Wednesday, November 30, 2005

I have a problem. It's called "Sex and the City."

I got another confession to make. I am addicted to HBO's "Sex and the City" episodes. I am on the last season (on DVDs) and, let me tell you, I don't know what I'm going to do when I'm done. Maybe start all over at season one.

But I have a few issues with the girls from the show. For one, there is no big-shot, high-rolling, selfish-man-turned-nice-guy Mr. Big. And no one should end up with him. Except our hero, Carrie. I'm spending my early adulthood convincing myself Chris Noth (i.e., Mr. Big's real name) is just another actor on a "Law & Order" show. A very good "L & O" at that. I believe it's Criminal Intent. But I could be wrong. (Cue theme music.)

But my real problem is this: I either really stink at being friends, or they're just makin' it all up. For those of you who don't watch the show (now in syndication -- watered-down -- on TBS) (i.e., guys, and my mom): there are four women, all in their 30s, who are (for the most part) single (and fabulous). They live in nice apartments, dress in the latest fashions, and date hot guys. They have successful careers (Carrie goes from being a sex columnist for a weekly newspaper to working at Vogue - I mean, come on). They date around. And they still have time (and money) to go out to breakfast every few days together. And they still go out all the time. And they still call each other all the time. I feel a million miles away from that.

Is it because I'm much younger than that, am engaged and prefer not to go out all the time? Because I've never had a cosmopolitan, their signature drink? Is it because I'm not in New York City? Is it because my idea of a hot date is pizza and a movie (in an apartment with heat - first year EVER)? Or how about because I was schooled in a blue-collar city and treasure every single dollar bill I have? (It's all about the Washingtons, baby.)

Yes.

I just don't call people. I don't know all the dirty details. I don't even ask.

Not that I don't want to. I'm just sayin'.

Tuesday, November 29, 2005

"Keep in touch."

School's over. I've moved a few states away. I have a real job. It's getting harder to stay in touch in a time when it should be easier: I got Instant Messenger and a cell phone, a myspace.com account and a blog, an e-mail account and even a few stamps.

But it's hard to stay in touch. It's just downright hard. There's no other word I wanted to use in that sentence to describe how hard it is.

I mean, there's the whole "picking up the phone" action, which I've never been good at. I dislike talking on the phone. I've got my reasons.

E-mail takes time. Writing one could take only a few minutes, but if I'm in the mood to talk to The College Roommate, I know I won't get an e-response back for days.

Instant message? No. Too weird. I used to IM from Mom's house, typing really, really quietly so Mom wouldn't hear that I was still on the computer. I'm not 16 anymore, but I feel like it on IM.

Regular mail? Phssshtft. Right. I only mail Christmas cards and birthday cards. And the occasional bill. Grrr.

Myspace is fun, but it's not a comprehensive list of friends.

That brings me back to "doe." I'm gonna have to suck it up and admit that perhaps it's easier to be friends with someone when you share things: half of rent, for instance, or shared deadlines at the student newspaper. A house. A job. A common disgust with hipsters. (If by "disgust" I mean "jealousy" ...) An ex. A love of "Sex and the City." Whatever. It's just easier to stay friends when you have stuff in common. Stuff you can see. Stuff you both have, or stuff you both are (can you be "stuff"?) right now. Stuff you're going through.

I have all these memories in common with The Roommate; she and I have been friends since junior high. Shouldn't we be BFFs? Yeah. But it's weird now. I mean, I don't know how to say this ... but she's in Eastern Standard Time. Seriously. She watches her news at 11 p.m. You know what they say about people who watch their news at 11. (What?) They live in EST. (Ooh.)

I'm gonna try to still be BFFs. I care about her, I miss her a lot, I sometimes want nothing more than to come home and get into fake fights with her like I used to. But when it's 7 here, it's 8 there.

How do people do this? Or is "keep in touch" code for "we both like each other, but we know it's not going to be easy to be friends"? I don't know.

20 Questions at Christmas

The funny thing about writing a blog every day is that it's an accurate snapshot of how I'm feeling -- at that moment. And you get to watch it all change. Daily.

