Labor (of Love) Day

Happy End-of-Summer people. Yeah, I know it pisses me off, too. I'm really not ready for the summer to be over when it feels like we hardly had one. I think it was mostly because of all the moving we had to go through. Plus, having Georgia around has somehow made time fly. I actually can't believe I've been without television-watching for almost 3 months. But thankfully this past weekend I was given one last bout of summer fun..including a healthy dose of beach time, pool time, and family time. But it wouldn't be a visit up to see my family without plenty of drama--and a heaping helping of comedy as well.

Friday- Fearing both the onslaught of traffic and the supposed hurricane that was coming up the coastline, I awoke early and began packing the car up. The traffic and weather did worry me, but actually I was more worried about Georgia. I was intent on bringing her but I worried what she might do in the car for three hours. We had never had her in the car for that long and I feared she'd freak out after hour 2. She did climb back and forth for a little while, trying to sniff out the cracked windows in the back and then back in the front seat for me to pet her, but eventually she settled on the back seat..except when we came upon the toll booths. As if giving money for no apparent reason wasn't bad enough, but then with every booth we came upon Georgia started barking hysterically. I guess this sort of thing happens pretty often, b/c one woman had a little dog biscuit all ready to give to her.

Luckily there were no other hitches and I arrived in Jersey in good time. I was happy to see my sister who I hadn't seen in a while and later we were joined by my other sister who had brought all kinds of accessories for Georgia. Unfortunately my head was pounding so while they watched the remake of "Death at a Funeral" with my mom, I read and then fell asleep.

Saturday- If Friday's worries were about my drive up, then Saturday's was all about making sure Georgia didn't crap or pee in the house, so I was compelled to get up at our usual time, put the leash on her and take her out. When she finally did her business (which took a while and then her leash got caught on my thumb and burned itself into my flesh), we set off for the beach. We were all astonished at how empty the beach was, especially for Labor Day weekend. After getting whipped by sand and nearly impaled by runaway beach umbrellas, we finally called it quits, picked up my sister and headed over to a local seafood favorite for steamer clams and a good ol' cajoling "let's makeover Kris's life" session. When that was said and done Hill offered to pay for us to get our nails done. It was a nice treat except for when the guy put the acetone on my thumb and brushed it into my gaping open wound. I need bit right through my lip trying not to yelp in pain as it felt like he (that's right, a "he", which I thought was odd...even odder was that his nails were longer-and more manicured- than my own) poured fresh battery acid on my thumb.

We arrived home, all looking for a place of sanctuary. Because the dog insisted on whining whenever I left the room I felt I had to stay in the same confines she was subjected to. The problem was that my sisters were seeking out a place to relax as well, which, in our family, meant a place with a soft piece of furniture and t.v. In fact, I have never been more confronted with the folly of my decision to give up television by anyone as much as my own family members. No wonder I was such an addict. They all look at me as a bit of a failure, I think, or as someone seeking attention, which I don't agree with. It's like coming back to the crack house after you finally gave up the pipe (ok, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration, but still. When I thought I would be met with a bunch of "good for yous" I got "what's wrong with you". Not that I can blame them. It's as unnatural for me to not watch t.v. as it is for me to be on time for something or knowing exactly what I want the second I'm asked).

Anyway, later on that night a big group of us were going to dinner at this other hidden Mexican restaurant gem called Agave. My family was the first to arrive, on time (shockingly) for the reservation. However, it seemed that not only were there no tables set up for us, there were hardly any tables left at all. The rest of the extended family, including my cousin Beck and her fiance, her parents, and my cousin Evan and his wife Kristen, arrived and we set about popping open some beer and wine and tailgating right outside the restaurant, waiting for someone or something to do something or happen. Finally, an hour later we were all seated. This was around 9:30. The restaurant closed at 10:00. Still, that didn't prevent the wait staff to take their ever-loving time to get the food out...nor did the loud-mouth kazoo-blowing drunk biotch party of 13 feel a rush to get out. But eventually both happened, almost miraculously. The food trickled out, two at a time, and by the time everyone had food in front of them, whether half eaten or still hot, at around 11:00. I wasn't even hungry and hardly remembered what I had ordered. Finally we came home and I collapsed on the sofa to sleep.

