky apartment, managed by Michael Barry. Here's a nice little overview of my stay at my current apartment:

When I first moved in, I was honestly just relieved to find a place. I only had a few weeks after I found out I got a job. My friend lived in the same apartments, one building over, and she loved it. I thought her apartment was cute.

After moving in, I was excited to try and get things sorted out and arranged; however, I ended up never really getting settled in. First of all, I'm a procrastinator. Secondly, things just started going wrong.

One of the first and worst things: bugs. There were HUGE roaches. I only saw a few of them live and in person, but I would find roach corpses. In the den. Under the futon. Near the front door. In the closet. I soon realized that the door in the kitchen didn't quite seal up all the way. In an effort to fix my problem, I tried to seal the gateway. It worked, a little. I did call Michael Barry several times. They came to spray twice, I think, and also told me it would "really help them out" if I could spray myself. What the fuck am I paying $525 a month for?!

Another problem resulting from the door not closing all the way was all the air escaping and/or coming in. My apartment was either too hot or too cold. The windows didn't quite seal up either. My gas bill was astronomical, no matter what I tried to do.

Then there were the leaks. At the beginning, I noticed that the ceiling in the kitchen looked like a blister ready to pop. I didn't think too much of it. The first time it rained, I think there wasn't a huge problem. But then there was. Every time it would rain, it would drip into the kitchen floor. First it was just a little, then it was buckets full. All over the floor. Everywhere. Then it leaked in the hallway. I called, and called, and called. The option is to leave a message on the maintenance line. After leaving three, I called and pressed 0 for an operator and told the old lady in the office what was going on. She said she'd pass it along.

I was never told if anyone ever went to my place to fix anything, and they never left me any maintenance slips. I basically had to wait for it to rain again to see if the problem was fixed. After several more leaks and problems, I called and left several angry messages, complaining about the blistered ceiling which had finally just opened up completely. They came back, and the only reason I knew was because they stripped everything away from the ceiling. Now there's a little hole, but I've yet to see any water drip out. This was just a few months ago, right before my lease is up.

Then there was the little incident after Thanksgiving with my power. I came home after work that Monday, and after being in the apt for just a few minutes, the power went off. I called the maintenance number, and she said she could come over to check it out. She also told me that the power company had been changing out the meters; maybe that had something to do with it. I waited for about an hour, and then I left. Three hours later, she actually came to the apartment and gave me some story about getting a ride. The power flickered on and off when she jiggled the meter box, but it wouldn't stay on. She then advised me to call the power company. I did, but that ended up taking forever, too. I stayed with J and his family for the evening, receiving a phone call when I was almost there letting me know someone was headed over.

The next evening, I was in Tuscaloosa and didn't get home until later. When I arrived I was treated to...no power. When I called the maintenance girl, she was of no help. I called Alabama Power. They told me it was the inside breakers, it wasn't their fault, when in fact, there are no inside breakers, at least, the person Michael Barry has employed as their MAINTENANCE person didn't think so, and didn't know. I had to call the power company again, and then they told me that they normally wouldn't send someone, but someone was in the area, he'd come by. Two hours later, it was after midnight and I had to work, and I'd had no sleep...I headed to J's for the night and was practically in tears. Someone from the power company called me back at nearly one and was pretty much a "nice asshole," letting me know it wasn't anything they had done, and that "I could've had my power on hours ago." To which I said no, I couldn't have, because I HAVE been in touch with my landlord, thankyouverymuch, and the maintenance people kept directing me to them.

I called the maintenance girl, AGAIN, and I told her that I would be out of town the entire next day, and I told her what the power company told me, and I asked her to please get it fixed. She apologized and promised she would. I took the day off, took care of some things, then headed back towards Bham. This time, though, I decided to call her again and be sure my power was on before I headed back to a dark apartment. Surprise—she wouldn't answer. I just decided to stay at J's. At 1030pm, she finally returned my call. She told me that her transmission went out in her jeep, blah blah blah, she couldn't get a ride over (sound familiar?). All damn day. All day she had to do something about my power, and she didn't. She called me around lunchtime the next day to say the power was back on, and it was the meter that had been loose.

