Worst Student Ever

I'm not sure if I nearly had a coronary because I'd forgotten my camera bag at the bar with nearly $3000 worth of essentials within, or because I am and have always been and will always be ridiculously out of shape and still drunkenly ran across the street through thick traffic in order to retrieve it.

It was thankfully right where I'd left it, and when I ran back to catch the train I thought I might die, or at the very least that my heart was somehow making its way up into my throat and was going to strangle me as a punishment for being the worst student ever.

I've shied away from blogging for fear that the blog will only read the following, depending on what moment I chose to write:

"I'm so insecure!"

"Everyone's better than me!"

"People finally looked at the photos and there was positivity!"

"Everyone must be rich!"

"I am inadequate!"

"I've been sheltered!"

"I haven't had a professional job yet and am not taken seriously!"

"I don't know how anyone cares this much about tripods!"

"I don't want to be a student at all times."

"I want to be working on the musical instead."

"If I have to attach my card reader one more time I will scream. Loudly."

"I can't believe I have to buy another computer! Oh, the anxiety!"

"I heart photography!"

"I hate photography!"

I'm settling into this new life and it's taking much longer than I'd anticipated. Also unanticipated is the slacker persona that I seem to have adopted. I'm not as motivated as everyone else is, I'm not as motivated as I should be. I'm trying to figure out why. I think I've been spoiled by salaried work. For the past nine years I've been segregating day and night, and full time students aren't supposed to do that. Yet I'm still doing that. I'm succeeding, so right now there's no reason to behave differently, other than my feeling a sort of isolation from my classmates but I'm not entirely sure that I care.

See? This entry goes under the heading "I'm so insecure!"

I am going to get back into the swing of blogging. I will designate two hours a night for photography (yeah, right), one hour for blogging and corresponding, and the rest will be set aside for recreation of some sort - TV, musical-writing, talking-with-boyfriend.

Right.

I am supposed to be doing "photography" right now, but I am not.

OK. I will. I am going to set up my tripod! I am going to see if it's acceptable! If it is not acceptable I will be buying a new tripod along with new computer and flash accessories and hundreds of dollars in software!

Ah, student life.

The poverty comes quick.

More soon.

I Hope It's Not An Omen

When D and I attempted to move from NYC to Waltham, we encountered all manner of difficulty due to poor planning. The poor planning resulted in our having to discard many of our possessions at the last minute, including a perfectly functional microwave that was immediately picked up by a jovial homeless man who did the dance of joy upon looting it along with our mop and broom. Fortuitously, Brother and His Fiance were in need of a new floor mirror, so they were able to take our mirror which we may have had to throw away.

I was happy to get rid of it, as it gave me an excuse to buy the mirror I'd seen at Straight From the Crate on 23rd Street. We didn't buy it in NYC because I already had a mirror at the time and because we wouldn't have been able to fit it in the car on our move to MA (even though D kept insisting we would have plenty of space in the car, for a mirror and even for a new dresser! you should all be proud of me for not once saying "I told you so" and for blaming myself for not being more insistent, because I knew but I didn't want the confrontation). I decided to order it online once I got to MA.

Of course it wasn't available on the Straight From the Crate website. Of course! I could have called, but given the track record I've had with customer service related things in NYC, I decided to avoid Straight From the Crate altogether.

I miraculously managed to find the very same mirror online at multiple sources by googling "Chrome Floor Mirror." I ordered it from the cheapest place, some weird furniture vendor in NJ.

I ordered it three weeks ago. It finally arrived today after two mean/exasperated phone calls by me last week and the week before begging them to actually ship it. They shipped it on Saturday.

This has been a somewhat desperate situation as the only mirror in the new apartment is the very, very small mirror on the medicine cabinet that I have to stand on my tiptoes to see myself in. I haven't seen my body in a month.

This is all tolerable, but I want to look cute for my first day of school, which is on Monday. I would like to be able to create a nice first-day-of-school ensemble. I would like to be able to see my shirt and head at the same time. I would like to be able to coordinate my hair with my shirt that I can actually see.

Of course the mirror arrived completely shattered.

I have been checking the tracking nonstop, unable to control my excitement. I have been singing "The awesome mirror is coming today!" song all day.

I have asked for another one, but I know its going to take another three weeks.

Could I shop for one locally? Yes.

But this mirror is cheap, and I've waited this long, and I love it love it love it. And after all this, I deserve to have this mirror, intact and glorious!

