Today I received the ultimate crappy Valentine's Day candy sentiment from the master of all crappy candy sentiments, Dove chocolates. A group of girls presented about theater in my Shakespeare class, and as a treat, one of the girls handed out the little Dove chocolate miniatures. You know, the kind that are usually square, with a worse-than-fortune-cookie sentiment on the inside of the wrapper? Yeah, it was that kind. Only, for Valentine's Day the candy is heart shaped and the saying on the inside was worse than usual.
After I had opened my candy, I read, "Be your own Valentine." Now, that sentence, though one of the worst sentiments ever expressed on candy wrapper, was also one of the funniest. What, I thought, could be a better sentiment for a young, single girl to receive from her chocolate when she's sitting at home alone on Valentine's Day? I only hope that the thousands of young, single girls who buy themselves bags of Dove chocolates on Valentine's will open and read the sentiment on that particular chocolate right as Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy finally hook up.
Thank you, Dove, for contributing to the tears of single adult women everywhere.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Raining and Pouring
Jason got a job this week, after being unemployed for six months. Unless you've spent six months wondering how you were going to pay rent, insurance, tuition, and still eat, it would be hard to understand how I feel right now.
He texted me with the news on Monday, just before my eleven am class. I heard the little tinkle of notification and thought, "I'd better turn that off before my next class." And then I read the message: "I got a job." The brevity, I admit, annoyed me. This is the kind of news you want to shout about, but also be as specific about as possible. So I called him, which, if you know me well, you know is a big thing. I avoid talking on the phone at all costs.
"A real job?" I asked. He'd been working temp work off and on, whenever there was something for him to do at a construction site, which is how we had managed to scrape by for the past half year.
"Yep."
"Like, a real job? A permanent job?"
"Yep."
And that's when I let myself feel the relief and the joy. The worry had been getting worse and worse the last few weeks. When Jason first lost his job, I was confident that everything would work out, that he would find another job, that we would be able to pay our bills and save money to move back home in April. But the months passed, and we were saved by miracles every month at rent time. To be honest, I'd held on to my confidence until the past two weeks. I just kept hearing about how bad the economy was, and watching businesses and banks collapse, and I started thinking that if Jason couldn't find a job when the economy wasn't as bad, how was he supposed to find one now, when companies like Circuit City are going out of business?
The reversal of roles was sort of comical to me. When we were eating dinner on Saturday, I'd started to melt down. I like to think that I have a pretty high stress tolerance. I usually work best under pressure, and I'd held it together for almost six months. But suddenly, I couldn't take it. I was worried about how we were going to pay rent in two weeks, how we were going to pay back the short-term loan for my tuition this semester (which is currently the reason my parents don't know I have a blog. After all, there are some things you shouldn't tell my dad until after it's all over), how things were going to work out with the speeding ticket I got last year (long story), and how I was going to handle 5 English/editing classes in this, my last semester of college. Oh yeah. And I'm supposed to be looking for potential employers back in Washington for when I graduate in April. Right.
Suddenly, Jason was the one with all the reassuring confidences. And I suddenly realized how he had been feeling all those times when he would slip into a melencholy mood that I couldn't pull him out of. Even if you know in your head that yes, everything will be okay--after all, we're two intelligent people who can find our way out of a mess--it's a lot harder to believe it in that emotional part of me I call my heart.
So when Jason finally explained the details, and I finally believed that it was real, I realized that I had never really felt relief and gratitude before. Corny, but true.
Oh, and the speeding ticket thing turned out okay, too. According to my driving record, that was merely a bad dream. So it's been a week of good news and sighs of relief. Hurrah!
He texted me with the news on Monday, just before my eleven am class. I heard the little tinkle of notification and thought, "I'd better turn that off before my next class." And then I read the message: "I got a job." The brevity, I admit, annoyed me. This is the kind of news you want to shout about, but also be as specific about as possible. So I called him, which, if you know me well, you know is a big thing. I avoid talking on the phone at all costs.
"A real job?" I asked. He'd been working temp work off and on, whenever there was something for him to do at a construction site, which is how we had managed to scrape by for the past half year.