After all of that bullshit, and getting berated by the power guy on the phone, and everything. I lost a fridge full of food and a lot of sleep. Needless to say, I was pissed. One thing they weren't late on getting to me was a bill for the second half of my pet deposit (I hadn't realized I didn't pay it in full yet) and a late fee (I didn't know I'd turned my rent in late). It read "Please pay in full. Merry Christmas!" What a great present.

But the worst thing I've had to deal with at apartment hell, managed by Michael Barry, have been in my kitchen—water beetles. They're these little bugs that first started showing up in the dish washer. Then in the drawer where I had my silverware (which I moved right away). Then they were in the sink drain. Then in two of my appliances, which I've had to throw away. They stay contained to that little part of the kitchen, where the water supply is, but it's absolutely ridiculous. I've called, I've begged, I've asked them to do something. The most they have done is spray, but what they don't understand is what they are and where they're coming from. The building is so damn old that if they don't do something to the whole building, it won't do any good.

So needless to say....yeah, I'm ready to move. More updates to come.

been a long time, been a long time

So...it has been quite a while since my last blog. A few months actually...I've just not been able to make myself write anything, it seems. There certainly hasn't been a shortage of things going on. Just to sum up: December sucked. There were a few shining moments—Melanie came to visit, the parties were fun and my dress was fabulous, Christmas was good—but the rest of it made me want to claw my eyes out. In fact, there were only a few good things about 2008. Number one at my list being J. But more on that later.

Our New Year's Eve was pretty low-key; we all just hung out at Craig's, drinking, snacking, and playing cards. I was just so relieved to see 2008 leave. It seemed as if a huge weight was lifted from my shoulders. My life is constantly full of worries and concerns, and I feel the need to always be looking over my shoulder or bracing myself for what horribleness is coming my way. I resolved to make 2009 my year, and it really is liberating to actively try not to feel so anxious all the time. Right now, I'm trying to keep my focus on the most important things right now, and I'll worry about the rest later. (Easy enough, right?)

One of those important things right now is my big move. For those of you who haven't been around me longer than 10 minutes or so to hear me bitch about my apartment in length, here's the short story: I hate my apartment, it sucks, I'm ready to move. And now, finally, the time has come. I'm moving on Saturday, February 28, and I will be able to bid Michael Barry Properties good riddance. More on that to follow.

My life is going alright so far. I'm moving. J and I have been officially "together" for ten months, dating almost a year. I got a new(er) car in December (Abe, my Lincoln). I still have a job (which is an accomplishment in itself with everything that's been going on). I've lost over 15 lbs since the beginning of the year (sweet). I feel like things are going fairly well.

I've had some issues getting things handled with my new place. I had been researching for a while, and I finally decided to be proactive and call the people over at Select My Space to make an appointment to check out some places I liked. They were super friendly, and I set up a time to go looking on that Saturday, Valentine's Day.

I looked at a lot of nice places, but in the end, I decided on Cliff Highland. The view is incredible, the place is nice and in a nice area. And one of the best things—no gas bill to deal with. Hallelujah. Water is "included" (somewhat), and then I just have to worry about power. It's close to work, too. It seemed like the best for the money. It's not much more than I'm paying now, plus I hate where I am now. Hate.

There have been some issues, though, as I said. I've had some problems communicating with the person who has been showing me places, and I didn't hear back about my application approval until yesterday. Just today was I able to look at the exact unit I'll be renting. I'm signing the lease on Friday. I've been holding my breath these past few weeks, just waiting for something to go wrong. Cross your fingers for me that it all falls into place.

Phew. It's good to be back. Hopefully soon I'll have something more entertaining to read than my bitching and life's updates :)

step inside

I’m so tired of worrying and feeling like I’m never going to be quite the person I want to be.

Ever since I was younger, I felt like I had my idea of what I wanted to do and be. When I was in high school, I was editor of the yearbook and frequently contributed small editorials to our little newspaper. My teachers praised me as a good writer and a “very intelligent girl.” I did well in school. Graduated with top honors. Scholarships.

When I went to college and attended some of my first honors, I was in for such a rude awakening. My first honors English Comp paper came back to me with a letter I’d not been familiar with. After some talking with my teacher and some serious relearning, I got better. My papers got better. I was praised once again by teachers I revered and respected.

