At least I still have my health

I interrupt this regular schedule program of not writing or giving a general crap to give you this sunset and a blog post!

In the new year, I resolved a few things: 1) To find a job 2) To blog more/more consistently 3) To, perhaps, run/exercise a bit more. So far I've been lacking on all three...well, unless you count doing jumping jacks to get warm because I'm trying to cut down on the cost of heating the house by keeping the thermostat low. To be honest, it's hard to blog when there's not much to blog about. I'm rounding into my second year of full time unemployment and were I to keep up a blogging schedule the bulk of the content would be about the terrible reality shows that I watch, how I walked to get the mail today, and the state of the neighbors' dogs when they come over for treats.

All that being said, I have been living in North Carolina for over half a year now! In this time living here, I've noticed that it is way too easy to spend my days wallowing in my own self pity and despair (hence the lack of updates) than it is to be grateful for the sunnier side of life. And so, in keeping with my devolution into mediocre writing skills (see, how the negativity so easily rears its head?), here are the things I am blessed to have and grateful for:

• Jack
• Kale for $0.99 a pound at the grocery store. At least I can assuage my guilt for eating at Chick-Fil-A by eating more kale purchased at a ludicrously low price. EDITED! 03/21/13: I just went to the store today and the price of kale has gone up to $1.29/lb--what is this, Seattle? There is officially nothing redeeming about this area.

And, because I need some perspective as to why I need the above list in my life, here are the things that suck about the area:

• It's very nearly impossible to find a mid-level professional job because the area is still mostly agricultural and seasonal. I think it's one of the few areas in the country where a college degree means next to nothing. Ask me how demoralizing it is to not get a job where one of the few requirements was to have graduated high school.
• Follow up. I think it's nice to follow up when people leave voicemail messages or say they will send an email with information, but I guess that's not the norm here. I've now realized that it's easier to pull teeth than to get companies (utility companies, especially) to follow up and maybe return/pick up a call or two, because, I guess, either people don't care about the money we want to lavish on them or this is some sick, demented version of Island time. 
• Loud rain. Some may call it heavy rain, but I'm going to call it like it is: loud. At least in the Pacific Northwest the rain had to decency to fall in a constant, near mist so that it is quiet and allow people to sleep through the night. Not so in the South! Here it is loud, thunderously announcing its arrival in the middle of the night so that you are awoken from your semi-deep slumber and unable to go back to sleep to continue that dream about hanging with Liz Lemon on 30 Rock.

Dear Derek

Dear Derek,

It's been two years since you've left us, but you've never really left our thoughts, our conversations, or our lives. Mentions of you are still sprinkled here and there...usually bringing laughs, sometimes a bit of sadness, but mostly laughs and good memories.

Some time ago, probably around the time of my birthday, because it's only three days before yours and it's one of many little triggers that jog my memory back to you, it occurred to me that we are all getting so much older. We are now closer to 30s than we are to our 20s, but I'll always remember you as eternally 26. It feels easy to wallow in what may have been, but I'm going to wax nostalgic for all the adventures we were fortunate enough to experience together.

One of the best hikes that I have been on were the hunt for chanterelles. We would take some mountain road off Highway 2, drive as far as we could go, park by the end of the road (literally, the trail was washed out by the river), hike some ways and then we would encounter this magical land filled with chanterelles just ripe for the picking. The last time we went, you were the only one who remembered the trail to the magical chanterelle land and also the only one with enough sense to bring along an orange vest, because it was hunting season and none of us had plans to be mistaken for a deer and get shot. You were also the only one who more or less knew what they were doing. You checked Jen's bag and noticed there were a few non-chanterelles (and potentially poisonous mushroooms, thus saving her life) that had made it's way in there and informed me (only after we were done with our picking) that we were supposed to cut off the stems of the chanterelles not rip them out of the ground so that they may regrow next year. It was a fun afternoon, being one with our inner gatherer. Afterward we all went back to your place, where we found your very nice drawings of scantily clad women. We probably made fun of you for drawing lewd pictures and you probably said something snarky back at us.