Sunday- The last day. I took the dog for a jog and then my mother and I went off to visit my nana and pop's pool. Their house is set on a high hill tucked away in the woods. My nana told me about how a deer was standing right outside the gate to the pool, and as my nana spoke to it, it raised it's head and stamped it's foot twice, like a scene from a Disney movie. Of course, these are also the same grandparents who had their own method of ridding their birdbaths and bird feeders of pesky squirrels by taking out a gun and blowing their heads off. I know...I've seen it. I'm not sure which was more disturbing...watching the squirrel writhe with a bullet in it's skull or the fact that my grandfather still had such good aim. We walked back up from the pool to see my pop, who informed us that a chipmunk had darted out from under the sofa and booked it out onto the screened porch. I swear, it's kind of a bizarro nature world up there, beautiful and brutal at the same time, with just a little humor thrown in.

Anyway, the rest of the night was pretty uneventful. I pretty much just ate dinner and went to bed, eager to once again get up early, pack up the car, and face whatever traffic and toll booth collectors we would.

Christ, this is a long entry. Sorry about that folks. I'm sure tomorrow's will be shorter, as I have no clue what I'll write about. Till then...

So Long, Saddlebrook

Ok, so I'm gonna attempt to do the speediest post of my life because I've been doing this long enough to know if I don't do it now I will completely forget to later on today.

So the latest is that, at last, the weekend has come for Joe's parents to visit, which is pretty awesome, although I seem to have retained some of that old fashioned "must impress the in-laws" mentality where I want to make sure everything is perfect. It's kinda unwarranted because A.) they are totally relaxed and easy-going fun people and B.) Ummm they AREN'T my in-laws. Even so, Joe and I busted our asses all day yesterday cleaning and organizing our madhouse of a townhouse to make sure it was not only livable but comfortable. And I must say, it did turn out pretty well.

I walked down to the kitchen this morning to let Georgia out, and I suddenly got this warm-cozy feeling. To finally see the place pretty much all set up, with our pictures and art up, and all the furniture laid out, it allowed me to take a final breath and say, "Ahh, I'm home." The feeling began yesterday when Joe's mom and I went back to the old place one more time. She had never seen it, so we walked around the once packed apartment into the open space that I hadn't seen in two years. I realized just how small it had been, and yet at the time we got it, we figured it would be plenty of space.

We walked down to the rental office to drop off the keys, showing her the pool area and explaining all the little alcoves that held some sort of memory. I had to basically shove the stupid keys into the Rent Drop box, smiling at the irony of how even now, with no claim to us anymore, Saddlebrook still liked to mess with us. Oh well.

We walked back to the car, and with a final look to old place we drove out. I did experience some feelings of melancholy. Even Joe joked, saying, "I know you. Even though we were sick of this place you are going to feel sad about leaving and say, 'It wasn't so bad'". He was right. Even though we will still find reasons to go through the neighborhood, it won't be the same. After two years of living somewhere (which, in rental terms, seems like a long time) you can't help but feel connected to the place. Maybe not completely with the actual apartment, but the neighborhood for sure. There's the place Joe filmed the Christmas movie, there's my running route, there's the Target we always went to, there's the place I first tried Indian food. So many memories that I'll take with me, but won't ever be able to really visit again.

I don't know if I could call it home. I still have a hard time calling ANYWHERE in Maryland home. And yet, this new place, it feels the closest to home than any other place I've lived. We have to do more exploring, rediscover Towson as adults instead of as students. But there are more memories to be made here. The holidays and seasons we have yet to experience here will become rich with memories...and then maybe I can call it home.

For Memorial Purposes

Since Memorial Day just passed (and I was too lazy to write anything yesterday) I'm going to use that as my theme for tonight. Although instead of just writing my thoughts on veterans or America, I thought I'd do something a little bit more personal mixed in with the basic principles associated with the military: teamwork, bravery, responsibility, and compassion.

