tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22222437226802884242024-03-04T22:42:36.959-08:00Is There Pudding Yet?Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.comBlogger164125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-41236802778561900342018-06-09T05:38:00.001-07:002018-06-09T05:50:37.586-07:00Numbers and Homes<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">First thing's first: do you know what you can afford to spend on
your mortgage every month? This calculation is different for everyone. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">For
my husband and I, while we very comfortably could afford a home at a
certain price level while still hitting our savings goals we do not <i>ever </i>want
to be in a position where we can't afford our lifestyle anymore if one
of us loses our job for a long period of time. So we based our goal
mortgage payment (loan + taxes + insurance) on what we can afford on the
lowest salary between us. </span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> For transparency's sake, that's my income at $67k/year, and we've been looking at houses under $300k. In our 15 mile search radius, that
can get us anything between a <a href="https://www.zillow.com/homes/for_sale/521-Hamilton-Ln,-Aurora-IL_rb/" target="_blank">REALLY nice 4-5 bedroom, 2,600sqft house </a>in a... let's call it "revitalizing" city with abysmal schools, or a 100
year old <a href="https://www.zillow.com/homes/recently_sold/Naperville-IL-60540/house,land_type/4512942_zpid/84569_rid/0-300000_price/0-1207_mp/globalrelevanceex_sort/41.781392,-88.123806,41.756202,-88.151272_rect/14_zm/" target="_blank">2 bed, 1 bath 1,000sqft "flipper's dream!"</a> in a <i>very</i> nice city with <i>very</i> good schools. So there are lots of interesting options.</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">That's
why doing this calculation was so important to me. It's so hard to
really see the difference between a $257k house with $7k taxes and a
$275k house with $5k taxes when you're in the thick of it and looking at
photos of open floorplans and walls full of shiplap. Spoiler: it's
~$130/month cheaper per month for the more expense house!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1dlIiPj-Cic2eBw-QkNACd-pwXx_UEhqg92EdIv5Xg80/edit?usp=sharing" target="_blank">Here's the spreadsheet I created to</a> do the various
calculations. Please feel free to download it and use it as your own! I'll talk you through what you're looking at.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">The green cells are what I filled in. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">-The list price for the house. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">-The
percent of down payment we plan on having. **We have enough savings for
a 20% down payment, which means no mortgage insurance, or "PMI". If you
plan on putting down less than 20% that will be an additional factor of
$50-$100/month** </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">-How much I think home insurance will be. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">-The
percentage I think we'll get on the loan (4.75% is about as good as you
can get right now. 5.1% is predicted to be the new "good rate" in just a
couple months)</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">-Any upgrades to the house we'll want to make right away.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">-The annual property tax amount</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Everything else will calculate for you!</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">The
important thing to consider about the miscellaneous updates is that a
fixer upper for $20k less than an updated house might not be worth it if
you look at everything that needs updating and will cost you $30k. You