About halfway into my college career, I worked up the nerve to go down to the school newspaper office and say, “I want to write.” I got my first assignment, something simple. I went on to write several more things for the paper. I wrote several stories for reporting and writing classes. One of my in-depth assignments won me an award. My teachers again showered with me with wonderful words and encouraged me to pursue what I thought I wanted—to be a writer. In my mind, I became convinced that my skill was with the editing aspect of things, though I still wanted to consider myself a writer. My senior year I served as copy editor for the paper. I enjoyed editing stories for content and grammar, making my marks and cleaning things up. Classmates would ask me to look over their papers, and I did so gleefully. I enjoyed writing, but there were so many times that I would just freeze and I felt like the right words would never come. I felt more comfortable in hacking apart what someone else had put together.

My dream internship was always to work at Southern Living. I wanted to work with the copy editors, learn more about the business, and really hone my skills. However, I soon became very conflicted as to whether or not this was what I wanted. Even worse, when I became mixed in with all the other interns from around the country, I couldn’t help but feel cheated. All the others (mostly girls) had already completed several internships. They came from bigger schools that had a better focus on journalism and other specialized areas, which didn’t hold up well next my communication degree with a focus in print journalism. Even worse, I felt jealousy pangs for something else that all the other girls had that I didn’t—drive. Determination. Go-getter-ness. Nearing the end of my internship, the others had all had writing assignments, interviews, job opportunities. I had nothing. I had no confidence, no skills, and no interviews.

Fast-forward to now. I got a job, but not exactly doing what I wanted. I feel lost. I feel like the world is moving so fast around me and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t feel like an inspired writer, I don’t think I’m good enough to really do anything, and I just sit in my little pit of despair, wishing I was any of my other friends who have all the abilities I only thought I once had. I’ve had one or two other writing assignments outside of work, but it seems that no matter what I do, it’s never as good as all my other friends who are out there living the dream I always had. I feel like I’ll never be good enough to go places. I don’t have the experience I should have already gotten by now. I’m too scared to go after anything. I wait forever to do assignments because I psych myself out and think I just can’t do it. My biggest fear: I’ll never be the person I always wanted to be. I think too much, too far in the future, and I give myself a headache stressing about things that haven’t even happened yet. I wallow in a cloud of “what-if” and I can’t seem to make any sense out of anything I do. I don’t know enough. I don’t comprehend well. I don’t, I can’t, I won’t. I can’t get these contractions out of my vocabulary. My mind is moving too fast. My head feels full. I just want to live one day without feeling the weight of my own world on my shoulders. I’m tired. I want to be inspired. I want to be talented. I want to be motivated. I want experience. I want, I want, I want. Nothing I ever do is good enough. The worst feeling in the world is too be so proud of something you’ve done only to realize you were all wrong all along.

I wish I had the experiences my friends have had. Work experience, life experience. I wish I had their talents. I wish I had their skills. I wish I had their opportunities. I wish I were a better writer. I wish I was the Summer I always wanted to grow up to be, the Summer my parents always thought I would be, the Summer that all my old friends think that I’m busy becoming. I want to move. I want to get out. I wish I had the prestige and the importance that goes along with the phrase “I work in publishing.” I don't read enough of the right books. I don't know the right authors. I don't quote the right people. I don't know enough about history or politics. I don't know how to state my opinions. I don't quote the right song lyrics. I don't listen to the right music. I don't know enough about current affairs. I don't even know if I could tell you where India is on a map.

I feel like I’m stuck in a place of always saying I’m going to do this or that and saying it and thinking it so much that I feel like I’ve actually done it, which provides me with the only sense of accomplishment I have. I need motivation. I want to want to do things. I hate always wanting to go to sleep, because that’s the only time I don’t feel like I have to worry about my next move, my next step, my next day of continuing to remain in the same place.

I feel lost.

as soon as, as soon as, as soon as...

I hate when I feel like things are out of control. When some aspect of my life that I can't get a handle on, it makes me want to control anything else around.

I clean.

I'm not the neatest person, but sometimes I get on these binges where nothing is ever straight enough or neat enough. I'm having company tonight, so I have a reason to have cleaned, but there are also some aspects of my life that I feel I can't get in order. So then I start cleaning and organizing. And if I feel like I can't do it (ie, my room looks awful), I give up and spend as little time in that room as possible.