"Yep."
"Like, a real job? A permanent job?"
"Yep."
And that's when I let myself feel the relief and the joy. The worry had been getting worse and worse the last few weeks. When Jason first lost his job, I was confident that everything would work out, that he would find another job, that we would be able to pay our bills and save money to move back home in April. But the months passed, and we were saved by miracles every month at rent time. To be honest, I'd held on to my confidence until the past two weeks. I just kept hearing about how bad the economy was, and watching businesses and banks collapse, and I started thinking that if Jason couldn't find a job when the economy wasn't as bad, how was he supposed to find one now, when companies like Circuit City are going out of business?
The reversal of roles was sort of comical to me. When we were eating dinner on Saturday, I'd started to melt down. I like to think that I have a pretty high stress tolerance. I usually work best under pressure, and I'd held it together for almost six months. But suddenly, I couldn't take it. I was worried about how we were going to pay rent in two weeks, how we were going to pay back the short-term loan for my tuition this semester (which is currently the reason my parents don't know I have a blog. After all, there are some things you shouldn't tell my dad until after it's all over), how things were going to work out with the speeding ticket I got last year (long story), and how I was going to handle 5 English/editing classes in this, my last semester of college. Oh yeah. And I'm supposed to be looking for potential employers back in Washington for when I graduate in April. Right.
Suddenly, Jason was the one with all the reassuring confidences. And I suddenly realized how he had been feeling all those times when he would slip into a melencholy mood that I couldn't pull him out of. Even if you know in your head that yes, everything will be okay--after all, we're two intelligent people who can find our way out of a mess--it's a lot harder to believe it in that emotional part of me I call my heart.
So when Jason finally explained the details, and I finally believed that it was real, I realized that I had never really felt relief and gratitude before. Corny, but true.
Oh, and the speeding ticket thing turned out okay, too. According to my driving record, that was merely a bad dream. So it's been a week of good news and sighs of relief. Hurrah!
Monday, January 19, 2009
Seeing the World, One Wedding at a Time
This past weekend I was in North Carolina for my brother Jeff's wedding. I love to travel, even though I haven't done much of it, and I'm a big fan of my new sister-in-law, so I definitely didn't mind the trip. Plus, I absolutely loved NC. It's beautiful, not that I expected anything else. It reminded me a little bit of home (Seattle) because of the dense trees and abundance of water, but it definitely has a personality of its own. The people are super friendly, and super funny.
The first evening we were there (Friday), we had a dinner with both families at this Texas steakhouse (I'm not sure what a Texas-themed restaurant was doing in North Carolina, but whatever). In the middle of dinner, my mom got up to use the bathroom (I promise this is pertinent), and when she came back she said, "You have to go see the bathroom! Oh my gosh, I could even take you in there and show you, it's so cool." Now, my mom has her quirks, but she's really not obsessed with bathrooms--this was just a little joke at my grandma's expense. Grandma once dragged my mom off to see "the coolest thing" when my parents were visiting her. That "coolest thing" turned out to be the bathroom sinks in the airport. They were the semi-circle kind that had a bar you stepped on to make the water come out. I have to admit, when I first saw these sinks, I thought they were cool too--but I was in kindergarten.
Anyway, I eventually had to go to the bathroom, and so with a little more joking--"Are you sure you don't want to show me yourself? You might miss something cool!"--I went to the bathroom. True, the stalls were all painted like cow hide (the white with black spots kind), which is somewhat unique for bathrooms but not surprising, given the theme of the restaurant. However, my bathroom stall--the large handicapped stall (I promise I'm not a jerk. The other stalls were unusable)--had a little something extra. As I was taking care of business, I happened to look over my shoulder. Instead of more cow hide or just plain bathroom tile, I found a nice large poster of a half-naked male model holding a beer. Now, I don't know much about the south, but I feel that there are some unspoken, universal rules about bathroom decor. One of these is that, no matter the restaurant theme, you will not find a half-naked male in a women's bathroom stall. Something about a the presence of a person, even if just in print, in a bathroom stall with me makes me feel uncomfortable. So I started giggling, probably alarming the mother who was waiting outside the stalls for her little girl to finish going to the bathroom. In that moment, I knew I was going to love the South.
