The bay area bid 2007 farewell with a lovely sunny day and a breathtaking sunset. I am ready for the next four hours to go by. At midnight, I’m sure, I’ll magically feel like a new woman.
Despite a few high points, 2007 was without a doubt the worst year of my life so far. But it’s over. Can I get an amen? 2008, here I come. I am so ready to start the hell over.
I’ve been meaning to blog about my grandma’s funeral – you know, deep, intense, depressing stuff. But instead, I just have to tell this story.
Ok. So today on my lunch break (I went to Taco Bell – shh, don’t tell), I found a cell phone on the base of a lamp post in the parking lot. There it sat, just a few inches from my car, so I picked it up and checked it out. It was beat up but working, and I almost left it, but something (perhaps my psychic ability to predict awesome anecdotes in the making?) told me to pick it up. I pushed the phone book button and looked up the number for home, which was actually listed as Hóme, and called it from my phone. I explained what had happened, and some dude said it was his phone and he’d call me back later.
It ended up that we met at the end of my twelve hour shift in front of the Starbucks next to the Taco Bell. I brought my roommate with me to avoid any possible sketchiness. So there was phone man, a 40somethingish black man wearing baggy jeans, a brown Roca jacket, and with huge blingy rings on the last two fingers of the hand I saw. I handed him the phone, and he spouted words of thanks and started reaching in his pocket to fish out some money to give me as thanks. I refused, telling him it was no problem, just doing the right thing, it’s the holidays, yada yada yada. No really, yada yada etc. So instead of cash, he gave me a hug. He smelled like pot. And he gave my roommate a handshake, all the while calling us both honey, baby, the works. What a charmer.
I wished him happy holidays and we walked back to our cars. My roommate said, “Man, he was barking up the wrong tree!” I said, “Seriously – the gay tree.” But I was thinking, nah, he couldn’t possibly have been interested in me. Surely I exude The Gay, especially after I chopped my hair off the other day. Or if not the gay, at least the Not Interested. And let’s face it, I know I don’t fit any hetero male pop culture whatever beauty standards. Plus I just got off a twelve hour shift, hadn’t showered in a few days, and smelled like dog. Hot.
Bet you saw this coming. Half an hour later, if that, he called me again. I didn’t pick up, but listened to the voicemail. “Hey, this is the guy with the phone. Listen, can you please call me back when you get this message? I wanna axe you a question.” Oh, jesus. I knew I shouldn’t call him back, but for the little voice inside me that reminded me how damn funny it would be if I did. So I did.
He picked up and again showered me with profuse thanks, which I again shrugged off, and kept saying “Man, I feel like I owe you.” No, really. Wait for it…
“Do you have a man?”
Ten points for bluntness. I couldn’t think of anything witty to say, so I said “Uh… nope. Sure don’t.” I don’t remember all the details of the rest of the conversation because I was concentrating so hard on trying not to crack up, but he said something about wanting to take me to the club, I believe, more about owing me, me saying “I’m flattered, but I was really just being nice.” He told me his name was Anthony, and signed off by reminding me that I have his number.
I’ll keep that in mind, Anthony.
I am barely holding it together.
Summary: still sick, still brokenrib, running out of drugs, bitches at work, moving, too much singing, not enough sleep, too many tears, not enough hugs, flaky people, cat piss in my bed, broke, falling behind.
And I found out last night that my grandma is dying. I haven’t seen her in a few years and now I’ll never see her again. Recently I have been realizing that I don’t know that much about my family. We’re not the tight-lipped straight-laced don’t-talk-about-anything-important southern midwestern sorts… and yet, we don’t really talk about much that’s important. At least, it’s not talked about with the younger ones. We mostly joke, tease, laugh. I didn’t know much of anything important about my grandpa until he came to visit me out here last year. None of my grandparents ever did that supposedly stereotypical grandparent thing where they sit you down on their knee and tell you about their life. They just made me food, bought me things, let me watch Nickelodeon on their TVs and took me to Broadway plays. And now I am running out of time to find out about their lives, and it suddenly feels important. I don’t even really know where my grandma is from. I guess I can hope that people will talk about her after she is gone, as people tend to do.
This is the first close family member I’ve lost since my other grandpa died when I was 7. I didn’t really know him and my sister and I didn’t go to the funeral. I have never been to a funeral of a relative before. I am sad, nervous, worried about my dad… and also, admittedly, although I suppose it’s kind of twisted to be thinking about this now, I am sort of hoping I get to go to the funeral because I really miss my family. I wonder if laughter will get us through this one.