Ugh.

Or I organize. I start making lists and detailing every little thing wrong with my life, like a "fix-it" to-do list. Of course, I never really have the satisfaction of crossing anything off the list.

Right now I'm having some issues with money (then again, who isn't ALWAYS struggling with money?), so I made a little Excel spreadsheet of what bills need to be paid and when, how much, etc.

I make post-its reminding me to do stuff. I make so many reminders to the point where I feel like I've already done whatever it is that needed to be done. I visualize myself succeeding at whatever it is that I'm having trouble with to the point where I think I've already fixed it.

But I haven't.

Kinda like I picture myself going running or walking or working out to the point where I honestly think I've already done it. I even feel tired.

I always tell myself, "So much is going on right now. As soon as everything settles down, as soon as I pay this off, as soon as, as soon as..." But it never comes.

I'm such a control freak. But an unmotivated control freak.

adventures in moving

So as some or most of you may know, I've recently moved from my home in Homewood at Mountain Woods (Hoods) apartments to another apartment closer to the downtown area. Though I love where the place is at, and there are many pluses that won me over in the end, it has been no easy feat.
We started packing up and moving my stuff last Saturday at about 7 in the morning. We didn't finish until 7 at night. I'm serious. It was ridiculous. I don't know how in the world I managed to accumulate so much crap! There were boxes upon boxes of things. And then there was the furniture. I have to give it to my dad, though. He kept his cool the whole day. I think it also helped that my bro-in-law and Craig came to help. He wouldn't dare show out in front of them.
Unfortunately, I had no utilities until Monday, and I was forced to drive home to Gadsden Saturday night. I soon realized that in our haste to pack everything, important stuff was stowed away. My shoes being one thing. Mother and I had one pair between us, and I ended up winning the right to wear them. My purse was also gone, along with my debit card and license. And sadly, I packed up all my clothes leaving me nothing to wear to work on Monday. I was forced to go buy a new pair of pants (it was torture) and search for things in my car (I found a sweater).
On Monday, I was called by the water people so that I could meet them out there to turn on the water. I waited around for an hour to no avail. When I finally called, asking where this waterman was, they told me that it was simply a courtesy call and I would have to turn my water on myself. Myself! I arrived home in a huff, determined to have water.
I took the wrench my father lent me down to the meter and ran across a streak of good luck. My neighbor (Paul of A7, as I have come to know him now) was outside, and he was so kind to turn my water on for me. However, I still had no heat.
Tuesday, the kind man from Alagasco came for to turn on my gas. We managed to get me hot water and a gas stove. When he went outside to light the pilot light, though, he was startled to discover that my furnace was rather old. He told he probably light it, but he really wanted me to have heat. He lit it, and when he turned on the heat, it made a really loud noise. He stepped out on the back porch area to take a look, and right at that moment, a giant fireball escaped out the back and blew the chamber door off (not that I really know what that means). He freaked out and told me that he had to tag it; it had to go. I called my landlord, and she was all, "we'll send someone to have a look." Gas man got on the phone and was all, "Nuh-uh, it's gotta go now."
That night, a kind old Hispanic gentleman brought me a space heater, "por la noche," which I gratefully accepted. Wednesday they repaired the damage, but I still feel as if I could be in some sort of danger.
Aside from all this, there are so many things to be done. I have seven different windows that need blinds and a window in the shower of my bathroom. There's paint over everything. On the floors, on the plug outlets, on the doors...and there are very few electrical outlets as it is. I'm missing light fixtures. My fridge is a little off-kilter in that it rocks back and forth. I haven't unpacked everything. I need rugs. Sigh. It's exciting, because it's my first place of my own that I've not shared with a roommate, but it's overwhelming.
On the bright side, I really like my job. I miss SL, but I know that I wouldn't have been able to find a job there. Here I'm getting to try a lot of different things, and I've got the ever-elusive insurance. Wonderful.

snow big deal

So this weekend, we got some snow. Finally. Everyone was waiting for it, though I was still not quite certain it was even cold enough to snow. But snow and behold, there it was, covering my apartment complex on Saturday morning.

