Unexpectedly Expecting

Back in the diz-ay

Five years ago this week, where was I? What was I worried about? What was going on in my head?

Let's take a look. Bold parts are added by the older, wiser me.

OCT 8, 2002: I'm very very tired right now. (Nothing changes.) I woke up at 6 a.m. (once a procrastinator, always a procrastinator) to sneak into the office and make a few more copies of my clips before I handed them over to the (company I now work for) recruiter. My interview went pretty well, I think. My head actually hurt from tiredness, and that was a distraction, and I could have been more articulate. (Still working on that). But he liked my letters and I think he liked my clips. He said I need to drive to meet (the man who is now my boss). That's a good sign, for sure. I think I have a chance.

As I was waiting in the hallway for my interview, (a lady who I haven't really spoken to since), gave me some interesting news. Apparently, (publication I now sometimes work for) wrote the head of the J-School and asked if he would recommend anyone for a spring internship. He met with (aforementioned woman) and (Mr. Funnybones), my favorite professor. They picked me. They kept stressing how this is a great opportunity... And it is. It's New York City, a place I grew up dreaming about. It's free housing. It's the most prestigious (kind of writing I now do) publication in the country. And I'm going to apply. If they think I have a chance, I probably do. And I should try. But what if I get it. (Don't hold your breath, sweetheart).

I know Colorado was fine (I lived there for three freaking months)... But I missed Jimmy. I missed people I know. I met people, too, I met (roommate who I haven't spoken to in about four years). And I really love that girl. But... if I go to New York in January, that means I won't be with Jimmy until August, until we move to Carefree (a town in Arizona we once planned to move to for no apparent reason other than that it was named Carefree). That's if we both get internships, which I think we will. I'm not really afraid of breaking up... And I want to be a strong, independent woman. (Sure you do. Mmhmmm.) I think I am. But damn it, I really love that boy to pieces. Every moment with him is the happiest moment of my life.( Um, gag.) I know we have time, but I want all the time in the world. All of it. (Double gag).

Also, on a side note, what if we go to war? Do I really want to be living in NYC? (I guess I thought that NYC would be bombed. At least I understood that we were about to enter a pointless and misguided war.)

Also, on another side note, my mother called Carefree a pipe dream.(Maybe I should have listened to my mother.) My adviser looked at me funny today when I told him. But I don't get it. WHY CAN'T PEOPLE PICK A PLACE THEY WANT TO LIVE AND GO THERE? (Oh, child). My mom gave me a huge lecture on how I'll probably have good opportunities, and that I should take them. (Smart lady.) I agree, but I don't agree with throwing your dreams, pipe or not, down the fucking tubes. (Watch the language, missy. The point they were trying to make was, what kind of pointless dream was that?)

I'm going to Nebraska with Jimmy this weekend. I'm so excited. I had to find someone to take my Friday shift at the coffeehouse, and I'm going to put mad hours into work today and tomorrow. Then Thursday morn, we're off. A photographer and her friend are coming, too. And that's fine. I'm just happy Jimmy doesn't have to go all alone, and that we can go together. (We went to Omaha. It wasn't bad.)

I'm so lucky. I have this great, wonderful boy who I love so much and who loves me so much that it brings tears to my eyes just thinking about it. (Am I auditioning for a chick flick or what?) And I have job opportunities, people saying that I'm good enough and I've worked hard enough to go somewhere. I want both. I think I can have both, but man, it'd be simpler if there was only one side to me.

So there you have it. Five years ago, apparently I wish to be.... more one-dimensional. Comical. I guess I shouldn't poke fun. That is a tough time, when you're about to graduate and you don't know where you're going and you have to make all of these decisions. Really, that time of my life, all the decisions I made have led me directly to where I am now. So yeah, I guess I had a right to be angst-ridden. Makes for some cringe-worthy reading five years later, though.

Comedy

Yesterday, my adorable husband stood in the kitchen and talked to no one, which he often does. Well, I suppose he is usually directing his commentary at me, but I am often three or four rooms away with my nose in a book or something. So it seems as if he is talking to no one, although he certainly gets pissy when I "don't listen," so I know he's really talking to me.

Anyway, this is what I overheard:

"Robert's nickname should be "Yessiree!"

Pause. Pause. I finally realize he is talking to me and waiting for my response.

"Why?"

"Because then she would be, "Yessiree Bob!"

Grooooaaan.

Sorry, ladies. He's all mine.

Cabin weekend and the living is easy

So each summer* since 1999, a ragtag group of 20 to 30 friends -- some who have know each other from childhood, some who latched on in college -- has traversed to middle-of-nowhere Michigan to descend upon the peaceful cabin community of Townline Lake. There, we hold the annual cabin weekend, a three-day event that typically includes lots of sitting around a camp fire, some flip cup on the dock, a pontoon ride in mid-afternoon and many adult beverages. It's a lovely time, a weekend that reminds me now of my younger days, and a chance to see old friends at least once each year.

Ah, picturesque.

It was as fun as ever this weekend, even if I am clearly becoming a lamer, older version of my former self, a girl who is quite happy to go to bed at the reasonable hour of 1:30 and who went all domesticated and took real, actual food along with me. At many a cabin weekend in the past, we ate nothing except hotdogs and potato chips, so that by noon on Sunday, we all craved something with real nutritional benefits like carrotts or rutabegas.

But we have always started Saturday out with a good breakfast. Each year, we pile into cars and drive into "town" -- one traffic light, a few gas-stations, a grocery store and our restaurant of choice, Spyke's. Except that this year, Spyke's had inexplicably become "Tater Monkey's." Terrible, isn't it? But the good news was that once inside, nothing had changed. It still had lovely bathrooms, ready and waiting for deposits from cabin-goers who know that the facilities at the homebase aren't exactly up to snuff, and a ready and waiting bar staff happy to oblige 10 a.m. orders for wine spritzers and screwdrivers.