On a completely unrelated note, this video cheers me up immensely.
If a girl ever writes me a song that includes really awesomely bad puns and cute riffs and sings it to me wearing a dinosaur suit, well… that’s pretty much equivalent to a marriage proposal in my book.
Life is funny. Two weeks later, I am moving back out. I got a house with a coworker, her boyfriend, their two dogs, and a couple other random people. So much for staying here awhile to save money. But I didn’t want to pass up what seems like the right situation. Well, at least, I hope it is. I haven’t met two of the people and I haven’t seen the place… but I can’t stay here forever. And at least the chances of them dating anyone I know is slim to none, so there’s an improvement over last time. It’s in Oakland, and I’m so glad to be heading back there. The other day I went to the gas station and it was me, 3 Mercedes, and a Saab.
Two things I left out:
1. I now own a Samsung “Juke” phone. Apparently, this is the latest cool thing. It doubles as an mp3 player and is redonkulously tiny. And red. And does this crazy flip thing. I am sort of overwhelmed by it, but it’s really fun. I don’t think I’ve ever in my life had the latest cool thing. We only got them because they were buy one get one free. So yes… I’m hip.
2. My fucking cats peed on my bed while I was away. I am not a happy mom.
I am back home from Florida. The trip was short, but as fulfilling as it could have been. I saw my sister, my dogs, my parents, family friends, and most of my only remaining Floridian friends. I even saw a beautiful friend perform and had a mini Agnes reunion in my living room. But I won’t lie; I’m glad to be back. Except for the wonkiness of my sleep schedule (I slept from 11:30pm to 1:45am California time last night) and the dishevelledness of my life/room here. But I’m ready to move on with figuring all this out, and glad to see my kitties again.
While I was home, it was pretty well determined that I won’t be with my family for Christmas. That will be a first, and strange. But maybe good.
Also while home, I rummaged through all my stuff in boxes and bins in my old closet and found a few household essentials I forgot I had, as well as a pile of all my old journals. Starting with my first, which I started writing on a road trip with my best friend and her parents from SF to Albuquerque when I was 8, just before we left for New Jersey, all the way up to my college journals. The first one said things like “Today we stopped in Gallup, NM for dinner. We had huge milkshakes. YUM! Then we went swimming in the pool at the hotel for two whole hours. Tomorrow we’re going to Las Vegas. Good night!” And a continuing theme throughout, until high school, was “God, Justine is SUCH a bitch. She’s so annoying. UGH.” How times have changed. And of course the last ones are noticeably more detailed, more thoughtful, and more… tortured? Maybe. I went through and read about my various heartbreaks. Whenever I find these journals, the first thing I read is the 30some pages about my first real love, my senior year of high school. The one that got away – tormented me and moved to Canada. I honestly don’t think I’m truly over it. That’s so lamely cliche, and yet, I think if I ever saw her again, which is unlikely, I’d be all aflutter again. Ah, life.
Soon I’ll figure out where home is, I hope. For now I’ll say it’s my bed, and that’s where I’m headed. I have rehearsal today, and three concerts in the next two weeks. I hope my poor lungs can handle it.
It’s almost 1am and I have to be at the BART station at 5:30 tomorrow morning. I have created in myself some psychological block against packing more than 6 hours before the start of a trip. Seriously. I don’t think it will ever happen. I remember packing for college the night before, failing to finish before I crashed, and falling asleep with the light on in the tiny space that was left on my bed among boxes and piles of stuff.
Tomorrow, to Florida. For five whole days. I’m actually excited; I can’t remember the last time I was this excited to go to Florida… maybe never. I haven’t seen my parents since Christmas, which is the longest I’ve ever gone. Or my doggies. I’m even excited about the weather. 83? Heck yes. I packed shorts. I will probably get sick of it after a couple days, and I’ll miss my kitties, but I’m going to eat a lot and move very little and see the two friends I have left in Orlando.
Five days off of work sounds magical right now. Despite the honeymoon period being over and my frustration with a few coworkers mounting, I still love my job. But I reinjured my stupid cracked rib while I was moving and it hurts like a mofo again. So not wrangling dogs for a few days will probably be a good thing.
Other news? I had a concert Sunday, with a solo. My share of the audience was scant, but that’s ok. I still rocked it, even with a cough and reduced lung capacity. I don’t have much of a voice left to show for it though, which is unfortunate, since I have 8 million rehearsals and two more concerts in the next two weeks.