When Jason and I were waiting for our plane to board on the return trip, we were joined by a family of four in the Raleigh airport. Both children were girls, one about twelve and the other about five. The first thing the five-year-old said when she sat down in the seats at the gate was, "Is this the plane?" but her little southern accent dragged out the last vowel, making it sound like, "Is this the playeen?" The combination of the seemingly-silly question with that cute accent made both Jason and me laugh. We turned and grinned at each other, trying to hold in our mirth. But she wasn't done yet.
"Are we on the playeen?" she asked again.
"No sweetie," her mom said.
"Why arn't we ohn the playeen? I wanna get ohn the playeen!"
It was adorable and hilarious to us, but probably less so to her parents. Her dad reacted by burying his head in a camera operating manual. Her mother stood in front of her, helping her out of her jacket and trying to explain to the little girl why they hadn't boarded the playeen yet. Her older sister gave us this look, like this was the most mortifying moment of her life, and she couldn't believe that we had been so rude as to witness it, and then picked up a fashion magazine and moved about five seats away from her sister.
All in all, it was a very good trip.
The first evening we were there (Friday), we had a dinner with both families at this Texas steakhouse (I'm not sure what a Texas-themed restaurant was doing in North Carolina, but whatever). In the middle of dinner, my mom got up to use the bathroom (I promise this is pertinent), and when she came back she said, "You have to go see the bathroom! Oh my gosh, I could even take you in there and show you, it's so cool." Now, my mom has her quirks, but she's really not obsessed with bathrooms--this was just a little joke at my grandma's expense. Grandma once dragged my mom off to see "the coolest thing" when my parents were visiting her. That "coolest thing" turned out to be the bathroom sinks in the airport. They were the semi-circle kind that had a bar you stepped on to make the water come out. I have to admit, when I first saw these sinks, I thought they were cool too--but I was in kindergarten.
Anyway, I eventually had to go to the bathroom, and so with a little more joking--"Are you sure you don't want to show me yourself? You might miss something cool!"--I went to the bathroom. True, the stalls were all painted like cow hide (the white with black spots kind), which is somewhat unique for bathrooms but not surprising, given the theme of the restaurant. However, my bathroom stall--the large handicapped stall (I promise I'm not a jerk. The other stalls were unusable)--had a little something extra. As I was taking care of business, I happened to look over my shoulder. Instead of more cow hide or just plain bathroom tile, I found a nice large poster of a half-naked male model holding a beer. Now, I don't know much about the south, but I feel that there are some unspoken, universal rules about bathroom decor. One of these is that, no matter the restaurant theme, you will not find a half-naked male in a women's bathroom stall. Something about a the presence of a person, even if just in print, in a bathroom stall with me makes me feel uncomfortable. So I started giggling, probably alarming the mother who was waiting outside the stalls for her little girl to finish going to the bathroom. In that moment, I knew I was going to love the South.
When Jason and I were waiting for our plane to board on the return trip, we were joined by a family of four in the Raleigh airport. Both children were girls, one about twelve and the other about five. The first thing the five-year-old said when she sat down in the seats at the gate was, "Is this the plane?" but her little southern accent dragged out the last vowel, making it sound like, "Is this the playeen?" The combination of the seemingly-silly question with that cute accent made both Jason and me laugh. We turned and grinned at each other, trying to hold in our mirth. But she wasn't done yet.
"Are we on the playeen?" she asked again.
"No sweetie," her mom said.
"Why arn't we ohn the playeen? I wanna get ohn the playeen!"
It was adorable and hilarious to us, but probably less so to her parents. Her dad reacted by burying his head in a camera operating manual. Her mother stood in front of her, helping her out of her jacket and trying to explain to the little girl why they hadn't boarded the playeen yet. Her older sister gave us this look, like this was the most mortifying moment of her life, and she couldn't believe that we had been so rude as to witness it, and then picked up a fashion magazine and moved about five seats away from her sister.
All in all, it was a very good trip.
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