I remember the trip because it was just another ordinary thing we did for fun. It wasn't a particularly revelatory experience that shone a light on some significant symbolism of our friendship and I'm glad for that. I worry that the longer time passes, the more I'll tend to impart some important moral theme over our friendship, and forget that the important thing to remember is just the memories of friends hanging out with one another, trading barbs, and enjoying each other's company. And it doesn't need to be given any extra layer of meaning or symbolism to feel more significant.

Things I think about while not looking for employment

I know, I'm getting lazy with my writing--in terms of quantity, frequency, and quality. I guess I can fix the quantity and frequency part, but not when I've rediscovered crepe paper streamers and Jack has been out of town and I want to make sure his room is properly decorated in hot pink and yellow streamers when he gets back. But, it's hard to want to fix my quality of writing--especially as it just devolves into a series of lists of various topics. I can't help it--lists are such an efficient way to write! I blame it on my youthful lapse into obsession with the works of Nick Hornsby and the novel, High Fidelity, in particular, for wanting to create top ten list for every minutiae of your life. Besides, I'm hoping that writing bad posts that rely heavily on lists could be my "thing", my "voice" for this blog. Why yes, I like to skim from the bottom of the pond of mediocre work ethic.

And so, without further ado, here is my newest list of things I've been thinking about while not halfheartedly searching  for employment in a tiny and stagnant job market.

-"Is the kettle whistling? I swear I hear it's whistling." And so, with near lack of regular human interaction, I believe my brain is starting to lose it. This morning, as I boiled water in the kettle for a cup of coffee I always wonder why I need to drink, I could have sworn I heard it whistling--despite the fact that I had just put a kettle of cold water on the stove not two minutes before. I checked on it twice more before I decided that it really wasn't whistling and I should just go and look at things on the Internet.

-Speaking of things on the Internet, I spend a fair amount of time (while not searching for employment or watching mind rotting television) perusing gossip and celebrity fashion blogs and I find myself wondering how long it would take and how famous I would have to get to step out looking like Lea Michele at some Elle party. I'm not a fashion-y person, but I'd like to think that I put myself together enough to be presentable and I'd like to think that Lea Michele is, perhaps, the same way. But how does someone get talked into wearing something so sheer, so much like underwear, out in public? Would fame affect the way someone approaches fashion? Sometimes I like to buy things just because they're weird enough that I find myself liking it. But could I, someone who is mostly rational most of the time, be convinced to wear a sheer, belted caftan over a bra and panty ensemble?

-I am seriously considering launching into my Plan B Employment Plan if someone doesn't doesn't offer me a job soon. Plan B being that I open an Etsy store that sells awesome posters that I've screen printed by hand. (Oh, I haven't told you? I have it in my head that screen printing shall be my new hobby. Suck it, sewing and knitting.) But the most important thing to consider before starting out on this new venture is WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO CALL MY COMPANY? Nevermind that I should first look into some sort of start up capital to sustain myself through the initial building phase. Or how much I could conceivably do by myself that would make it a viable effort. No, I need a snazzy name for my newest pipe dream. And so, if my friends have any suggestions, I would be happy to take them (you will not be compensated, however).

Hey! I'm turning old.

I love Exploding Dog.

It was my birthday! For the first time, in a long time, I celebrated by myself. The first birthday I had to spend mostly by myself was my freshman year of college--I had just moved into the dorms and started school and I didn't want to be THAT person that loudly celebrates their birthday. I did, however, register to vote. I also got my foot cut up by a door because some poop head wasn't paying attention and swung the door into/onto my foot and opened a gash that left me bleeding and hobbling to a convenience store to buy band aids. Although I was partially at fault for choosing to wear flip flops to class but, to be fair, it was college, I was toying with the new sense of freedom unencumbered by high school dress code guidelines--I was living on the edge. And that was my 18th birthday.

