January 2, 2008 | Filed under: DC! DC! DC!, Good Things Come to Those Who Are Impatient Whiners

The answer to your question is, in a word, surreal.

Last night was the fifteenth consecutive night I spent in a room that is not my own. This morning was also the fifteenth consecutive morning on which I donned an outfit straight out of my suitcase. I didn’t make it to the grocery store after work tonight like I promised myself, so tomorrow will be the fifteen millionth consecutive day that I eat like crap.

(Thankfully, today was only the first day during which I failed to operate an unfamiliar alarm clock correctly and was rudely awoken at midnight. And then again at 12:05 AM, since I apparently hit the snooze button in my attempt to make the damn thing shut up. I think I’m going back to my cell phone alarm tonight.)

In many ways it feels much like those other weeks I would spend in DC, minus some of the rush to get all my work done (because I was only ever here for a busy week) and see everyone and make it to the gym and not turn into an alcoholic, before getting back on a plane headed for California.

I spent the day getting caught up on the status of work projects and other people’s personal life happenings and, finally, late this afternoon after I’d seen enough people and talked to my new manager and placed a call to a friend’s real estate agent, it started to sink in: I live here now. I live here.

Happy new year, indeed.

December 12, 2007 | Filed under: Good Things Come to Those Who Are Impatient Whiners, Is She Still Talking?

Most of my friends are married and making them babies
To most of them I already died
And whatever it is about you I’ve always hated
Is something about myself I just couldn’t hide

It’s certainly true that most of my friends are married and having babies, as highlighted in an exchange last night at our Junior League committee’s holiday party.

Me, on the verge of announcing my move back to DC: I have news.

Committee chair: You’re pregnant?

Me: …*blinking* … Um, no. Noooo, definitely not pregnant.

But I’m pretty sure no one thinks I’ve already died. If anything, I’m returning from the dead with my upcoming re-appearance on the East Coast. I think it goes without saying that this birthday is slightly less traumatic than last year, and THANK GOD for that. I don’t know if I can handle that sort of thing more than once a decade or so. Though, now that I think about it, 26 was a pretty terrible birthday, too, for entirely different reasons. This does not bode well for next year. Crap.

I don’t really have anything witty or insightful or even bitter and angry to say here, (You: You know you could just stop typing, right? Me: Oh, but what fun would that be?) but what a difference a year makes! My house is in shambles, I’ve been putting in 60-hour work weeks, my Christmas cards haven’t written themselves yet, and I stopped at the grocery store on my way to work this morning so I could grab something for both breakfast and lunch. And yet, I’m content. I feel that I’m moving in the right direction, rather than kicking and screaming and flailing at the Universe. Of course, until I actually arrive in DC and show up at the office and unpack and get settled in, I won’t be able to say with certainty that I’m where I need to be, but I suspect I’m close.

I’m getting together with a longtime friend of mine tonight — yes, she’s now married and has a baby — and that’s really all it will take to make me happy. Well, that and some cake. Would that all of my needs are so easily met in this, my last year as a twenty-something. Maybe this will be the year I learn to be patient and trust that it’ll all work out.

Yeah, I doubt it, too.

December 5, 2007 | Filed under: DC! DC! DC!, Good Things Come to Those Who Are Impatient Whiners

I just read Holly’s post and experienced some major flashbacks to the last time I flew to DC, when I wasn’t packed yet and the SuperShuttle guy showed up early and called me every five minutes to see if I was ready yet. Dude, if my phone would stop ringing every three seconds, I might actually manage to put something in my damn suitcase.

When I was ready, still within the 15 minute window of my pick-up time, but not by much, I turned off all the lights, grabbed my purse, laptop bag, and the handle of my suitcase and booked it to the front door.

Have I mentioned it was 3:30 in the morning? And therefore pitch dark in the house? It was.

I ran smack into the dining room wall, just inches from where the dining room opens into the living room, somehow hitting my head before (or perhaps simultaneously) ramming my knee into the same. I was going full force at this point and, I kid you not, I saw stars. Tears instantly sprang to my eyes, but I made myself pull it together and focus on what was important right now: the need to get out the door, pronto. The possibility that I’d just given myself a concussion was just going to have to wait.

I dashed out the front door in time to see the SuperShuttle pulling away as I locked the door behind me. For the second time in two minutes, I was nearly overcome by tears. As I pondered what to do, my phone rang. It was the shuttle driver, informing me that he was leaving to pick up the next customer and then he’d come back. Hmm, yes, nice of you to call after you’ve already left. Thanks for that.

Once my suitcase and I were safely on our way to the airport, under the cloak of darkness and the chatter of the other passengers, I gave in to the tears. The hellish morning, the nearly being left behind, the fact that my head and knee were still throbbing were all just a little too much for my stressed-out, three-hours-of-sleep self. I cursed everyone and everything but mostly I cursed the fact that I had to get on a plane and fly across the country to be in DC. I hate this, I hate this, I hate this. I’ve had these hellish mornings before. They almost always involve getting on a plane to DC. Godfuckingdamnit. None of this would happen if I just fucking lived there. No packing, no SuperShuttle, no frantic dash to the airport, no logistical contortions to cram as many people into my one-week calendar as possible, I could just get up in the morning and ALREADY BE THERE.

And this is why I relish the knowledge that on January 1, I’m going to get up in the morning and already be there, with no return flight planned.

June 10, 2007 | Filed under: Because They Pay Me, Good Things Come to Those Who Are Impatient Whiners, The California Adventure

Well, this was supposed to be more thoughtful and much less slapdash, write-something-before-I-fall-asleep-like, but Lori e-mailed me a question about wine and I had to write back a tome with more disclaimers than actual recommendations, but my gosh I feel it is my duty to counteract the unfortunate damage done to Merlot’s reputation, thanks to that horrid, horrid (though thoroughly entertaining) movie. Merlot is lovely! There are some terrific merlots out there! Find one! Love one!

Anyway.

Five years ago today, I began my first Real Job. One with a salary and a health plan and paid vacation days and everything. I was thinking this would be a two-year gig. They made me an offer requiring a three year commitment. OK, three years it is! I’d been planning on taking a leisurely vacation between school and starting work, because when would I ever have the time again? They pushed to get me in the door ASAP, so in less than three weeks I found an apartment to sublet, landed a roommate to look for a permanent place with, packed up and moved halfway across the country. I didn’t do any real work until August, and I still haven’t made it to Puerto Rico for two weeks on the beach. Let that be a lesson: Forget work; take the damn vacation.

Obviously, my three years have turned into five, and every day I worry that 25 years from now I’ll be telling you about the lovely plaque they gave me at my retirement party, along with the touching tributes and the congratulatory sheet cake from Costco. That, I fear, is The Inevitable. Or one of the potential inevitables in my life.

And, in a move that does absolutely nothing to prevent that inevitability from occurring, nor does it further my goal of returning to the East Coast, they just offered me a promotion. And I accepted. Because when it comes to managing my career, I have a mantra, and that mantra is: If Someone Hands You a Promotion and Throws More Money at You for Doing Essentially the Same Amount of Work, Take It. I think I picked that one up from Dale Carnegie, but you’re welcome to it.

The long and short of it, then, is that despite all of my efforts to change things, The Universe has spoken: I am apparently doing what I am supposed to be doing right now. And I’m OK with that pretending to be OK with that. I don’t have time for Puerto Rico these days, but a case of Merlot should help the cause.