Maybe I reacted too soon to the "I want to stay home, I hate Mondays" vibe I was feeling. I mean, I still hate Mondays. But maybe more at-home time isn't what I need.

I got a fax today from someone in California. Had a little interesting tidbit of information in it: out of 2,678 singles surveyed, 44 percent expect to be asked about their love lives at least five times over the holiday season.

Dang.

I'm technically only quasi-single; that is, I'm engaged, and therefore am not shopping around. But I still have enough "quasi" in me to appreciate that there won't be time for me to fall into that 44 percent, otherwise known as "The Questionables."

No, sir. Ma'am. I'll be in and out, no time for small talk, no time to be cornered by the people back home with the million questions (you know, the one who asks you questions when you're waiting in line for the bathroom, or in the food line, and even though silence would be more comfortable, they JUST keep asking questions? I tend to get really excited about whatever it is we're doing, to divert the conversation from me to the situation, but it's useless).

It wasn't the relationships that I didn't like playing 20 Questions with, it was the jobs; school. "How's the job hunt?" "How's school going?" "Studying hard or hardly studying?" (Oh, people are sooo funny.) I got a job. I'm done with school. So does that mean I'll be the one asking younger people questions? Or am I going to get asked about something else?

Time would have told but, dang, I don't think I'll be hanging around the punch bowl long enough for anyone to ask. Shucks.

Monday, November 28, 2005

A wedding dress and a bombshell with wheels

OK, so maybe my complaining was a little premature.

I got a wedding dress Saturday. Amid my screams: "I don't have any money, and I'm not in the mood to wedding-dress shop!" -- I was able to find the most gorgeous dress ever created. And that is a scientific fact.

It's white (not ivory), it sits off the shoulders a bit. It's not scandalous in the chestal region. It's beaded on the top, but not "Chicago!" beaded. It's got a long, long train. It was on the sale rack. Oooh yeah. It was magical. Wait. But there is one myth: "You'll know it's your dress as soon as you try it on." That's not true. I tried on like, eight or nine dresses, and only two of those would make me hide instead of walking down any aisle. But I narrowed it down to two. Then one. Then I knew. So it's a partially true myth. Or partially false. Whatev.

It was the third dress I tried on, in the first (and only) store. But it is so me. And it's comfortable. I mean, as comfortable as a dress with a corset-like bra and one of those puffy slip things with itchy netting can be. Anyhow, it made me happy. Mom loves it, too. She didn't even cry. Not in the store, anyhow.

And then ... (drum roll, please) ... I ended an era.

"She must have colored her hair." (Yes, it's dark brown now. But that's not it. Guess again.)

"She must have broken up with The Fiance." (Uh, no.)

"She must have gotten rid of one of her Christmas trees." (Riiight.)

No, ladies and gentlemen, I GOT A NEW CAR.

I can hear the collective gasp.

Actually, The Fiance, The Stepdad and The Brother found it when I was out finding my wedding dress (expensive day to be me, yessss). They even got me a deal where I don't have to pay anything until March. And it's an awesome car. A maroon 2001 Alero, with cupholders, a CD player and a five-speed vent system. Can you sing "Movin' on Up?" Hopefully Michigan will be nothing but a bad dream to me come March.

What am I going to do with Geo, you ask? I'm gonna set it on fire. Oh, wait. Illegal. Uh, I'm going to push it in the lake. Illegal, dang. I'm going to donate it as a tax write-off. Yes. I am. Not that I understand what a tax write-off really is. But it sounds good. And I got a new car. And a dress. And I don't have to pay anything on either until later. So I am still poor. But dang, do I look good.

In my new car.

And dress.

Sunday, November 27, 2005

Party like it's 1945

Sometimes I wish it were 1945. Not because things are so complicated. They're really not. Not because I'm a conservative. I'm not. Not because I would enjoy a good fireside chat. Boring.

But because then I could stay home instead of going to work.

I love my job. I do. It's challenging. I love the people I work with. I love what I do, and I want to keep doing it for a long time.