I did like my birthday this year, because I actually managed to keep myself fairly busy--unlike any other day in the life of an unemployed. I made rice krispies treats (with sprinkles in them for a bit of panache) and chocolate chip cookies for my neighbors for driving me around when I had last minute errands and Jack was off at work with the car. Then I sat down and watched my DVR'd episode of Gilmore Girls--and it was one of my more favorite episodes (Season 6, Episode 9: The Prodigal Daughter Returns). I also made a quick dinner for one of the officer wives, who had just given birth a few days before, as part of a meal plan the other spouses had set up. After I dropped off the dinner, one the way back home, I picked up a tiny ice cream cake for myself. Finally, I settled in for a night of Dancing with the Stars with chicken strips and fries for dinner.

The day felt good and I enjoyed doing the little things for my neighbors and the officer wives. It might be the wisdom of years lived creeping up on me, but I do like the idea of making my birthday a day of service--or just doing something for someone else because damn, it fucking feels good. I've now realized (or at least I am old enough to admit this to myself) that I enjoy volunteer work and doing things for others, not because it helps to foster a sense of community, to bring people together, or that it is consistent with the idea that helping each other out is just what a civilized society does because we all live in the same community, but because I get a serious high off of people saying, "Thank you for what you do. You're so awesome." Seriously. It's better than crack and just as addicting.

It's the end of the world as I know it.

I haven't felt this dramatic since high school and yet here I am today because my hard drive crashed. Literally--crashed to the floor because I wasn't paying attention and my knee knocked over my laptop that was sitting on our coffee table. Even though the fall wasn't that high, it was enough to knock the life out of my hard drive. So now all it does is click. Click. Click. Click. Each successive click just reminds me of how broken it is--and how much money (money I don't have and I don't want to spend because I'd rather buy food) this is going to cost me.

I suppose this shouldn't bother me as much as it does, after all I still have my health, a roof over my head, and people that love me (despite my penchant for being dramatic when little things are broken), but it does!

Here are, currently, the little things that bother me, upset me, and otherwise rattle my sense of normalcy despite, really, not being that big of a deal (in the grand scheme of things):

• The hoard of fruit flies living and propagating in our trash can (and they've started to colonize the bedrooms and bathroom). I've set out a trap for the last week and it does nothing. Well, I actually inadvertently did get two flies with my opened bottle of wine, but the trap does nothing. I've rinsed out our trash can (making sure I take out all their little larvae), I've put in new liners and yet they come back!
• Our crappy cable box. For the price of cable, I feel that Time Warner Cable should really upgrade their cable boxes and stop re-purposing old boxes with terrible reception. Is it too much to want a receiver box that, well, receives from the remote?
• The price of cilantro at Harris Teeter. A bunch of cilantro should not have to cost $1.79. It's not even organic!
• The price to fix my laptop. I don't want to spend the money, but I think I will have to. It's my baby and my lifeline because I have everything on there. From drafts of resumes, my senior thesis, college papers I've written that I'm not proud of but I still keep them, to pictures of nearly everything I've done and seen, to my music (both legally, illegally, and questionably legally obtained), to funny cat pictures from the Internet that I've saved. A part of me is fine with throwing out the hard drive and just putting in a new one, but the sentimental part of me wants all those things back with a promise that I'll do a better job of backing up my files the next time around.
• My lack of job prospects. I am tired of going day to day waiting for a phone call and getting none. I'm doubly tired of the same rote answers that people give me when I call and ask when a response can be expected (even though I once had to give those same rote answers when people calls asking about the hiring process). I just want to know so that I can move on and continue sending out more resumes.

Perhaps it is because I have been unemployed for so long, and the more time spent not in a fulfilling 40-hour work week, the more the little things get to me. It's also possible that even with a job distracting me from the little things, I can still spend all my days thinking about and obsessing over it, but it would also give me a wider audience so that I can regale more people with my tales of woe rather than just Jack.