also might not have that money to spend right now, but spread out over a
30 year mortgage it's more affordable.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Other
things to consider: Are you a first time homebuyer? Are there programs
in your area that might help you put money toward a down payment? We
have those in Illinois and I'm sure other states have things like that
too. But are those programs actually a good idea? Here are the three
options my loan officer gave us:</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Option 1: no special programs, just a conventional 30 year mortgage at 4.75% and a 20% down payment.<br />You'll see the total interest paid over 30 years is $175,586 (barf, right?).</span></div>
<div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_G6-iDnpohb1MGC4Qqjo2j2JXLfFMrMIqU-QmCFBCDSm8ypak6CtKr45I8EF4ZGG7yb91VKPsYjrTsFJNla6fCvcBrDci-rxQCxD8ABHYubIZOMAuGZfyHZsKAzTvgWu5Hjgu-ljShlI/s1600/30+yr+conv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="878" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_G6-iDnpohb1MGC4Qqjo2j2JXLfFMrMIqU-QmCFBCDSm8ypak6CtKr45I8EF4ZGG7yb91VKPsYjrTsFJNla6fCvcBrDci-rxQCxD8ABHYubIZOMAuGZfyHZsKAzTvgWu5Hjgu-ljShlI/s640/30+yr+conv.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Option 2: a $7,500 grant from the state to put toward the down payment
with no expectation of repayment. But the interest rate increases to
5.35%. Sounds sweet, right? Free $7,500! You still get your 20% down
payment, but you only have to put up some of that!<br /><br />But look at
the total interest: $202,057! You essentially will be paying an extra
$37,000 over 30 years in order to save $7,500 right now.</span><br />
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWpfK1D8l8CkSZ2su2_DsRQDfTiKaau-Cr8DMpwKK68N5zcAIqvTHVLhj1Z0i0jObsFHKMCsUJoUEncxgPrssm3TxqLhdEiwZBTFVHQxDy_Cad9i2qUJULpHOa8sl8IuVQrmHi3xYSiXQ/s1600/7500+grant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="877" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWpfK1D8l8CkSZ2su2_DsRQDfTiKaau-Cr8DMpwKK68N5zcAIqvTHVLhj1Z0i0jObsFHKMCsUJoUEncxgPrssm3TxqLhdEiwZBTFVHQxDy_Cad9i2qUJULpHOa8sl8IuVQrmHi3xYSiXQ/s640/7500+grant.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Option 3: A $10,000
interest free loan applied to the down payment that you pay back over 10
years (ie: $83/month), and the interest rate on the loan is 5.1%. So
you still end up paying that $10k, but you don't have to front it all up
front, which can be really helpful if you ALMOST have a 20% down
payment, but aren't quite there.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Again,
that interest will really kill you over 30 years - $190,923. That's
about $15,000 more over time than the conventional mortgage.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8mitTrbNCIJ4bCOAVnWM3GdRqghZjVUxTN-6L9tbFOaVSz48kPhwwxx69_ptlbq8OCIpdeJFB3Uf5RgLAfToYrGJIDn00GJnJm7TOSIz1BTZpmKP8-p_UpWHsrv7e4Jaa5JY4qzo0gU/s1600/10000+grant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="372" data-original-width="879" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL8mitTrbNCIJ4bCOAVnWM3GdRqghZjVUxTN-6L9tbFOaVSz48kPhwwxx69_ptlbq8OCIpdeJFB3Uf5RgLAfToYrGJIDn00GJnJm7TOSIz1BTZpmKP8-p_UpWHsrv7e4Jaa5JY4qzo0gU/s640/10000+grant.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">"Why on earth would I spend $15k-$37k more just to not spend that money now?" you might ask. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Well,
maybe you wouldn't! I wouldn't because we're in a really great place
with savings. We have enough for a 20% down payment and will then still
have savings for a comfortable "safety net" (6 months of expenses) plus a
few thousand dollars to spend on "surprise! You're a homeowner now and
the water heater broke because that's always what happens!"</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">But...