But sometimes, mostly on Sundays (because Sundays are the devil), I want to stay home, clean the kitchen, vacuum, and do laundry. Sometimes I WANT to do these things.

I also would like to be able to go home whenever I wanted to. Like at Christmas. I have one vacation day, and one "floating holiday." Christmas is on a Sunday. I have to go to Mom and The Stepdad's. Then Dad and The Stepmom's. Then The Fiance's parents' house. Then his other side of the family. And I wanted to see my grandparents, not to mention my friends back home, and in Toledo. But I can't. 12 hours from here to Cincinnati. Three-and-a-half hours from Cincinnati to Mom. An hour and 15 minutes from Mom to Toledo. 8 hours from Toledo to Wisconsin. Three days. Three. Days.

I would hate a lot of things about 1945. I would hate the war. I would hate the conservatism. The open prejudices. The rules. The restrictions on women. I bet I would even be one of those women who would fight to have the right to go to college, to have a "man's" job, for a "man's wages." I would be that girl.

But now that I have those rights, the great, noble fight is over. And I just want to go home. After tomorrow, I'll feel better. If I could put Mondays, Michigan and money problems in a box and then blow it up, I'd be happy. (That's not a threat. Just a literary illustration. I don't like loud noises, and I'm not particularly into the whole "getting in trouble with the law" thing.)

Even if those things did disappear, I suppose I'd just hate Tuesdays. Dang.

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Christmas, lists, and the inlaws

Christmas is about one of my favorite things in the whole entire world, and I make out Christmas lists like other women paint their nails (often and in shiny colors) (insert confused look here). Yet, somehow, when The Fiance's Mom calls and asks for one, I can't seem to get out anything but a shy "I don't knooow." We're talking blushing, face gets hot, I start thinking about bolting for the nearest door. Then I remember I'm 12 hours away from her, and that by running out the door, my cell phone will cut out and she'll just call back until she gets an answer. (What is this, "Night Stalker"?)

(It should be noted I haven't actually seen that movie, and am not sure it exists, but it's the only title with "stalker" in it that I could think of so quickly.) She's relentless. I really admire that in her. For instance, if she wants to talk to The Fiance, she'll call his cell. Then our apartment. Then my cell. Then back to his to leave a message. Then back to the apartment to leave another message. She's good.

But doesn't she realize that I haven't really had inlaws before? I don't know how to act yet. I have to find my equilibrium (and I said science was a waste of time, scoff). At least I like his family. Most of the time (not the time they chased me around the basement at Christmas last year with a frozen cow tongue) (why didn't I take that as a sign?) (just kidding). Besides the four years of practice with The Ex-Boyfriend's family, I'm still pretty new to this.

I still get a little pouty when I have to leave my Christmas party for HIS. In my head is a little 5-year-old, stomping her feet and saying "I don't WANNA go!") On the outside, is me, smiling. I get a little nervous when the "grandkids" get brought up. (Don't rush me.)

Where is that line with the sign next to it that says "Do Not Cross"? I don't know.

Thursday, November 24, 2005

The worst day ever

I am so tired. Last week, The Fiance and I heard that the apartment we're still paying rent on in Michigan had a "really strong chance" of being rented by someone else, thus breaking our lease.
Yesterday, we found out the rental agents don't think that'll happen anymore. We're stuck another month. This could go on until April.
Why is this a big deal? Because at the end of the month, like last month, I'll have $200. Oh, and how convenient that the two school loans I have are about $200 a month, starting at the beginning of December. Merry Christmas. Plus the credit card bill, the cell phone bill, the electricity bill (for Michigan, because they can't turn the electricity off, even though the heat is included in the rent and therefore wouldn't be extra anyhow), the local phone bill, the Internet. Dang.
Since I thought I'd have an extra $680 a month, I thought I could go wedding dress shopping this weekend when Mom comes up. Now I don't even want to. And I was going to look for a new car, since the 1990, 201,000-mile car I have now just isn't going to make it much longer. Now I can't.
I realize this will all pay off in the long run. I mean, I moved here for a job that I like, and will stay at for a while. But dang, what I wouldn't do to have the whole state of Michigan fall into a Great Lake.
I have little hope someone will rent the place out. Seriously. Who moves to Adrian, Mich.? It's in the middle of nowhere and somewhere-you-don't-want-to-be. Scratch that. It is somewhere you don't want to be.
I feel really sick to my stomach. I wish I hadn't found out that we were going to pay double rent for December until after this weekend. But I have to send both rents out Friday.
I hate life right now. Pretty badly.
Dang, and I hate complaining about money. But who else will I complain to, Dearest Blog? This is life. I gotta talk about it.