I realized I am slowly entering that age where names and faces of my past are becoming fuzzy. The lines between what ACTUALLY happened and what I think are starting to disintegrate, and so in an effort to help my problem I am going to utilize this web-diary thing to jot down some memories so that they are forever documented (and hopefully if I can pin down these thoughts it will help to always anchor additional ones).

So, in the vein of remembering what our heroic soldiers stand for, here are the things I hope to always remember...

1. Coach/Mr. Ullmeyer- My cross-country coach. He might actually be the reason I started to think about this as a good topic. I was jogging the other day and still trying to remember the breathing techniques he taught me. Granted, I lasted for just the season, and was consistently bringing up the rear, it still felt awesome to be part of something (especially since my high school years mostly consisted of trying to evaporate into the background).

2. My sister calling me brave- I doubt she would remember this, but for some reason I never forgot (and hopefully now I really never will). On one of our many little family road trips, we went to a water park (most likely Dorney Park and Wildwater Kingdom). Anyway, as usual I put up a fight to go on any of the slides. I was (and still to this day) terrified of heights AND losing control so choosing to toss my slippery body down an even MORE slippery chute didn't really rank high on my To-Do list. However, being with my sisters I definitely wanted to keep up. And after a few I started to gain some confidence (once I figured that the bolts holding the tube in place weren't going to pop-out suddenly and send me 3 stories to the ground), I actually started to have fun. So much so that I VOLUNTEERED to go on the next big slide. Without hesitation I climbed to the top of the stairs and before I knew it I was careening back all the way to the pool below. Truthfully, I was a little scared when I felt myself lifting up due to some unexpected drops, but the fact that my big sister Hillary told me she was proud was well worth it.

3. Marshmallow- my pet bunny. There was a time when we were kids that we all decided we wanted our own pets. We loved our dog, Abby, but I guess her novelty began to wain (especially since she wasn't allowed upstairs, in the living room, OR family room). I can't remember who got theirs first, but Hillary had her pet bird, Iago, while Lindsay had Bernard the Hamster (and yes they are both characters from Disney movies--does that prove we were brainwashed or the fact that Hillary had over 20 Disney figurines in her room...or maybe that I used to watch the promotional video they sent us like an actual movie...yeah, you got us you evil evil corporation). Anyway, since they had their feathered and furry friends (and I was sick of flushing two-day old dead goldfish) my mother finally promised me a rabbit for my birthday. Before that time, however, we had some tragedies: Iago was found dead at the bottom of his cage one morning, while Bernard made a truly miraculous escape (only to be found alive in our neighbors garbage can while they were taking out the trash) but died a few days later--there's something very poignant about that, or maybe I'm still hung up on the Lost ending. Anyway, to soothe their pains (or just to butt in on MY thing) they got rabbits as well: Hillary's was a grey and white one she named Thumper (stick your royalties up your ass Disney). Lindsay's, a chocolate brown one, had a Prince/The Artist Formerly Known as Prince thing going on since she changed the name from Brownie to Fuzzhead every other week. Mine was simple- Marshmallow- named so b/c of her all white fur. When I first spotted her she looked one of those magician rabbits, yet she was so soft and fluffy she just reminded me of the white candy. Also, she had these crazy hot-pink eyes (which I guess means she was albino), which def sold me. I used to love to put her on my chest and stroke her while I was reading on our back porch during the summer. But as tends to happen, the reality of actually caring for an animal began to set in. We neglected them a bit and then one day my mom told me Marshmallow was sick. I was upset but didn't know what to do. I went out to stroke her from time to time, but to see her look so skittish and yellow (no longer the vibrant white) broke my heart so much I couldn't bear going out to see her. Finally, my mom came to pick me up from school one bright afternoon, and turned around in the driver's seat.


"Honey, Marshmallow died."

Of course I cried a bit, feeling not just the loss but a huge amount of guilt. I felt responsible for her death (ironically due to my irresponsibility). Lately I've been really pushing for us to get a dog, which makes me think alot about ol' Marshmallow. Hopefully the mistakes I made with her won't be repeated, but I'm sure the love will be.

