Despite All This, I Still Pretty Much Like Myself

A family asked me for an interview!  The position wouldn’t be ideal—a Saturday and Sunday nanny position, which means I’d be working 7 days a week—but I think an interview is a good start.

I also have an interview at a dance studio tomorrow.  I’d really like to get that job, but since I can’t work the next two weeks, I’m not so sure that’ll work out.  Here’s something I’ve noticed about myself.  I have an overdeveloped talent for working myself into a state.  Give me a tiny mosquito bite and I will scratch it and irritate it and let it bother me until it looks like a red golf ball on the side of my arm.  That’s a metaphor—mountains out of molehills stuff, you know.  But what I mean is—I worry about everything.  An inordinate amount of worrying.  I can’t just let something be for a while.

And thus, I find myself frantically applying for jobs at which I won’t even be able to start for three weeks.  Who is going to hire a part-time worker who can’t start for three weeks?  Answer: nobody.  So why am I even bothering at this point?  I told my parents that I would start pounding the pavement at the end of July, after my two consecutive weekends with Mike and Emily were over, and I’d actually be able to start working again.  But money is tight, so I jumped the gun.  And now I’ll look like a doofus in both these interviews.

Why do I let myself get into these situations?  Recently, I told Andrew that if I was independently wealthy, I would worry a lot less.  He said, “No, you wouldn’t.  You’d find stuff to worry about.  ‘Am I paying the correct amount of taxes?’ ‘Do people hate me because I’m rich?’ ‘Am I giving enough money away to charity?’”

I realized he’s totally right.  I could worry about anything.  I’ll be the only angel in Heaven who can’t just relax (assuming, of course, that I make it up there.  But, probably I’m destined for Hell, if only because Satan could so easily create a personalized eternity of misery for me—just tell me that because I died, something bad will happen to someone else, and I’ll be off, worrying myself miserable for the rest of time.  It wouldn’t even be sporting, how easily Satan could torture me.)

But anyway, I worry too much.  Normally, this would be the point where I make a vow to calm down.  But I’m practically 23 now.  I am who I am, and that’s who I’ll probably be for the rest of my life.  I just have to resign myself that I’ll forever be a lazy, worrywart complainer who doesn’t exercise and judges strangers harshly.  I can only hope that it’s part of my charm.

To quote the musical RENT (which I don’t even like): “Take me for what I am, who I was meant to be.”

I guess I’ll have to take me, baby, cause I don’t think I can leave me.

*NOTE* The title of this post is to act as a disclaimer because, despite my shortcomings, I think I'm pretty cool most of the time, and I didn't want anyone thinking I'm all down on myself, when really, I'm just very self-aware.  : )

Lifecoach, Anyone?

Why am I always looking for a job?  I have a full-time career, but now I need a part-time job in order to be able to afford to pursue my career.  When will it end?

My new idea is babysitting.  I didn't like it so much in high school, but it seems way better than waiting tables all of a sudden.  I mean, I dig kids.  I think they're funny.  Sometimes I'm laughing at them instead of with them, but that's just 'cause they're too dumb to get the joke.  Plus every once in a while they'll just say something out of control--in a funny way or a profound way.  They're pretty awesome that way.

So, babysitting.  I got on SitterCity.com and looked through some CraigsList ads.  Applied to a bunch of stuff.  Haven't heard anything.  If there's one thing I've always known, but was reaffirmed by my MH experience is that I am awesome and bosses will love me, if they just give me a chance.  Just ask my boss L (who today offered to buy me ice cream from an ice cream truck, til the truck drove away.  I've never seen an old man look so sad.  Made my day).  He says I'm "a gem."

So come on parents of New York!  Get your act together and respond to my email!  Even just out of courtesy.

Too bad I can't make a living tell people how it is.  Oh, you're life sucks?  Well, that's cause you're whiny, lazy and ya need a nose job.  $200 please.  Oh, wait, that's what sassy gay friends are for.

If I had a sassy gay friend, I know what he'd tell me: You complain too much in your blog!  It's true, I know it.  But typing furiously is just such a good way to get out the frustration.  So much better than exercising.

Thus, in an effort to stop complaining and be more upbeat, I will tell you that I wrote my very first travel article (I've only been trying for like, two years) and submitted it to an awesome travel blog based on an awesome book which you should all have read because I told you too.  So, everyone keep your fingers crossed that they publish it!