Moral of this story: Hope and pray that I can get a job soon so that I can put out more upbeat blog posts rather than complaining about how, seemingly, bad my life is.

A Seattle summer, at last.

This place is flatter than three week old soda.

The weather has been so miserable since moving in--high temperatures, high humidity, followed by the occasional thunder, lightning, and rain--that I found myself mildly surprised at the recent turn of events. The skies have cleared and the mercury has finally dropped enough for a sane person to want to sit outside for a while.

With that, I actually ventured outside for a time today--walking along the shore when the tide went out and catching up on reading under the shade of a tree with my dog friend, Lola.

Lola has no problem wandering into our house, looking (really, searching) for some food handouts.

Between the cool breeze, warm sun interspersed with some clouds to keep things from getting too hot, it felt like the Seattle summer I never got to experience. Except for the bugs. Oh god, the bugs. All the various bugs that enjoy the taste of human flesh and blood.

In the three odd hours that I spent outside--one hour wandering in the water and two hours just sitting outside on my porch--I got bitten five times. Five big swelling bites. And since I've been in the South, it happens nearly every time I spend more than 30 minutes outside. I've been bitten so often that I've gone through half of an one-ounce tube of hydrocortisone that I bought about a month and a half ago. When I lived in Seattle, the same sized tube would last me so long it would expire before I got through a quarter of it.

But I'm whining and I should really stop. Just as when the cloudy days finally gave way to sunny days in Seattle, I really need to take advantage of the times when heat and humidity give way to crisp fall air--bug bites be damned.  Or I could just be more militant about putting on bug spray and arming myself with a fly swatter and citronella candle wherever I go, waging an all out one-person war against any bug that may attempt to make me its lunch.

Up and At 'Em!

True story: I was up at sunrise to take this picture.

Hello to the three friends that read this!

I am going to start blogging again. A real, honest effort to start this baby up after an unofficial, totally being lazy, I'm-going-to-blame-this-on-moving-across-the-country, self-imposed hiatus. Hopefully this will--again--bring some structure back to my life and give me something to do other than search for jobs, fill out job applications, and wallow in my own self pity wondering why no one calls me back.

But, seriously. No one calls me back. Or they haven't yet. Man, being unemployed for over a year certainly does something to one's self-esteem.

Topics that I hope to cover throughout this renewed need to blog!
-The sad state of affairs (more like a lack of Asian markets) that has led me to shopping at the "International Food" aisle at the local grocery store--when, in the past, and usually within spitting distance of a 99 Ranch, I'd always wonder what kind of sad sack purchases their soy sauce in that aisle.
-The tiny frog that lives in my mailbox--and basically terrifies me every time I open our mailbox. It could be poisonous! It could jump on my face!
-On how not having a job for over year also does something to one's psyche. Basically, I'm terrified of everything now. EVERYTHING.
-A discussion on whether or not I should venture out on the bike when surface street speeds top out at 55mph with about a 3 feet-wide shoulder for safety. I can only think of cons for this discussion, number one being: No life insurance.
-My new friend, Lola. Only she's totally not aware that she's my friend. And she's also the neighbor's dog.
-Look at all the things the South has to offer! Sub-title: An attempt to assimilate into Southern culture.
-A discussion on my internal conflict and never-ending guilt on eating at a Chick-Fil-A multiple times, despite knowing full well their stance on certain social issues. What is worse? My weakness for deep-fried chicken and waffle fries or my inability to stop frequenting a place that openly practices discrimination? At what point does a fast food joint's opinion factor into my support for them by purchasing their tasty chicken sandwiches?
-My three weeks spent exploring the greater Richmond area while I waited for the car to get fixed. Also: My first real taste...or like an amuse bouche...of the South. Also, also: My first real long-term experience in the terrible Southern heat and humidity and the rain.