4. Remembering to never judge a book...- There was a girl in high school named Julie Hoffmann that sat near me in French class. She had honey blond hair and always wore thick black eyeliner. She was new, so since there was an open seat near me Ms. Ennis assigned her there. We never spoke too much, only occasionally when she had to pass something to me or borrow a pencil. But when we did lightly chat I figured she was nice enough. As it turned out, she was also in my English class, though we sat further away. I noticed some kids chuckling and realized they were doing so at Julie. I felt awful, but being that I was pretty low on the social totum pole myself, I said nothing (I probably even joined in, knowing my cowardice). And when we found out that she had died suddenly in an awful car accident, I felt I could never really forgive myself. I tried to assuage my guilt thinking I never really knew her, so what was I supposed to do? I had that same laissez-faire attitude with another student at school. It was right after the Columbine tragedies and one student was accused of planning to harm the school. Wanting to appear under control while at the same time preventing any law suits we were unofficially given liberal leave, which many of us took advantage of--only to go to the nearest hang out and talk about who it was. I joined in, like a lemming off a cliff, into the badmouthing and criticizing. I thought I wouldn't think about it again until I actually met the guy, and realized how foolish I had been. We ended up having mutual friends and began to hang out once in a while. He is not only one of the most laid back yet passionate people I have ever met, he is also the bravest. He enlisted into the army and went overseas for long extended periods of time, often in frightening areas. It makes me sick to think how I could have been so close-minded and judgmental when I didn't even know what a tremendous guy he is. I have sadly lost touch with him since I moved to Baltimore, but I always think of him whenever I see the posters or commercials for the army...and wonder what lucky person is getting a lesson on acting or horror movie trivia from him.

There are tons of memories that I would like to lock up somewhere safe, but I figured this is a good start- and it goes along with the Memorial Day theme, don't you think?

If this one was a little on the depressing side, fear not. I had to get this one off my pathetically small chest, but I got a whole bag of crazy for youall. Until tomorrow then fan-a-reenos!

Driver Drama

So this is the second time in the last two months I went home and came back with a freakin illness. Last time it turned into strep, but now I think it's just a cold, but still...aggravatin'

Also, as if THAT wasn't enough to make my drive back stressful, I think I nearly died...at least three times. Now, anyone who has driven with me knows I will stand up like an alcoholic at an AA meeting, raise my hand to God and say, "Hello, My name is Kristen, and I'm a bad driver." Be aware, I didn't say a reckless or careless driver. I'm more a bad driver the way your 86 yr old grandmother is a bad driver-- I've got poor vision, slow reflexes, and lack attention. But don't worry, I make up for it by driving AT LEAST 10 miles below the speed limit.

But I get pretty annoyed when it seems like fate is just throwin me curve balls on the road. I've driven the same route back and forth from Jersey to Maryland for years now, and yet this last time was prob the most treacherous experience. Let me take you through it...

1. Evil Robin--I was driving down the road towards the gas station to fill up before my trip (if I leave Jersey without getting at least a few gallons of gas I end up kicking myself all the way back. Yes, I realize the 30 cents I end up saving gets eaten up just in the drive TO the gas station, but its the PRINCIPLE. All you other cheapskates out there know wat I'm talkin about) and I noticed a bird in the middle of the road. Respectful of cute animals, I slowed down, waiting for it to fly away...and waited...and waited. Suddenly I was getting closer and closer and the damn thing just sprang up and down. I started thinking, 'I'm gonna hit this damn bird...'. It was just like that episode of Seinfeld where George hits the pigeon ("We had a DEAL!"). Finally I had to actually swerve out of the way, and when I made the sudden movement, I guess it finally sensed catastrophe in the form of a hulking metal sedan coming at it and took flight...right at my windshield. Thankfully I missed it, but that was prob my first hint to stay home a little longer.