Wow, I don't usually tell people stuff like that until the positive outcome happens.  None of you can judge me now if they don't publish the article.  It will completely decimate my already fragile writer's ego.  Pinky promise?

New York

You might think this is a post about the recent legislation passed in NY state.  It's not.  Whatever my personal political leanings are, I make it a point never to try force them on anyone else.  You might find this strange, given the number of times I say, "that's stupid.  I'm right."  But normally my righteousness pertains to less "big-picture" issues.  For instance, the leggings-as-pants phenomenon.  I can safely say that I am in the right on this issue.  It shouldn't be done.  People who neglect to put on pants in the morning should be mocked, pointed at, maybe even the target of a softly-lobbed stick or two.  LAP is the symbol of all that is wrong with my generation.  I might go so far as to say that leggings caused the current economic crisis.  I mean, when consumers stop purchasing pants, the market is going to take a big hit.

But I digress.  When I titled my post "New York," I was feeling insanely uncreative, but was referencing the city, not the state.  Today I spent a few hours "downtown" (since I technically live in Manhattan, I no longer feel right saying "in the city") and saw some pretty amazing things.  In some cases, amazing can be good--a skateboard ramp set up in the middle of Times Square, wedding photos taken in Grand Central, a dog the size of Beethoven (the pup, not the pianist) calmly slobbering ropes of saliva while a little girl that was probably the size of it's last poop hit/patted him on the nose.

But today I saw some amazingly bad things.  I will focus on my subway ride.  At 175th street, three women got on pushing a little pink stroller.  I assumed they were girlfriends out for a day of shopping.  Turns out only two of them were girlfriends.  But they wheeled the stroller on the train, sat down, and one immediately started cooing at the baby girl in the pram.  Now, you know I love babies.  So I looked, and listened, on, waiting for a glimpse of a truly adorable kid.  There are always cute kids on the subway.  Though, there always seem to be one or two creepy ones as well.

After a couple of minutes of catching snippets of conversation, I heard something that made me take a quick, sharp look at the stroller.  Dear God, they had a cat riding in the stroller with the baby!  I can't imagine having a baby and a clawed-anything zipped into the same tiny space is a good idea.  What were these women thinking?

Another look.

Good Lord!  They had multiple cats inside with the baby!

A few more seconds of eavesdropping and a full-out stare through the stroller netting.

Holy Mother!  There was no baby in that thing!  These women were pushing a litter of kittens around the city in a stroller!

Why?  Why?  You know I hate cats about as much as I love babies.  This was a serious disappointment for me.

But even beyond that, WHY do you need to push cats around in a stroller?  Why do you need to take your cats out at all?  Ok, sure, let them frolic in the small patch of green that surrounds the tree in the middle of the sidewalk if they need some fresh air.  But what could a cat possibly need to do that requires mass transit?  A play date with some posh downtown felines?  I mean, really.

And the way these women spoke about their cats.  It turns out the two stroller-pushing women didn't actually know the third.  They just happened to encounter a kindred spirit--another lesbian who didn't find it strange to cart your cats in a baby apparatus.  They swapped stories, advice, veterinary diagnoses.  From what I gathered, one of the kittens on the train only had one eye.  Thank God it was zipped into that stroller.  If I'd seen that thing, I probably would've vomited on the spot.

Maybe it is my bias against cats.  Maybe I would change my mind if I saw a litter of adorable puppies cruising around the subway tunnels in a stroller.  But I still would probably say, "WTF?"  Put those suckers on leashes, or carry them in a kennel.  Don't push them around like little primadonnas.  Ain't no cat gonna survive in this city if they can't "mind the gap."

Please tell me I am not the only one who was totally disturbed by this incident.

Another quick strangoid--the kindred spirit woman was kind of curvy.  I think when she sat down her chin actually touched her chest.  She was wearing a low-cut sundress and carrying a big-ass bag.  Halfway through cooing at the kittens, she takes out her cellphone--to check the time I guess, because she certainly wasn't receiving a call.  But she didn't take it out of her bag.  She took it out of her bra.  Why are you carrying a bag, if all your accessories can fit in your bodice??  Is your phone so expensive that you need to make positively sure that no one will filch it out of your bag?  And also...what else do you carry around in there?  Keys?  Wallet?  Your favorite cat?

New York--I love it, but it sure is full of wack-a-doos.

