What's going on with me?
And now, a miracle
Did I tell you all that a few months ago I applied to be a summer intern at the Met, in New York, this summer? I did, as a total long-shot, under the advice of my Museum Studies professor last term. Typical to me, I researched the program and the application requirements waaaay ahead of schedule, and then sat on it and didn’t actually gather my materials and reference letters until the very last minute. And when I say last minute, I mean that I had to overnight the freakin package to New York. Expensive!
Of course I was really super-thrilled about the prospect of working in New york all summer, but trying not to get my hopes up too high, because, um, The Met. You know? But today I got home from class only to find an email asking me to come to New York for an interview. Shazam! They gave me a list of possible interview times to choose from, and amazingly, they all fall over my spring break.
Only, I have no contacts of my own in New York; no friends or relatives. I have friends-of-friends, but nobody I feel comfortable asking if I can crash at their place for a night or two, especially with apartments there being so tight. So I emailed my two closest friends in DC, both of whom, funnily, lived in New York for years (one in college and one right afterwards) to see if they’d like to take a day off of work and come up with me. My plan is to go on Saturday and then have the interview on Monday and fly back to Savannah directly afterwards. So I hope hope hope that one (or both!) of my friends will want to make a little weekend of it with me, and tear it up like we used to in college.
If neither of them can make it, I will be alone in New York, and I don’t know New York at all and am scared. Eeee! Although I guess I’d better get used to it, in case I actually land the internship and get to live there all summer. Oh, the excitement!
2.26.2007
SWF in search of a Wifey
If you took an account of all people currently living functional, adult lives, I would probably be judged the least successful at it. Ever. Truly, it is amazing that I’m still alive, bathed, with clean clothes and all my teeth (ie. no scurvy yet) and able to work and pay bills and function in modern society.
For example, I cannot get my ass to the grocery store to save my life. Somewhere in my pea brain of what I know of both personal finance and of nutrition, I KNOW that buying groceries every week is the best way to go. I do, I know this. I feel it in my bones (the ones probably shrinking from lack of vitamin D). And yet, I cannot break my habit of buying pre-made sandwiches from the fancy deli, or ordering Papa John’s pizza (seriously, they send me e-coupons every six minutes!), or getting falafel sandwiches from the one Middle Eastern place in all of Savannah.
I am 27! In a few months I will be 28! I am supposedly a woman. (Shit no I’m not!) I should not be living on pre-packaged food still! How will I raise a child? How will I keep my health?
For example, right now I am hanging out at home all day before my night class, “doing” “homework.” But as you see, I am playing on the computer. Also I am eating breakfast. What exactly am I eating? Roasted almonds and a diet soda. Yes.
Although in fairness, I sometimes do eat healthily. Last week, for example, I did go to the grocery store, which resulted in exactly THREE DAYS IN A ROW of healthy salads with fruit and grilled chicken (pre-packaged of course) before I got bored of them. The remainder of the bag of salad is, I believe, rotting away in the crisper as I type.
(My diet soda has “berries and cream” on the label though. Does that count for anything on the food pyramid?)
Also, to point out how extra-dumb I am, I just now set the can of almonds too close ot the edge of the desk and promptly knocked it over, thus ensuring that every square inch of this corner of the apartment is coated in a fine nut dust. JUST IN TIME FOR SAVANNAH’S ROACH SEASON, ARGGGH.
If I were not so lazy, I would just vacuum the entire corner of this apartment, right? Right? Oh ho ho. Have you only just met me?
Over the weekend it occurred to me that I need to start taking better care of things around here. So I shaved my legs and did lotion all over the place, and also attempted to floss my teeth, which I am very very slipshod about, shhhhhh or the dentist will hear and berate me from afar, in-between visits no less. My big fear is that I will develop massive mouth disease and lose all me teeth, and then all that cash my parents paid for the braces will be for shit.