Wednesday, November 23, 2005

Home is cheesy potatoes

I was the coolest person on the planet at 16. Or at least I thought I was. And because I had just learned what "disenchanted" meant (it was a vocab word for our "Great Gatsby" unit), and because I liked the way it sounded, I thought it was the only word that was cool enough to describe me.
Of course, we grow up and realize (with much embarrassment) that a word - no matter how pretty - does not an accurate description make. There aren't many girls who go to a small, rural school who should use that word to describe themselves. But I'd spent too much time watching "Dawson's Creek." And I had a real-life Dawson, reaffirming my misguided beliefs.
I wanted to see the world. I wanted to do something with my life. I did the only logical thing there was to do: I left the country. OK, so I just thought of 76 more logical things to do, but bear with me.
I did it because I didn't care about Homecoming. I didn't care about how much I'd miss home, and all the things that go with it, including freedom and understanding.
And I surely didn't think I'd miss my mom as much as I did.
And I went. And it was lonely, and exhilarating, and it made me grow up really, really fast. Nothing says "just do it" like being lost in the domestic side of the airport in Washington DC alone, 30 minutes before you're supposed to be on a plane to Amsterdam. You wipe those tears, pick up your bags and just go. And I went. And I stayed a semester there. I learned a new language. I studied English, chemistry, French and Dutch -- all in Dutch. I made new friends. I did all that. But sometimes at night, I'd lay in bed and cry, because I was still 16, and I missed my mom.
But are we ever supposed to stop missing our moms? I moved seven hours, three states and one Great Lake away from mom. I don't cry. But the way I feel now is the way I feel the day before I knew I was going back to America. Like a piece of whoever I was would be with mom, and that I could just go home. I've lost that feeling of home. I'm kinda hoping she brings it with her.
In the form of cookies, or cheesy potato casserole.

Tuesday, November 22, 2005

Holy Toledo

When I left Toledo, it was just one big smelly city with a lot of negative aspects to it. Now, oddly enough, I kind of miss it.
What on earth is there to miss about a pothole-laden, poor, riot-starting city? Well, now that you asked ... I miss knowing where places are. I miss feeling superior to the freshmen at the University of Toledo because I didn't get lost downtown.
I miss the grace periods of my school loans. All $20,000 of them. Make that $28,000 with interest. Dang.
I miss knowing about Toledo politics, and being a small part of that network.
I miss some of the people, like the people with whom I worked at the Independent Collegian. Oddly enough, I don't miss the newspaper like I thought I would. When I was there, I lived there. I had a toothbrush, facewash and pajamas in my drawer. I'm not even kidding. Maybe I don't miss it because I have a new newspaper job. Perhaps I don't miss it because I'm glad I can keep my toothbrush at home.
I don't miss the reminders of stupid decisions I made - and I made a lot of them. I stayed in a four-year relationship because I was scared of hurting him - and ended up hurting him anyway. Got really drunk one time outside of Rob's house. Not real proud of that night. Got into bicker-ments with friends. Got chased by a raging lunatic who followed us off I-75 in his red(neck) truck to try to kill Dave, Rob and I because we weren't driving fast enough for him. I don't miss that.
College seemed to take FOR-EV-ER when I was in it. Now it seems to have gone fast. No, that's a lie. It seems to have gone by not so slow as I thought. Not fast. It didn't go fast.
When I think of Toledo, I get the same feeling as someone who broke up with someone -- when I hear about it, my heart races and my ears perk up. Then I remember I'm not supposed to have such strong feelings about it anymore. Dang.