I remember talking to my mom, either the day of or the night before, and she said, "I saw on the news that ya'll are supposed to get some snow this weekend. Have you been to the store? Do you have enough supplies?"

The first words out of my mouth were, "Yes, mother. I have milk and bread, and a jug of water in the fridge."

Then I stopped myself. I don't even know why I said that. I'm not particularly fond of milk, and I don't have anything to put in between the bread in the first place. Why does every feel the need to run out and get bread and milk as soon as the weather gets bad? We've been doing that since before I could remember.

cape (cod) crusader

Whelp...I just booked my flight - I'm going to see my dear sweet biffle, Melanie, January 24-30. I'm so psyched! I can't wait. I haven't been to Massachusetts in a little over two years. We're going to see G. Love in Boston the Friday night I'll be there - superfun.

And in other news...who is this joker? He's on Law and Order Criminal Intent and looks like Patrick Swayze. I just don't like the looks of him.

I don't have a clever title. That's a first...?

I guess it's totally objective as to what clever is.

They say time flies when you're having fun.

I'll second that.

I will also add that time flies when you had no clue what hell you are going to do with the rest of your life.

I'm graduating in less than four weeks. It's hard to believe that I've been in college for almost four and a half years. They have, however, been the best years of my life. I've met some amazing people and had some great times.

I've been finishing up my internship at The Magazine in The Big City, and it's been awesome. I've loved working here and learning about the magazine industry while working for the largest magazine publisher in the United States.

Which is why this next piece of news is so great: Last week, one of my supervisors informed me that they would like for me to stay on here for another six months as a freelance copy editor.

While the pay won't change, I won't be considered an intern and I will have a more regular schedule. Also, I have some security as far as a job for the next several months while I'm applying for more permanent positions and gaining more valuable experience.

In recent news, I just got back from New Orleans. I want to spend some time trying to write a more detailed blog about my experiences there, but for now I'll just tell you that it was life changing. I had a great time meeting some very interesting stories, and more than once I was moved to tears. There is still so much devastation in that area, and it's been over two years. It breaks my heart. Here are just two pictures of the areas we visited:




What else, what else…

This week is Thanksgiving, which means turkey and dressing – delightful. However, it also means spending time with my family.

Not so delightful.

Ah, just kidding. Somewhat. I love my mom and dad and the like, but sometimes I can't wait to get back my current home so I can go back to "missing" them.

Hope everyone is doing well.

love and hate

Oh, I love Birmingham.

But sometimes...not so much. It's like a classic love/hate relationship.

I go, and I put all my faith in Birmingham, sing her praises, and then she turns around and makes me wish I'd never laid eyes on her.

This weekend, I had a fabulous dinner with some new friends I've met in the city. All was well. I met a street urchin named Theotis outside said friend's living space, and also a truck driver who sang for our dollars. It was city living at its very finest.

Then I got beaned in the head with a Checkers cup.

In case you were wondering, it was full of ice.

I don't think this little ice rocket was meant for me specifically, just some douchebag who thought he would throw it out his window as he passed all these cool people on the sidewalk. (It made me feel a little like I was on the Real World.)

One nice thing was that this kind man, Theotis, offered to run down the street and beat the shit out of this guy. I politely declined, and told him, no, that's not necessary.

Oh, Birmingham. Sometimes you are good to me, and others...you are a nasty little bitch.

I've been meaning to post a blog that is actually an update for those of you who might have been wondering. All is going well; I really like what I'm doing. I've learned a lot. As I said, for the most part, I really do enjoy living here. Every day is a new adventure. The interstate is now my friend.

And I have met some awesome amazing friends. Working at the magazine, I was afraid I'd been working with a bunch of stuck-up interns who think they're better than me.

Some of them are.

But I quickly weeded out the people I wanted to get to know, and they've proven to all be so, so much fun.

Now the only thing I'm worried about is this:

Where do I go from here?

I'm officially going to graduate in December. All I have to do is finish my internship, take the CBASE and the exit exam, and then walk. It's so exciting, and I've been waiting for this for the past four and a half years. I can't believe it's really almost over. Talk about meeting some amazing people - my JSU memories will forever be the best ones.

But when it is all over, I'm going to have to decide where I want to go and what I want to do. And who will actually have me.