In summation: help. Somebody please come and take care of me. My parents seem to think that they molded me into a Capable Adult, and I guess I am tricking everybody so far, but honestly I’m like a 12-year-old boy or something. Somebody please come live with me and help me take care of my life! I’m very good company, I promise. I can recite Zoolander or The Big Lebowski for you as often as you want!
ps– Am I supposed to be WASHING the coffee pot out after each use? Because a lot of times I just swish water around in it. Dear god, I am helpless.
2.17.2007
You can’t take the farm out of THIS girl!
Hey, remember when I said that I had nothing new to report because I “hadn’t even done anything embarassing/klutsy” lately?? Um. WHY did I tempt the gods by saying that out loud? Have I learned nothing in my 27 years?
E and I went out for V-D dinner on Wednesday. I put my big girl shoes on (which were only kitten heels, not full on heels, mind you) (men: this means very tiny, short heels), he picked me up, and we went to the Mystery Spot he had booked, which turned out to be the restaurant of an inn overlooking the park. I have been there before, to the bar only, when my friend’s jazz band plays, and it’s very schmancy. Basically, it was way more than I was expecting.
(As an indication of HOW much more it was than I was expecting, I will tell you what I had gotten for E: a card and a batch of Fruity Pebbles Krispy Treats. He loves these things. More than he loves me!)
So, we ate and it was delicious. There was a complimentary glass of champagne, and then we had one more glass, but I would not say that I was DRUNK, per se. Dun dun dun.
On our way out, we were walking down the first flight of stairs, and E was behind me, and with my right hand I was holding the to-go box. Okay, I don’t know HOW – maybe it was a fight between my heel and the thick carpet, or maybe I crossed my feet and got the heels tangled up, I really can’t remember, but suddenly I was GOING DOWN. Going down to Chinatown.
In my head the falling was in slo-mo, but later E would say that to him it happened very quickly. I remember thinking “ooh tripping wait I can catch myself just grab the handrail wait OTHER FOOT SLIPPING TOO oh crap am not going to be able to fix this shit going down!” That was what my brain said.
When I stopped the whole “falling down the stairs” thing, I was about four steps beyond where I had slipped, holding the handrail with my right hand, wearing one shoe, and facing behind me, looking up at E. He was holding onto me and had the expression of one waiting to see whether you are okay before they start laughing.
I was okay, so we both laughed. My shoe was at the bottom of that landing of stairs, and I had DROPPED THE TO-GO BOX THROUGH THE STAIR RAILING TO THE LOBBY BELOW when I grabbed the handrail. As we rounded the corner to the flinal flight of stairs, the manager was holding up the box and said, perfectly innocently, “Rack of lamb for you, miss?” Luckily the box has A) not opened, and B) not hit anyone.
And I am okay. I have bruises all down my shin bones, which feel not-so-good, but I guess I was lucky. Anyway, this is why E should not bother spending money on me, really. I do things like falling down the stairs in fancy restaurants after only two drinks.
Oh, but the best part of it all? Nobody saw except for us. Because you know that that is waaay more important than how badly I got hurt.
2.13.2007
V-D, V-D!! V-D Day!
Yeah, I’m all good after my Champagne Dinner on Friday. (Sorry again if I left you a lame comment.) I am home working on some homework right now. I have a project for Illustration class to depict one of the seven deadly sins, and our first step is to come in to class tomorrow with rough sketches for each of them.
Some are a lot harder to conceptualize than others, and it’s odd that it’s different ones than those I anticipated. Like, I thought sloth would be the hardest, but my sketch turned out pretty well. I did a man sitting at a computer, staring at the screen and drooling, while a woman stands behind him with one hand on her hip and the other holding a vacuum cleaner. Not to be all “men are lazy,” or whatever. (Just in this case.) But then pride, which I thought would be like a piece of cake, is the one I am stuck on. Ah well.
This term is more then halfway over, which is nice because it’s a hard one and next term will be super dooper easy, comparitively.