Friday, November 18, 2005

U-Circle fire effects still linger for some




By Zac Haughn
Independent Collegian
Published: Monday, March 22, 2004

Each time Mara Hostetler leaves her house, she goes through a routine.

She makes sure the gas stove is off and all burning candles are extinguished, and then takes a final glance for any other possible fire hazards.

"I go over it every time I leave my house," said Hostetler, who graduated from UT last spring with a degree in nursing.

Hostetler was one of 261 students affected by the fire that destroyed part of the University Circle apartment complex at 3414 Dorr St. She lived in one of the 26 apartments that burned down.

The fire has given Hostetler a new appreciation for the basic necessity of a home.

"It's something you take for granted until it happens to you," she said.

Nearly a year and a half after fire destroyed parts of U-Circle on Nov. 16, victims of the fire still feel the effects today.

Nick Stahm, a resident of the apartment building opposite the engulfed building at the time of the fire and a UT alum, said he was sleeping when the fire started, and was awakened by phone calls from another resident in the apartment.

"I walked out in the hallway and didn't see any smoke or any people, so I wasn't that concerned," he said. "And then I walked into my room and saw my blinds were glowing red. I pulled the blinds up and saw flames coming 40 to 50 feet off the building."

Stahm said he packed personal items and left his complex. Once outside, his landlord asked him and other residents to return to the buildings not affected by the fire to ensure they were vacated.

The reconstruction of the complex continues, but Mary Farmer, landlord of U-Circle, declined to comment.

Stahm said his apartment was designated as heavily damaged by smoke, but Stahm suffered no major losses.

He said the fire left a lasting impression on him, and he now has an insurance plan and takes all fire precautions.

Sarah Hudak, a resident of the building where the fire started, was not as fortunate. Hudak, who graduated from UT last spring with a degree in psychology, said she lost all her possessions in the fire.

"My laptop, TV, DVD player and everything else," she said. "Just gone."

Hudak said the $7,000 in damages was covered by her insurance plan, but the fire destroyed what could not be replaced.

"I lost four photo albums that covered the last four years of history; a lot of sorority paraphernalia," she said. "A lot of special stuff."

Hudak said she stayed in a room at the Red Roof Inn provided by The American Red Cross, and called UT's assistance in the transition "incredible."

"I was extremely relieved that they were so helpful, even though technically we weren't part of their student housing," she said.

UT leases certain U-Circle apartments to students, but the ones affected by the fire were not the responsibility of UT.

"They treated it like it was their responsibility and helped us any way they could," Hudak said.

Brian Nally, a fourth-year student majoring in electrical engineering and resident of U-Circle at the time of the fire, echoed Hudak's feelings about UT's assistance.

Nally said UT set up a room for him at the International House and gave him a week's worth of food, free of charge.

UT held a clothing drive, notified the instructors of all fire victims and provided temporary housing in The Crossings, Hudak said.

The feeling of loss ultimately set in at a meeting at The Crossings when officials listed each apartment destroyed by the fire.

"I'll never forget what it was like the day when we were in The Crossings and they read the list of the apartments that were destroyed," Hudak said. "You saw it in flames, but when they said, 'everything you have is gone,' two of my friends just completely broke down."

Stahm said the tragedy of the fire brought he and his friends closer.

"My friends and I realized that was probably the first time in a year since we had all gotten together when we all met up in the temporary shelter the Red Cross set up," he said. "It kind of pulled everyone back together."
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Top photo: Nick Landrum/ for The IC
University Circle Building A is still being reconstructed 16 months after a fire destroyed 26 apartments, primarily housing UT students.

Bottom photo: Brian Nally/ for The IC
University Circle Building A at 6:53 a.m. Nov. 16, 2002. Thirty-nine UT students lost all their possessions and many more had to deal with smoke and water damage. The fire affected 261 students.