Summing Up My Maid of Honor Duties

I know, I've been absolutely horrible about blogging lately.  But I have a good excuse!  Well, actually, I have a few good excuses--moving (congratulate me on my first NYC apartment!), Emily's wedding, an unplanned business trip.  It's not like I've been lazing about, not blogging!

But yesterday, it was called to my attention that my Maid of Honor duties are not complete until I give Emily and Michael's wedding life eternal by immortalizing it in the blogosphere.  I guess since the bride herself has yet to do so (I mean, what was she doing for a week in St. Lucia, if not composing her wedding wrap-up blog post?) it falls to the maid of honor, as so many responsibilities do. ; )

Andrew and I drove down to Maryland after I got off work on Wednesday June 1, battling Lincoln Tunnel rush-hour traffic, police officers on foot, and slow McDonalds personnel.  We finally made it home around 12:30 am.  That was the earliest night I had the whole weekend.

I was up pretty early the next morning, because I've gotten on a schedule of waking up at 6:30, so even when I don't have to, I'm up early.  But we had a lot to do that day, so the extra time was helpful.  When Emily got home around 11, she, mom and I went to get our nails done--mani and pedi.  I guess a wedding is a cause for splurging.  I love pedicures, but I don't often get them because they don't love me back.  And they're expensive.  The pedicurist probably hated me, because I about kicked her in the face three times.  I hate that little pumice stone.  I'm not usually ticklish, but it gets me every time.  While I was in the pedi chair, my mom almost threw down with the manicurist.  There's this new gel/ shellac stuff that we wanted on our nails, so they'd last through all the manual labor Emily made us do on Friday.  I guess there are two brands, and Emily wanted brand A because she'd had brand B and it sucked.  The manicurist refused to use brand A, even though we were paying him, and told him that's what we wanted when we made the appointments.  He said,  "Do you know my job better than me?"  I honestly couldn't believe how rude he was.  Now, the customer isn't always right--I've worked in the hospitality industry long enough to know that, but when you make an appointment and are paying for something, you should probably get that thing.  So, our appointments took three hours and we didn't even get what we wanted.  But the freaking stuff is still on my nails (I'm probably going to need a power sander to get it off), so at least it didn't chip off for the wedding.

The rest of Thursday was spent running various errands--buying swizzle sticks and cocktail napkins, duping Wal-mart employees into breaking copyright law and buying flowers, because Emily did her own, and the batch she ordered came in wilted and gross. 

After dinner on Thursday, Emily started freaking out a bit.  I mean she still had a lot to do, but I was confident it would get done.  AJ was pestering her to go out, so finally, we just decided to stop thinking about it for the rest of the night and go out and get her drunk.

We went out in downtown Frederick, first to Firestones, but then quickly moved over to the Cellar Door once I mentioned it was $3 margarita Thursday.  It was actually quite fun, and Emily, Andrew and I convinced AJ to dance solo for a minute and a half for a free margarita.  Well worth the $3.

Friday we spent all day in the reception hall getting everything ready.  Emily and Mike pretty much redecorated the entire place.  We set up all the tables, Emily put out the flower arrangements, built a wall to hang pictures on...it was a complete transformation.  We probably had twenty or more people there.  We even had a little sweatshop going...aunts, moms and cousins were ironing 150 chair covers and 17 tablecloths for about 5 hours.  We cut it close--we left for the rehearsal dinner a little later than we planned, but we got everything done, and it looked fantastic.

The rehearsal went pretty smoothly, and the dinner was at a restaurant called the Blue Dolphin, right down the road (pretty much everything for the wedding was right down the road).  The food was delicious, and plentiful.  I've never seen such huge crab cakes--and when my dad makes crab cakes, we call them boulders.  Perhaps what I liked best about the restaurant was the huge basket of after dinner mints in the bathroom.  They had my favorite kind--those pillow mints that kind of melt in your mouth.  Delish.

After the rehearsal, we were still up til about 2 am--I was making a "Just Married" sign for the rental Beemer, and Emily and Mom were finishing the boutonnieres.  If that damn first flower delivery had come in alright, Friday and Saturday would have been much less stressful.  As it was, though, Emily was making her bouquet right up until the minute she left for the church.

