The Newest in New

We made it, harried from the drive with one sweet kitten who refused to take a literal chill pill, but we made it nonetheless. She would spit it out like an old timey cowboy spitting tobacco and the pill would launch across the room, then she'd drool like a Saint Bernard to get the taste of our her mouth but it looked as though the pill had given her rabies. You can pretty much picture my face, right? Harried.

We slept at Todd's brother's house on the 31st and headed out at the crack of dawn on the 1st. Movers were quick, efficient, motivated to get back for another job on Saturday.

Here are my favorite photos of the empty house:

Living room, looking at the street. BIG windows in every room.

 Dining room and living room, looking out from the hall.

Kitchen. More light.

The house was built in the 30s and has all these amazing little quirks. The hardwood floors are an adjustment because I feel like an elephant just walking to the bathroom but I'm getting used to it; so are the cats.

Here's a pic of the front door. When someone knocks the little lion you have to open this caged door to peek out and decide if they can pass. Makes me feel like I'm guarding a castle:

Here's a pic of the heat registers:

Glad I remembered to move all the boxes out of the way of these puppies when I turned the heat on the other morning. Yes, it is freezing cold here in the mornings but so far, so good.

I'll be posting a few pictures a day of the happenings here for the next week so stay tuned!

A bittersweet goodbye

On Wednesday of this week, I gave my boss two weeks notice: We are headed north. I was so anxious to tell my boss that all I ate for a whole day was less than a toddler eats for breakfast - if only my anxiety helped me keep this supermodel figure, haha. But when I told her, she was gracious and congratulatory and so supportive and sweet. It seemed like she had already heard about me leaving, which is possible since she was probably the last to know. I've been preparing my peeps for weeks because I knew if I only had two weeks to say goodbye to them, I would be a mess.

Boss asked me if I'd like to tell the other staff in our department and I may as well have told 10 barn owls I was leaving. Blink. Blink. Blink. One person said congrats, one asked when I was leaving and one asked if I'd still be able to help at an event I'd committed to working (that falls on my last day). To say they made it easy to depart is an understatement. Ah, my little island of misfit toys.

But of course then there are my steadfast friends, both at work and outside of work, who will be very hard to leave. One of my work friends, when I told her I'd made a decision, looked up, eyes filled with tears, and asked "but who will I talk to?" Another started absolutely weeping. I was able to hold it together for them because I know, when I'm back in town, I will see them and that they will email me, send cards etc. I'm not worried about saying goodbye to my friends because it's only goodbye for a minute. We're looking for a 3-bedroom so we can host all the damn time.

It wasn't until yesterday afternoon that I even got teary about leaving. I had to tell all the agencies that I work with that I'm leaving (and so far, I've only told like 15 of the 50), and the emails I got back are incredible. I think I'd assumed that the work I was doing was making a difference but holy cow, I am overwhelmed and my heart is very, very full. I'm honestly afraid I'm going to cry at the workshop I'm hosting next week having to say goodbye to my other agencies.

Rock and Roll couple

I love a good garage sale: I have to, it's in my blood. We have been going to garage sales and thrift stores since I can remember but man, so many bad garage sale signs in our neighborhood. All you need is cardboard and black paint. None of these tiny little nugget signs written in the thinnest pen you can find. When you do that, no one knows you're having a sale and if they do, they arrive harried from the horrendous turn they had to make because they had to get within 4 feet of your terrible sign to see where the hell the sale is happening.
So, when we were driving to breakfast this morning and I saw a properly made sign, we had to stop. We waddled up, unshowered, to search for treasures. I am searching for a media console and Todd usually thumbs through records and gadgets. As we approached the records I said "wanna look through those, pop?" to which the woman who was running the sale replied "We don't have any rock and roll."
Am I flattered? Sort of, I guess. I suppose, if given a choice, I'd want to look like people who aren't looking for Perry Cuomo. But it was just strange. I don't have big hair, tattoos, nose rings, you know, rock and roll stuff happening. I was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with a squirrel on it. Nothing says rock and roll like a girl in a squirrel shirt and her relatively clean cut husband out at a reasonable time on a Saturday sifting for treasures on some lady's lawn, right?
I ended up with a couple books and some neat old stationary - all for $1. Pretty rock and roll, if you ask me.

Touch my Cheese

Yesterday, I made my coworker touch my cheese.

On Monday night I had class so I put the string cheese from my lunch in the fridge in my purse and went to campus. I got dinner and proceeded to completely forget about my cheese.

The next morning, I popped another string cheese in my purse. Now there were two but I figured, one will be cold and I can eat that one!

However, at 10am, when I finally remembered my cheese sticks, I was having trouble telling which one was colder. I fondled them a bit and couldn't decide. I thought, 'maybe a second opinion will help?' and asked my coworker "can you tell me which one of these feels colder?"

She squeezed both cheese sticks but was equally perplexed.

I put them both in the fridge, at least allowing myself the opportunity to play cheese roulette in the afternoon, should the mood strike me. It never did. I am one of those people who are totally freaked out by expiration dates and thoroughly confused by "purchase by" and "consume by" dates and just get antsy if either is approaching. The cheeses both prominently displayed the words "KEEP REFRIGERATED" in large black letters so I let this one go.

A couple of weeks ago I'd asked my coworker something similar about some yogurt and she said "If you have to ask...." I think I'll keep her around. I'm not a survivalist and having someone to steer me away from spoiling milk products is a good plan.