2. Crazy Lady Driver-- I hate to be traitorous, especially towards my own gender, but my second brush with death was at the hand of a curly-haired brunette in a blue car. (And no, I wasn't just looking at my rear view mirror, smartass). There was some construction goin on and while the other cars were all slowly veering I figured I'd veer too. Just as I was passing around, this chick in a blue car came driving right at me...no hesitation, no slowing down, just straight-up 40 miles per hour. I had to pull a freaking Jason Statham just avoid her oncoming Carolla. Hint #2 to turn around and head right back to bed.

3. The Wind Cries "I'm Gonna Push You Off This Bridge"-- My last near-death experience started the second I got on the highway and didn't really let up until I was about 10 mins from my apt...I've had problems with the wind before, but NOTHING like this last time. I was going about 55 miles per hour, and yet I was still getting batted around like a kitten with a ball of twine. It wasn't so bad, until I hit the bridge. God damn, I really was terrified. I learned new meaning to the phrase "white-knuckle". People were passing me left and right, and even when I tried to speed up to keep up with traffic I felt like the wind was toying with me. Finally when I got off my hands were so tense my elbows ached. It was a small consolation that I was met with a cute toll booth attendant at the end, I still had to gulp hard and was never more grateful to be in Delaware.

And now, safe and sound in my apt, struggling to breath through one nostril, I think about how close I came to total destruction. Maybe it was my slow-driving that actually saved my life. Just what the world wants...maybe I should try going 20 miles below the speed limit from now on...sorry people.

Homeward Bound Nowhere

"You still think of New Jersey as your home, don't you," Joe said as we were heading to the freeway. A few months ago we had a lovely visit with his family and we started talking about where we considered our "homes" to be now.

"I always used to." I said, pondering. "But, since my parents moved out of my old house, I dunno." I stared out the window at the passing pastures and neighborhoods.

"What about Maryland? Isn't Maryland your home now?" he continued. I didn't have a comfortable answer then and I still didn't the other day when we came upon the same subject. Again I was kinda dumbfounded.

At the drop of a hat I will align myself with my Jersey kinsmen. But I have noticed that every time I visit it feels like a piece of me is chipped away, rather than feel more complete. I think the fact my parents sold our family house lopped off my connection to really feeling like Jersey was my home. Instead of feeling grounded I usually feel more like I'm drifting along the surface, despite the fact that deep down I know my town like a soldier who has the home-advantage--knowing the terrain, places to escape (the tourists, at least), even where the nudist beach is. (not sure why a soldier would need to know that, but I'm sure it would come in handy)

Instead, when I went away to college I assembled my closest friends, established jobs, and accumulated countless memories all around Baltimore. And yet, the day I had to finally surrender my Jersey driver's license in exchange for a Maryland one, I still felt like I was betraying my home state. I'm really having a hard time with the idea of turning in my tags, too, and tyring to put it off as long as possible.

So you see how I'm torn. I always get a little uneasy about coming to visit (even this time for Mother's Day) and yet when I'm on the turnpike heading back towards Baltimore, I feel sad. It's like I'm in a perpetual state of looking at the greener grass on the other side.

It gets even more frustrating whenever Joe and I talk about the idea of getting a house. He's perfectly comfortable with the idea of settling around here, yet I feel myself digging my heels into the ground. DESPITE the fact that my friends are here, my boyfriend is here, my job is here...the idea makes me into a commitment phobe. And when my mom passes along jobs she finds for both Joe and me around the Shore, I can't quite bring myself to be OK with that either....

The solution?.....Delware....Hi, I want to live in Delaware. Seriously, Delaware makes so much sense. I could be near my beloved beach (and casinos) and yet be only an hour away from my friends. It seems perfect. But I do have the botheration of having to not only listen to Joes's opinion but I have to actually (ugh) CONSIDER his feelings...(j/k), so, dunno I'll get far with this idea.

So where is home? Is it really as simple as "where your heart is"? I'm not sure. For the time being I suppose I'll have to exist within this living-limbo. At least until I can trick Joe into getting into a moving van with all our stuff...

"Where are we going?" he'll say, "What does that sign say?...........Dover Downs?? Well, it IS a raceway AND casino...ok, hand me the boxes..."