Would anyone like a broken floor mirror? Apparently I don't have to send this one back. You can have it and have your own glass cut. Or maybe you know someone who cuts mirror glass and he/she will do it for free! And you will have an awesome free chrome floor mirror!

Sigh. Settling in drags on and on. Still no COBRA paperwork or 401k rollover information from the old place of employment. I want to place a phone call and yell "Would you please for the love of god stop playing Solitaire and do your job and send us the COBRA information so my beloved does not experience a lapse in coverage?"

The first email I sent was responded to instantly with "The COBRA form generator has been broken and I've been meaning to fix it; you should receive the information by the end of the week and if you don't then please let me know." So she knew! Ergh. I sent the requested follow-up email that said "We didn't get the COBRA stuff." That email, of course, was ignored.

Apparently the lapse is meaningless and apparently we will still be covered, but I don't trust health insurance companies, and I don't trust lapses in coverage, and I don't believe that it will be easy to prove anything in the gray area between actual health insurance and COBRA.

I don't believe that anything is ever easy. When we received our security deposit in the mail, we were suspicious. When I got my tax refund after the NYC snafu, I thought "This can't be a real check... something will go wrong."

I want the New Yorker in me to be killed by Waltham, but broken mirrors and lack of health insurance is making it nearly impossible.

The good news is that my video conversion project is officially finished as of right now, which means I have four whole days to actually enjoy a life of unemployed leisure before going to school. I am very excited. I have a new haircut that cost less than half of what I would have paid in NYC. I have new robot plates that arrived intact. The central air was allegedly fixed this morning (although I tried it just now and I swear it was actually generating heat) so we can have more than one person over during the summer without everyone passing out. The piano is here and the damage is done to the door and stairwell but at least its here.

Life is good but it could be better, but its mostly good.

Revelation of the Day

Brother's 5th grade chorus sang one of the same songs as my 5th grade chorus!

"Inch by inch, row by row, gonna make this garden grow!"

Oh, the confusion. I was singing along, looking at the kids, thinking "Wait, those aren't my classmates... wtf?"

And now Brother is doing a solo. I can't handle it. I keep dreaming that I'm in high school and wake up cross after discovering that I am an adult.

My siblings are lucky that I love them as much as I do because ancient home videos could be a You Tube extravaganza. If I was to post this, Brother could easily retaliate by posting a clip from my 1990 birthday party sleepover at which large-glasses-me and my friends sing Biz Markie's "Just A Friend" at the top of our lungs, followed by the theme song from "The Brady Bunch."

It keeps getting better and better.

Oh my! Brother is doing a solo of The Sound of Music's "So Long, Farewell!"

"Cuckoo, cuckoo...."

Oh, The Drama

I am watching the news. I have been extraordinarily out of touch with the world since moving. I don't get the paper, we are without a radio that actually functions, and when I'm in front of the TV I am staring at old home videos instead of watching TV or dealing with the pile of Netflixes that has accumulated.

There was just a melodramatic story about Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. It consisted of clips from a Dateline episode that's going to air some time soon and Angie's new movie and Brad's production and blah blah blah and this is why it's challenging to watch the news. Do I really care what Angelina thinks about "the courageous woman at the heart of her new movie?" No.

Do I care about the fires and the whales? Yes.

Bush not wearing a seatbelt? No.

A car crashing into a day care center? Yes.

The Red Sox? Forgive me, no.

I really, really, really wish that I had something other than basic analog cable so I could watch CNN.

Oh my, Angelina's on again and she's "haunted" by the film!

Why don't they just interview Mariane Pearl?

Oh, Brad.

The Piano Is Moving

Piano movers are currently attempting to bring Father's first piano into my apartment.

My instinct is to help - one of them just said "SHIT" and "My body is sliding down because I'm on the pad" and "Can you hold this for a second?" There is obviously nothing I can do. It is difficult to watch people suffering in your house and to be helpless. Witnessing this makes me think that the $400 I am paying them to do this, which I originally deemed "Ridiculous!," is not enough.

It is also ridiculous that people routinely suggest that I move the piano myself. D used to be one of these people. Clearly most people have never seen a piano coming up stairs.

I didn't want to take Father's piano. I was trying my best to find a better (preferably free), less emotionally distressing piano on Craigslist. I found and instantly became attached to one - an ancient upright grand with ivory keys, big sound, amazing action, and, most fabulously, a coat of white paint making it the weirdest, most wonderful piano ever. Slated to buy it, I worked out endless details with its owner, including her having to remove the stairs from her bulkhead entrance so the piano could be craned out of her ex-basement (the stairs wouldn't hold the weight, it would require 7 guys, etc. etc.). She didn't anticipate the absurd cost of replacing basement stairs, thus trapping my piano in her basement for eternity.