What would you have done?

My Torrid Love Affair

Last month on my birthday my mother got into an all-out brawl with Teleflora. It was ugly. There was a facebook post that would make your toes curl, lots of calling and complaining and in the end I was delivered two small arrangements in different vases by someone who can only be described as a parolee.

Today I got another notice from our mailroom that I had something waiting for me. My mom told me to expect flowers at an undisclosed time because they'd be re-doing and refunding my mom. I assumed this was that time.

I opened the FTD box, not yet realizing that they are not the same as Teleflora and really, in this time of rampant corporate mergers who questions these sorts of things? The bouquet of pink and red roses was really pretty and I excitedly opened the card to find the following card inscription:

"To the wonderful and beautiful Ms. Rodriguez. I love you very much and will see you soon. Enjoy these in the meantime. With lots of love, M"

I wish I could write back!

Dear M,
Thank you for the kind words and the flowers. You're right, I am wonderful and beautiful though I'm not certain we've ever met and my name is actually not Ms. Rodriguez. Also, I love someone else and these roses will not change my mind.
Best of luck to you in your future endeavors,
J

Will a love affair end because I can't return these? The receptionist tried! She called FTD! You can't return these babies. M is probably thinking 'What a bitch, she never thanked me for the flowers.' Ugh. The drama is intense here, folks!

Eat Fresh, Bitches

I don't really know what food costs. Sometimes I spend a couple dollars on a sandwich and sometimes I spend like $15. So for me, sandwiches cost somewhere between 1 and 15 dollars, which is admittedly  a pretty big spread. 

I went to the mall the other day with Julie to return some stuff and we stopped at Subway. OK America, have we not been BOMBARDED with $5 FOOTLONG commercials for what seems like the last two years? Yes. Now, I know I went to elementary school in America but to me, if 12 inches of sandwich costs $5, 6 inches of sandwich then costs $2.50, because $2.50 is half of $5 and 6 inches is half of a foot. 

So I order my veggie delight - wheat bread, provolone, lettuce, tomatoes, spinach, black olives, pickles, and tons of banana peppers (That's right no meat and no condiments, proof I am a communist). I do my little crab walk with three Subway sandwich professionals and I hand the lady $3 cash. Now, one thing you have to know about Jessica is her steadfast hatred of when stores dictate which bills and change and cards you can and cannot use. It is all legal tender, assholes. All of it. You shouldn't be able to deny me service because you have to pay some minuscule amount to process my card and you shouldn't be able to dictate if I pay with a $50 or a $5. LEGAL TENDER. The following conversation ensues:

Me: Here ya go.

Subway professional: Um...do you have fifty cents?

Me: No.

[LOTS OF SILENCE AND SCOWLING]

Julie: I do! Here ya go!

My brain was seething - HOW DARE YOU. $3 is perfectly acceptable and YOU should be giving ME fifty cents, stupid. 

EXCEPT THAT 6 INCHES OF SANDWICH COSTS $3.50...AND I ONLY GAVE YOU $3. 

I'm now just as shitty as the person who gets on the bus and refuses to pay the fare. I am a FARE EVADER. 

Dear Julie -

Thank you for 50 cents. I had like $80 cash in my purse at the time and could have afforded it and I am sorry for embarrassing you in front of the young Subway sandwich professional. 

Dear Subway-

If you were as committed to my health as you are Jared's you would not discourage me from purchasing the appropriate portions. I still call bullshit on your fiscal policy. 

Fat Superhero

I don't think it requires much imagination to understand that grad school is stressful. It is fraught with this polar tension between complete self confidence and complete self doubt, causing identity issues and crying jags of the likes you've never seen. But for one of my classmates, identity is much more complicated than that.

Wednesday night the toughest class I'll have to get through began. There is a light at the end of the tunnel as this is the final course we must take before our comprehensive exams in January. After that, one more class and then I have a degree. Woosh. So close. This class normally has about 25 students but so many are finishing this year which means our poor professor has 31. That means, for every ten-page paper each of us write, she has 31 ten-page papers to grade.

Back to the story. This guy is a heavy-set Asian kid with a shaved head who always wears button-ups and jeans. He is mellow, maybe kinda stoney-baloney, and looks at his watch CONSTANTLY. Wednesday night we all thought class would start at 7, we would read the syllabus and be outta there by 8, 8:30 maybe. NOT SO MUCH.

I noticed this guy getting agitated around 9pm. He'd check his watch, frown a little, look around. Then, at 9:25, way before we were done, he started packing his backpack up to go. This is offensive to professors, especially our professor for the capstone class. She will call you out. She is a member of the Sass Police. He packs up, walks over to her while we are in a circle, discussing Wilson, Weber and Hegel, and whispers to her that he has to go - points at the clock. The next thing that happened made me think he might be a superhero: He opened the door, turned the corner, and BOLTED. I'm talking, Bruce Jenner-level sprints. He is a fat kid. Looks like he's bored and about to nap and he TOOK OFF LIKE A SHOT, each footstep echoing in the empty hallway.

Oh my god, Brian is a superhero.

I kept waiting for the sound of glass crashing as he flew out the second story. WOOOOOSH!

That explains why he was looking at his watch so crazed. He saw the bat signal and had to BOLT.

Or maybe time ran out on the meter, who knows.