I have been struggling with some personal stuff (well, I guess I always am); in particular I’ve been thinking about how people seem to be letting me down an awful lot these days. Why is that? Are my standards too high? Do I pick the wrong kinds of people to depend on? Or is it just coincidence? Either way, it’s getting to me. I have this inferiority complex in every one of my relationships. Example: if someone never calls me to hang out, it’s clearly because they are too cool for me and don’t want to, not because they’re busy or waiting for me to call. Conversely, if I am always the one making the plans, I am a needy loser. So… yes. Friendships. Expectations. Things to think about.
See you on the other coast.
I don’t want to move.
I don’t wanna. You can’t make me.
I am going to be very whiny this weekend. I have procrastinated packing like you wouldn’t believe. My apartment is a disaster, barely anything is packed; walking in here you’d never guess I was about to move out.
I love Oakland. I don’t want to move back to Berkeley. I don’t want to keep packing and unpacking and moving every 3 months. I feel like I’m back in college. Ugh.
But in better news, there was a new adorable puppy at work today who followed me around and just wanted to cuddle. I think I’m in love.
Last time I was sick, I never got one hundred percent better. Last week, it escalated back into full-fledged sick, this time centered around a ho-rendous cough. Really, really awful. In fact, a couple days into this coughathon, I coughed so violently that I cracked? dislocated? bruised? otherwise fucked up? one of my ribs on my right side. Ouch. Admittedly I have a very low tolerance for pain, I’m a big baby, I’ve never broken anything before so I don’t actually know what it feels like… so it’s possible I didn’t actually fracture my rib, but damn if it didn’t feel like it was broken. I don’t do pain. But for a couple of days I sucked it up and kept going to work and tried to act really tough at work, only told my supervisor what was wrong so I wouldn’t get chided for being a little slow. It was hard, though – my job involves a lot of physical activity. Bending over, lifting, pushing and pulling, breaking up dog fights. Never before did I realize how involved one’s ribcage muscles are involved in just about everything. The worst part was that I was still coughing, and when I did it felt like my ribcage was going to shatter.
I know I sound a little overdramatic, but it really did hurt that much. In the end I only missed one day of work, spending the whole day in bed and wincing every time I had to move. A wonderful friend brought me some darvocet (magical!) and took my trash out while she was here. It stunk and I couldn’t lift it. Living alone is no fun when you’re sick.
But anyway, I’m mostly better. Yay. Here’s hoping I can stay healthyish until I get health insurance in 4 months. Now that I’m kind of healed, I have to start moving out of my apartment. It’s disappointing and difficult, but I know this just wasn’t meant to be. I am ready to leave the past three months behind me, and physically doing so will probably be healthy too. So if anybody wants to come help me move furniture, this week, holler at me.
I am unsteadily and unsurely, but undoubtedly, starting a new chapter in the next few weeks. I joined the Oakland Unitarian church today. I got semi-roped into doing so by a series of circumstances, but it’s probably good that I did, because it would have taken me a lot longer to do so had it been entirely of my own volition. The last time I joined a church, that church really hurt me, and I lost my home. I guess I haven’t entirely healed that wound, but as much as I doubt it, I know that I am meant to belong to a church family, and that Unitarian Universalism is my chosen faith. So what can I do but keep plugging ahead? I know this will be a better experience than my last one, and maybe a lifelong home. It keeps feeling like a relationship. Like I had a bad breakup before and now I have a fear of commitment. To church. Ok, and to people too. There are lots of things I need to work on with myself, but one step at a time!
Oh and p.s., good things: my BFF is coming tonight through Thursday morning, because it is my birthday Wednesday. Here’s to this one not sucking!
Well, as of right now, it looks like I’m really moving out of my apartment. Oh, life. I didn’t get my hopes up about these last two people, though, so I’m ok. I figured it was coming, and it’s a relief to know what’s going to happen. I just hate moving. And potentially/probably moving twice in the next three months. I think I’m going to move back into the house I lived in last year, do some extra driving and housework in exchange for reduced rent. It feels like a step backwards to be going back there, but they are being incredibly kind taking me in, and it’s kind of comforting.
I haven’t stopped coughing since I was sick a few weeks ago, and I’m tired of it. I want new lungs and sinuses. Please.
This weekend was excellent, involving excellent people and a farm, including a tractor-pulled-wagon ride, pumpkins and sunflowers, a banjo, a pony, bunnies and piggies, fresh produce, awesome friends, and sunshine. I felt restored. I need to remember to get out and do things that make me happy.
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