Okay, I feel lame for resorting to posting about my homework and other school stuff. Nothing else is going on! No dramas! No funny stories! I haven’t even done anything particularly embarassing/klutsy/humiliating lately! (YES, for real.) So I sort of don’t know what-all to say.
As for tomorrow, E and I have a dinner date, but I do not know where. We didn’t talk about Valentine’s Day at all until last weekend, and I brought it up assuming that we’d be one of those “we’re not doing anything; it’s a Hallmark holiday” couples, but then it turned out he’d booked a reservation somewhere for us, and he is keeping the location a secret and won’t tell me a thing and it is sloooowly driving me mad. He did give me the option of trying to guess the location (I mean, after I bugged him about it), but then I didn’t even bother trying, because it occurred to me that if I guessed a whole bunch of wrong guesses it might make him feel insecure about his choice, like I’d have preferred any of the places I guessed first. So I did not even attempt to guess.
(And by the way, was that not very Relationshippily Mature of me? I was surprised that such a caring thought even occurred to me, let alone that I acted upon it. Not to toot my own horn or whatever.) (Except totally to.)
Hey, maybe I can incorporate my horn-tooting into an illustration for pride!
Hey, I am going to miss the season finale of Beauty and the Geek for dinner tomorrow! Somebody please swallow your pride and watch it for me and tell me every detail! *cough Joanna cough*
2.9.2007
Satan! get Behind Me
Okay! So, I am drunk. And I am sorry if I have just gone to your bolog and made a comment that was A) not funny, and/or B) sucked.
Tonight I had a work dinner at a fancy schmancy place, to celebrate the success at the gallery. I had champagne. Not as an entree, just more like as an appetizer, because there was so much of it. And then white wine and tuna with wasabi aoli (that’s not the right spelling! Jeez!). And then there was a platter of dessert varieties, and I had that as well. YES. I had the platter!
I carpooled. So, do not worry about the citizens on the roads.
Right now I got home and then called E, and planned to tell him that i was staying home to do schoolwork tonight, but now I think I might have agredd to have him come over to my apartment. oops. At leas t I have not agreed to go over to HIS apartment. Because silly boys – they never got their heat turned on this winter.
Brrrr! I never stay at his house because of it. It’s not the sleeping cold that bugs me. It is the getting out of bed cold that which I have issues with. Yes?? Who is with me?
Okay then! I need to get up and waitresss in the morning, and that is at 9:30 am. Good night! It is Friday. I am listening to the white strippes.
2.7.2007
A double-time Bad Week
I have a cold, and have spent much of the past three days in my PJs. I change out of them when I need to go to class, and then change back into them the second I re-enter the house. The days pass in a blur of “wake up, then DayQuil-DayQuil-DayQuil, then NyQuil, then go to sleep, wake up, and repeat.”
In addition, I have my period. Or as E calls it, “I’m having a bad week.”
However, my apartment building did just receive a washer and dryer, so that’s pretty great. It’s even on my floor – extra convenient. So now I don’t need to go to the laundromat or to E’s house to get laundry done.
Incidentally, E loves doing laundry. He Loves It. When we first became friends, I very quickly started ribbing him about the fact that about 50% of the times I’d call him and say, “So, what are you up to?” the answer would involve doing laundry, or folding laundry, or waiting for his then-roommate to get her laundry out of the washer, and so on. It’s something that everyone who knows him well teases him about.
One day it occurred to me that if E and I ever live together, some of our chores will get done double-time, and some not at all, because we share the same likes and dislikes. We both love laundry, like dishes, sweeping/vacuuming and kitchen cleaning, and hate bathroom cleaning. And since I am basically a nine-year-old in that I say whatever occurs to me, when it occurs to me, I said to him, “E. If we ever live together, we are going to fight over doing the laundry, and we will have disgusting bathrooms! What will become of us? Nobody will want to visit!”
He took about two seconds to think this over, and then said, “I will clean the bathrooms. Don’t worry; people will still want to visit.” And this is why he is a much, much better person than I am.
~Home~