Saturday morning dawned hot.  We had 9 o'clock hair appointments at a salon, where else?  down the road.  I got my hair done first and loved it.  It was a twisted back, low bun/twist thing.  Very romantic, pretty much exactly what I asked for.  Emily wasn't quite as happy, but I thought her hair looked great.  Half of it was twisted back and held with a sparkly barrette, and the rest was wavy on her shoulders.  Her make up looked fantastic, too.  Mine looked horrible.  The make up lady didn't ask me what I wanted, she just decided it would be a good idea to use a lot of black eye shadow.  For an afternoon wedding.  I had to ask her three times to lighten it up, and still had to do some touch ups when I got home.  But I guess it came out alright in pictures.

We went home and had to finish up all the flowers, eat (I think I ate a doughnut and three crackers all day before dinner), get dressed and have mimosas.  We got stuff to make mimosas, thinking we'd have a nice girls lunch before we had to get ready.  But we were making flower arrangements, so unfortunately we didn't get to do that.  But we all managed to get dressed, photographed and to the church with only a little stress.

The ceremony was really pretty, though I won't say it went off without a hitch.  We couldn't find the boutonniere pins for awhile, Mike got the wrong boutonniere, and I could barely keep it together.  I cried pretty much every time I looked at Emily, and I forgot to  bring tissues, so I just had to stand with my head parallel to the ground so the tears would fall off my face instead of running down it.  It was not glamorous.

Then Emily and my dad missed the cue to walk down the aisle, so we were waiting awhile, wondering if she ran away.  Later I said she should've paid a girl to wear a white dress and run past the church windows towards the parking lot, to see how fast Mike can run.  But I guess that wouldn't have been very nice. 

She walked down the aisle to the Red Hot Chili Pepper song, Hard to Concentrate.  It was beautiful, but I didn't see most of it, because I had my head down trying not to cry.  I had teared up every time I heard that song for the past three months.  But the ceremony was beautiful, and my grandfather performed the actual marriage and my cousin Megan sang a song called There is Love, which I've never actually heard before but really liked.  After the ceremony there was a receiving line, and then photos.  Clouds were rolling in, though, so I tried to corral all the families to get through the photos quick, because the wedding party still had to do some outdoor shots at a golf course...down the road.

Luckily, the rain mostly held off, and there were only a few drops here and there.  It made for good pictures, because we didn't have to squint in the sun.  The photographer got some great shots, but they're not posted on her website yet.  But you can still take a look here if you like looking at wedding photography as much as I do.

The reception was lots of fun, and luckily I gave my speech pretty early on, so I was able to relax and enjoy most of it.  Of course I cried, but I think I did an ok job, because everybody told me I did and there's a picture of my mom and grandma crying.

Dinner was good--prime rib and chicken, so you really couldn't complain.  Open bar is always a plus too, though I heard the bartenders were a little stingy.  No worries, though, because now Mike and Emily have tons of left over booze, so they have to throw lots of parties until it's gone!

The dance floor was a good time, with a little help from Jack and Captain Morgan, and there always at least one person on the floor--usually that person was the other bridesmaid's husband, Everett.  What a pip.  The DJ was pretty good--he played some old time stuff in the beginning, so the oldies could dance, and then once their old people legs gave out and made room for the young people. he pumped it up a notch.  Andrew and I danced a lot, but to be honest, I had a hard time finding my groove.  I drank a lot, but I guess not quite enough.  I really liked that Emily and Mike were on the dance floor a lot.  I hate going to weddings when you can't even find the bride and groom, because they're always off doing something else.  I don't mean something else, I just mean, you know, stuck in a corner talking to some distant relative who doesn't realize it's rude to monopolize their time.  I'm glad Mike and Em were able to get their groove on at their own reception.

The next morning, we all had lunch at Emily and Mike's house and watched them open presents, because they weren't leaving for their honeymoon until Monday.  They got some sweet swag, especially the present Andrew and I gave them--a double date basket.  Because the four of us really like to hang out together, we got them some games and some alcohol (though we probably could've saved our money on the Crown and given them a bottle leftover from the reception) and just little things to make them think of us always.  Then Andrew and I had to leave to drive back up to New York, because I had to work the next morning, and still didn't have my bed set up in my apartment.

And that was it: the wedding of the decade, my favorite wedding so far.  I kind of can't believe it's over.  It's weird that we've been thinking about this day for like a year, and now, it's gone.  Plus, my sister is married.  So weird.  Well, there's my wedding novel.  Guess that's my MOH duties, done and dusted!