I took this as a sign, and immediately scheduled a move for Father's piano.

This means piano practicing in my last week and a half of unemployment. It's amazing how quickly it's going. Project Convert-VHS-Home-Movies-to-DVD is consuming all of my time. This is a project more happily accomplished in poor weather. It was frustrating yesterday being confined to the couch when the sun finally came out.

I'm copying one right now in which my 12-year-old-self said "Brother, you're such an idiot!" while awkwardly playing non-basketball in our driveway. Oh, the awkward years immortalized and revisited.

This project has been a bit more traumatic than I'd anticipated. It's fascinating to see where you came from - why you are the way you are. Watching my parents as a youngish married couple has been enlightening. Watching the endless lip syncing and dance routines and slew of insane child behavior has been a riot. Seeing my high school friends has me longing for a gang and stalking people. I am realizing that I was as happy as I was angsty, but for some reason I remember only the angst.

And somehow I forgot the horrific fashions. The 80s were a cruel decade.

And what happened to the extended family? Is it because we moved away? Is it because we did something different?

Right now there are pink tights, three pairs of socks (scrunched, of course), and high tops, folks.

I'm off now to have full priced martinis and happy hour sale food with Sister.

Until tomorrow...

Everybody Wang Chung

A conspiracy exists that prevents people from downloading Wang Chung's Dance Hall Days from the internet.

This is only slightly less annoying than not being able to download one's own legally purchased music from one's Ipod to one's computer.

***

After chopping off most of my hair (not quite Britney-level, but now I'm wishing I had!) and enjoying the cut for approximately one week, the 1 cm of growth has since destroyed the cut's shape and is making me appear as though I am a soccer mom.

I have tried a million different styling techniques and no matter what I do the hairs remain uncooperative. I do not look like someone from America's Next Top Model, which was my goal. Curses.

This will require a rescue haircut once I am a permanent resident of Waltham.

***

The farewells are going well. I've seen nearly everyone who needs to be seen, and am now in party-planning mode. We will celebrate our departure on Friday night with a giant-empty-apartment dance party and roof gazing.

The work farewell lunch is on Thursday afternoon. It is going to be catered. This is not typical of the company, but for The Golden Boy, no extravagance is to be turned down!

There will most likely be a work happy hour function on Thursday night, where I will most likely make small talk about my departure with a cohort of people to whom I've never spoken.

***

I am starting to dread the mass farewell on Friday. There will definitely be tears.

Missing people is a weird phenomenon that is highly unpredictable. You think you'll miss certain people, you think you won't miss others, but as the farewells approach, you realize you really have no idea who you're going to miss most.

I predict that there will be tears when I say goodbye to NR, E, and especially R, because there's something special there.

No, there was something special there and now it's gone, making it that much more sad.

***

On Saturday night I had a dream about someone I miss from the past who I never consciously realize I miss. It was nice to see him, and when I woke up I was very shocked that the whole thing hadn't been real.

***

The move was too smooth. I suspect that when we return to MA the apartment will have been robbed and all of our smoothly relocated possessions will be gone, or worse, thrashed around into non-organized piles.

***

The apartment is huge.

***

The apartment isn't much bigger than our current apartment, but for some reason it feels twice the size.

***

Nobody wants to buy my microwave.

***

Our new neighbor has a box that once stored a gun rack in our shared hallway. We will be very, very quiet in our new apartment.

***

We met all of our neighbors within the first 30 minutes of moving in. It is the sort of situation where you can ask your neighbors to collect your mail for you when you are on vacation. It is also the sort of situation where your downstairs neighbor asks you, within five seconds of meeting you, how much your rent is. D said "Let's not get too close to C." I said "Let's not piss off D since he apparently has guns on the other side of our wall."

***

There is akwardness because we were told that the shower/tub would have glass doors. It does not, which is not an issue except for the fact that there is not a shower curtain rod. This is not an issue except that they may not be finished with the apartment and we would like to know if we need to get a curtain rod or not, but we don't want to ask because there's no way to avoid sounding accusatory when saying "We were told that there would be glass doors in the shower and there are not and we were just wondering if there actually are going to be because we would like to know if we need to buy a rod."

I sort of think they're not finished, but I don't want to say anything because it might sound like "Hurry up!"

We were distressed this weekend as we would have liked to have bathed post move for obvious reasons. D tried to shower without a curtain which wasn't that good of an idea, but he didn't have much of a choice as he had an interview on Sunday afternoon.