Also, the new owners had made the genuis decision to leave the decor untouched. And no restaurant in America has decor quite like Spyke's...Tater Monkey's. Along the wall, they have plastered strange and stranger old-fasioned photos of children. What do I mean? Well, let's take a look.

What in the world? Is she a child prostitute, or is it just me? Something about her clothes -- that low-cut, ruffley top and that beyond-her-years cap. Or maybe it's the slightly stoic, slightly sad look in her 12-year-old eyes, like she has done things she'd care not remember. And now all she has, the only thing who loves her for her is that little white bunny, given to her no doubt by some John.

 

Next up, we have this strange mohawked baby. First off, have you ever seen a baby with a mohawk whom wasn't resting in the arms of Angelina Jolie? And second, have you ever seen a sadder, less alive, nearly adult expression on a little lad's face? I understand the grim look was the trend of the day, but how in the world did they get this six-month-old on board with that?

Onto this work. Excuse the glare. Here we have two children, both dressed like assholes. I mean, like adults. And the painter has placed them in a not-quite-loving embrace. Actually, it's more like the embrace between an uninterested yet submissive drunk girl and a horny old dude. So weird.

Have you seen just enough strange children for one post? Well, how about this guy, then?

This guy was so creepy, he couldn't even be captured by film. I tried like hey to get a clear shot of this, and each time, he wound up looking...blurry. Like... a ghost? A ghost hovering over a chair and watching my every move as I scarfed down breakfast tacos? Yes, that sounds about right.

And finally, for your viewing pleasure, and to really understand the sick nature of the art buyer at this fine establishment, I give you this.

Yep. That's a nice young white girl with her slave. And yep, the slave is sort of grotesquely non-human
looking. Classy. So classy.

We managed to have a fine time despite the creepy art display. The weekend continued with lots of conversation, a spin on the boat, the standard flip cup game, a very long dance party, and the playing of MSU Drinking Board Game from 1970-something. Sunday was spent on the deck, catching-up. So I must say, I love cabin weekend in all its glory, even if I do have ghosts and prostitutes lurking around me at breakfast time.

* Each summer, that is, except in 2006. We were such terrible cabin guests in 2005 that we ended up banned from the cottage for an entire year. Mind you, most of us were 25 or 26 at that point. And that the man in charge, Wally, first starting cabin excursions when he was a ridiculously young age, something like 15. It was a bad summer.

Blissful

I spent part of my afternoon laying on a blanket in the backyard, reading, staring at the wind blowing through the trees, watching Robert chase leaves. Thinking.

Did you ever think about the design of trees? How the branches can bend and not snap, that the wind -- even the gusty, strong kind we have today -- can slip through without causing any damage? That the leaves themselves, for the most part, don't get ripped off of the branches?

I worked hard during the last month. During the last nine months. The slow pace right now? It's indulgent.

I want to make this bread pudding, even though I don't really like bread pudding. Isn't it always soggy?  Really, I want to make it and go to a little cabin in Petoskey and read and sleep and write. For three days. I want to reach that point of boredom, when you feel almost guilty for being so non-productive. And then keep at it for a good while longer.

Ooo! I want to ride a bike along a road by a lake. A lake without any boats. I want to take a nap in a really breezy, temperate room and wake up to a big plate of cookies that someone else baked. Then I want to sit on a front porch in a big wicker chair with a cushion, eat my cookies and read a new book.

I want to have an organized, cute, clean office and the inspiration to write something I really love, and not just another something.

I haven't read the Bible -- or prayed -- in a long time. Hmmm.

ESTP

Two years ago, I bought this book that uses Myer-Briggs testing principles to help you find your personality profile and then figure out what kind of career fits you best. Back then, I was pretty certain I fit one profile. Recently, a friend reintroduced this philosophy to me, and I dug my book back out, and now I'm pretty certain I fit a different profile.

I fooled myself into thinking I'm an ENTP because that profile sounded frankly more likeable. But I'm really an ESTP -- outgoing but sometimes blunt, aggressive sometimes to my detriment, always looking for fun and action and always taking in lots of information from the world around me.

I love this Myer-Briggs stuff. Like cracking your own personality code. Here's are some excerts that sounded partciularly fitting from how one Web site describes my profile (Extroverted, Sensing, Thinking, Perceiving).

ESTPs are action oriented, pragmatic, outgoing and realistic people. They use their quickness and flexibility to find the most efficient route to accomplishing whatever needs to be done. They are lively, entertaining, and fun. They like to be where the action is and participate fully in what is happening. Characteristically, they are direct with their comments and mince no words. They are at their best in situations that require an orientation to the present and a direct, no-nonsense, pragmatic approach.

If and when life becomes too routine for ESTPs, they find ways to jazz it up, either through their own actions or those of others. They may take unusual trips or add to their lives some excitement or big-game hunting. They like life filled with zest. They may choose to retire early so that they can have more time for activities that they consider fun. They enjoy being around others in pursuit of a good time.

One of the ESTP's main strengths is using the five senses to notice what is happening, to find any flaws and inaccuracies that may exist, and to act quickly on them.

ESTPs value a quick response, they operate under the organizational principle that it is easier to beg for forgiveness after committing the act than to ask for permission in advance. The parts of their work environment or homes that are well-organized tend to relate to their interests.

ESTP's tend to leave a trail of papers, piles of resources, and messy files and closets, but usually their work is well put together in the end. One ESTP said, "I hate a clean desk. My desk is workable and is organized and categorized as needed."

Does that sound like me or what?