And right now, I think I may want a serious, long-term relationship with my lady, Birmingham.

We will see.

livin' time and the summer is easy :)

I just wanted to thank everyone that has kept me in their thoughts as I have been waiting patiently to hear back about my internship. Almost two weeks ago, I interviewed at The Magazine in The City for an internship that I have been wanting since I was a senior in high school. My entire college career has been working up to this, really.

I started to get a little discouraged, especially when I found out that they were interviewing 10 and only hiring 2.

However, Friday afternoon I received a phone call from KB with The Magazine informing that they would like to offer me a position....!

I'm so so excited, and I really can't wait to start. But I'd be lying if I were to say that I'm not scared at all about moving to Birmingham or actually doing the work I will be doing or leaving my friends and family at RL in The Great Little Big City.

I'm scared as hell.

But.

That's one of the best parts, the being scared. It leads way to more excitement and the feeling that I'm taking a huge step towards what I would ultimately like to do.Thanks again to everyone for hoping, praying, thinking, wishing, believing, and wanting this for me just as badly as I did. I love you!

sweet sixteens & charmed thirds

My cousin just turned sixteen this past week, and they had a big party for her on Saturday. Let me just say, when I turned sixteen, I don't think I did ANYTHING. Not one thing. I may have had some friends over, but that's about it. (On that note, oh how I miss the sleepovers we used to have at my house when I was in high school. Such fun!!)

Anyway, I'm digressing. My aunt threw her a big soiree for her sweet sixteen. She and all her friends wore formal dresses and boys wore dress clothes and ties and such - how adorable! Not only that, but there was a decent spread of food, a DJ, and...a chocolate fountain! My sister had a chocolate fountain at her wedding, for goodness sakes! Granted, this one was a little smaller, but a chocolate fountain nonetheless! Throw in Jude Law and giant pile of shoes, and you've got heaven for me in a nutshell! Literally - instead of of the land of milk and honey, I long for a place where the chocolate flows freely and I can run through it ankle-deep in my strappy slingback sandals...well, maybe not. That doesn't exactly sound sanitary, now does it?

Anyway, once again I have lost myself to a tangent. Damn those things! The only thing better than the chocolate fountain was the opportunity to see pre-pubescent (okay, in-the-midst pubescent) 15- and 16-year old white kids attempt to dance. There was one signature move, a throwback to the Hustle and the Snoop Dogg "Drop It Like It's Hot" move. Some of the kids seriously should have dropped it. Seriously. It was the funniest thing I have seen in about two weeks. And there is always that one Mom who feels the need to break it down with the kids. She was literally rubbing her "lady lumps" all over some 16-year-old kids that could barely handle his own lumps, let alone hers. THEN the highlight of the evening - a kid who liked to call himself "Times Two" and apparently had a CD out with the new hits "Something Something Booty" (I can't remember the first two words) and "How U Luv That." He took the stage by storm singing, "Alright, let's go, go get drunk, go get high..." etc., etc. Shortly after, he was removed from the mic. Needless to say, the grandparents and parents in the crowd did NOT "Luv That." Apparently, Time Two got multiplied by Zero. Those of you out there who are mathematicians know what that means....you get nothin'.

Another bit of excitement that night...I locked my keys in my car at the Mellow Mushroom. It was an accident - I swapped purses, but carried the other one with me in the car (this is my trick - I carry only what I need in the little one, but I drag my giant saddle bag along and keep it in the car.) I forgot what I was doing and I was a little bit of recon-work on my hair and makeup, and slipped the keys into my other purse. Lucky enough, the Oxford police were nice enough to come and help me out. Other than that, i don't wanna talk about it...

I was in a mood this afternoon, so I got in my car and just started driving. Everyone has their vices when they are depressed, etc. what have you. Mine? Books. That's right. I drove down to the Books a Million in Oxford and delighted myself in buying two new books. I spent waaay too much on a book I have been waiting on for a reaaaally long time, and then I bought another that just looked good.