***

The counter space is bad. We will have to buy some sort of cart with chopping surface.

***

The cabinet space is great, but because of shelf design there is not a single cabinet area high enough to house cereal, which is just not an option. Therefore we will have to buy some sort of extra cabinet thing, preferably combined with a chopping surface.

***

We have a room that right now has nothing in it. I am going to get my first ever desk!

***

Being at work is a formality. I have nothing to do. I've had nothing to do. My bench is organized, the files have been transferred, the personal belongings have all disappeared. I may shop tomorrow, or go to a museum, or just go home and nap for four hours.

***

I am exhausted.

***

Our NY apartment has nothing in it but an air mattress, bedside clock, stereo, TV, a few plates and bowls and glasses, and clothes. It's not an entirely minimalist lifestyle.

There is nothing more strange, though, than an apartment without a single surface upon which to sit.

You stand in the middle of the apartment, lingering, with nothing to do.

I had my cereal this morning in the window sill.

I generated the playlist for the party on the air mattress last night and messed up my back before I even tried to sleep.

***

We talked too much last night since we hadn't really spend any time together all weekend.

There were apparently things to talk about.

We are both very excited.

We are both very exhausted today.

***

I really wish I was in MA. This week is a waste of time. Well, not really. I will see friends and eat nice dinners and drink too much and fill holes and change addresses, but being in an empty apartment or at a job where there's nothing to do is ridiculous.

***

I'm not sure what I'm going to do during my month off. I was thinking of travelling but now that we need so much furniture (and a rescue haircut, dammit!) I don't think I should be spending that sort of money.

So I'll be looking for a job and a piano and other furniture and writing a musical.

***

I'll probably spend a lot of time with Mother. Hopefully she'll be all about housewarming and will make curtains or something.

***

I'll probably spend a lot of time with Father since we'll both be unemployed.

***

I should probably be looking for some sort of job now instead of blogging.

Until whenever...

It's so weird how once you've announced that you are leaving, people take a sudden interest in you. I want to say "I've seen you every day for the last two and a half years and you've said nothing to me, and now you want to know my life story?"

I shouldn't act jaded. I will miss these people.

I won't miss people saying "Oh, interesting... let's talk about D." I can't tell you how many people here who upon hearing that I am off to photography school say "D's artistic, right? He paints! And he's so musically talented! And he's so good at his job. He will be missed."

I won't miss being in a shadow. It's a weird feeling to experience as an adult.

Our exit interviews were scheduled together. Clearly we have nothing to say as independent entities. Although somehow I feel that people don't gush to him about me the way they gush to me about him. When I resigned, we spent no time talking about me and only talking about how multi-talented D is and how very smart he is (smarter than everyone!) and how he can succeed at anything and, again, such a loss for the company.

It's not his fault that he's The Golden Boy in every group. It's the group's fault for failing to recognize that The Golden Boy could, in fact, have good taste in who he chooses to spend his time with.

Moods are down now. The weather doesn't help, nor does The News. D still doesn't have a job, and I understand. I do. In spite of this understanding I can't help but be nervous about embarking on huge life changes when moods are down.

I'm bored at work. The Boss is getting married and doesn't see anything other than choosing a caterer and dealing with invitations as important. This is cute since he's a man, but I am only here for two more weeks and I have a sneaking suspicion that there are things that I should be doing.

I literally have nothing to do here tomorrow.

I am sick again. The stomach flu is back, if that's what it is. I didn't eat breakfast and I am not going to eat lunch because I have to give a presentation at 3 and would like not to have to run out in the middle of it to purge my lunch.

It is not a good time to get sick. I had to cancel a farewell dinner with LL last night because I didn't want to eat. Well, I wouldn't have minded eating but I was nervous about the 45 minute commute home from the restaurant. We've rescheduled for Sunday night, but shouldn't I be packing on Sunday night? I am supposed to eat with NR tonight and I guess if I am feeling bad I can hop in a cab and jump out again if need be. Awshummm.

I started packing last night. There are never going to be enough boxes.

I also just found out that we can move next Saturday, which gives me a week to sort through everything. This would totally feasible if I wasn't going out every night.

I'm surprisingly unstressed.

I cut off most of my hair.

I found two new amazing restaurants in my last month here. Tragic.

I can't wait to be equals.

Next Wednesday is a big day and I sort of forgot because there are other things going on, which sort of makes me no better than him.

I want a hot pink desk chair for my new apartment, where there might be possibly be a desk.

That is all.