The book I have been waiting on, Charmed Thirds, is third in a series of books by Megan McCafferty. These books are absolutely HILARIOUS. Seriously. They are published on an adult label to reach beyond the young adult masses, but they are young adult books. However, they are deliciously different in that they deal with much more mature subject matter, at least in a different way. I loved the first two, Sloppy Firsts and Second Helpings and I have been read for this book. It wasn't supposed to come out til tomorrow, but imagine my elation when i happened upon it by accident. I almost collided with a display for the Da Vinci code books (another one that i would like to pick up..along with A Million Little Pieces by James Frey. I'm an Oprah's Book Club whore ) and libros de espanol (Spanish titles).

The other book I bought is Something Borrowed by Emily Giffin, I think is her name. It's about a girl who was always the good girl, until her best friend throws her a big thirtieth bday bash, after which she gets really drunk and sleeps with her best bud's fiancee - oops! Can't wait to read this one...

People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw cantaloupes...

...hee, hee, hee...I love Sex and the City. And yes, it is four o clock in the morning and I am STILL awake. I have worked every single day (night) this week, and I have tonight (but not today) off from work, and I have done nothing. At all. Well, except run all around the freakin town trying to find the ingredients to make pizza.

Let me start at the semi-beginning (not that it's really that exciting, from the beginning or the middle). I made a peanut butter pie to take with me to work this morning (i made it whilst staying at my parents' house) and I was so proud of myself, especially since I remembered it - only I didn't remember it until I was at Red Lobster's back door. Oh, well. I took a detour on the way home tonight to pick it up so I would have it to take tomorrow (technically, today). That took a little time, plus I got caught up in a very special Lifetime movie. No, seriously. It was one woman's struggle....anyway. I grabbed the pie and we jammed back to Jville.

(Oh, and my CD played is screwed up, and I don't know what is wrong with it. The darn thing keeps making an angry buzzing, whirring noise and it says "ERR" - well, not out loud. It just has that displayed across the digital thingie. It's kind of annoying. Esp when there isn't anything on the radio.) I stopped by Steph's to chat with her for a bit, and I ended up being there for a while. I made my WalMart trip so that I would have the necessary ingredients to make the pizza I had to been SO looking forward to. I finally got home around 8, maybe? I heated the oven, changed into something comfy, fed the cats, etc. Then I went to get my stuff together and....NO YEAST! I then remembered that Mel had made some bread or something a while back, and I assume that would take a lot of yeast. I was determined to have pizza, so believe it or not I went back to wal mart, darted in to get my yeast, narrowly missed the annoying door greeter, purchased my necessaries, and left. I was gettin excited about the pizza by this time. I was really worked into a tizzy about it. Once I get home, I go to take out the flour that has the only pizza recipe I like to use bc I know it works and....NO FLOUR. I kid you not. I ended up having plenty of wheat flour and JUST enough white to do what I needed, only I had to improvise the recipe. It was delish, but what a pain in the ass this whole night was. I couldn't really even enjoy it, bc it was almost midnight by the time I finished. :(

I took a long satisfying bath, but I learned an important lesson: if you have a yummy bath product from Bath and Body Works, read the label. And if it says, "Do not use on freshly shaven skin," they ain't kidding. I learned that the hard way. I literally thought my skin was burning off and escaping down the drain. They should put that on the label!!!!! IN BOLD PRINT!!! If I had had any military secrets, I was ready to talk. That should be a torture technique. Crap, man.

Also, I got into a fight with my newest pair of shoes. We aren't really on the best terms - we are totally not speaking. I bought the CUTEST pair of Steve Madden cowboy boots for myself for Valentine's Day (after all, I've been SO good to me all year long!) and I haven't worn them a whole whole lot. Well, I wore them into the bank to see mi madre. I was gracefully striding across the room to the door, when suddenly my feet went not out from under me but in. My ankle slid inwards and I knocked the hell out of my knee(s). Oh, holy crap did it hurt. The only thing that hurt worse than my knee was my pride. I was like, "Golly, gee, did you see that? right out from under me! Have a fantastic day!" and then I proceeded to haul ass out of there. If I would have fallen backwards, I would not have gotten up. I promise you. I would have curled up into the fetal position and rocked my way towards my car in the parking lot. How emBARassing! I later found out from my mom that the man who cleans the floors uses furniture polish to make the floors shiny. Are you FREAKIN kidding me. Cause that's not a lawsuit waiting to happen.

Hm. Anyway. now that that's out. Maybe I'll try and get some sleep. Maybe...