maybe you would. Listen: having $10k in the bank RIGHT NOW is a big
deal. And look at the average monthly total between Option 1 and Option
3: it's only $125/month. Yes, it will cost you more in the long run, but
at what cost? What if it would take all of your savings to put 20%
down, and then surprise, the water heater breaks because that's always
what happens? You don't have money to fix the water heater. But if you
took that loan program, you would have that money. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Sometimes
the short term is much more important than the long term. And that's
okay! There's no objectively right or wrong answer.</span></div>
Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-41049545897924717292016-03-16T13:03:00.000-07:002016-03-16T14:21:55.454-07:00And now, a break for something desperately nerdyYou know that something fundamental has changed within me that, only halfway through my spring break, I actively sought out a numbers-based puzzle and gleefully opened up Excel to begin doing calculations for exactly zero reason beyond "oh boy! Something to do!"<br />
<br />
A friend on Facebook shared the following image, with the (unverified) statistic that 53% of people who cast a Democratic ballot yesterday were over the age of 50.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6G-j_zTp97g42R6xWPFgwy7AUUq4aNzsaQLkNngnJLF1cLpV_eJzL7j_rdN0kTbcfjvy3n8Eyw2UAnM8JoJzWYNVyK-cCq0uF4YVZTpsOjOTPZK77XnWr7qPz-HLWRugklq1cco2bjUw/s1600/10366141_10100889552099204_4418829957826589053_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6G-j_zTp97g42R6xWPFgwy7AUUq4aNzsaQLkNngnJLF1cLpV_eJzL7j_rdN0kTbcfjvy3n8Eyw2UAnM8JoJzWYNVyK-cCq0uF4YVZTpsOjOTPZK77XnWr7qPz-HLWRugklq1cco2bjUw/s400/10366141_10100889552099204_4418829957826589053_n.jpg" title="The editorialized version of this image stated "Good job, Illinois Democrats. 53% of Democratic voters were 50 OR OLDER! We literally let everyone over 50 make our decisions for us"" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was originally shared with the editorializing of <br />
"Good job, Illinois Democrats.<br />
53% of Democratic voters were 50 OR OLDER!<br />
We literally let everyone over 50 make our decisions for us. "</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The intent behind sharing this image and that statistic was to really show young voters that their voice counts--that they very well could have turned the tide of yesterday's primary if they had actually bothered to come out and vote.<br />
<br />
So I got curious. What, exactly, would have happened if the "youth vote" (that is, people between the ages of 18 and 44) came out in force? Would it have had a truly significant impact on Illinois' Democratic primary between Sanders and Clinton?<br />
<br />
Let's do the math.<br />
<br />
Before we do anything, we have to figure out all of our assumptions. A frustrating barrier is that voting information is technically secret, and so we can only base our demographic information from exit polls, whose raw data are incredibly difficult to suss out. I was left with 2010 census information, 2012 voter registration numbers, and prior election voter turnout information. I had to do a lot of guesswork, is what I'm saying.<br />
<br />
Yet, I pressed on. What follows are the figures off which I based a lot of my assumptions:<br />
<br />
<u><b>First</b></u>, the background information about <a href="http://www.infoplease.com/us/census/data/illinois/demographic.html" target="_blank">IL voters </a>and <a href="http://www.theguardian.com/news/datablog/2012/oct/15/voter-registrations-us-election" target="_blank">voter turnout</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxIZ-NEw_SHkbFwzUVyhLDIO1VaTaRDU5URhjx6pKUnV1jdEE-FbC3EJv3BYWZXV_JOPwODJ-FERtRPQVkN0swE0UHw99qie5MSWS5FY1PPf129WCBe4B9aYY13R7Ioo8K8PBRiJzEmc/s1600/base+data.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwxIZ-NEw_SHkbFwzUVyhLDIO1VaTaRDU5URhjx6pKUnV1jdEE-FbC3EJv3BYWZXV_JOPwODJ-FERtRPQVkN0swE0UHw99qie5MSWS5FY1PPf129WCBe4B9aYY13R7Ioo8K8PBRiJzEmc/s640/base+data.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw-flcTjBOkQnjWrminf5pYMZJX6a4EkZETrMiJhy0tE02zIdB72s8UrqqodZpyZZoZ4cH7OMOczZKM6XEW8c_v2dDpi2zuwN_jw7MNuC3f0bjtvCtRJpsr3zFkAz_dnKG1vHBJHVVaCc/s1600/base+data.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
Now it's time to confirm some assumptions:<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span><br />
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="width: 441px;"><colgroup><col style="mso-width-alt: 8045; mso-width-source: userset; width: 165pt;" width="220"></col>
<col style="mso-width-alt: 3401; mso-width-source: userset; width: 70pt;" width="93"></col>
<col span="2" style="width: 48pt;" width="64"></col>
</colgroup><tbody>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td height="20" style="height: 15.0pt; width: 165pt;" width="220">Total IL Primary
ballots cast</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65" style="width: 70pt;" width="93">3,399,800</td>
<td style="width: 48pt;" width="64"><br /></td>
<td style="width: 48pt;" width="64"><br /></td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">Total Democratic ballots cast</td>
<td align="right" class="xl65">1,987,432</td>
<td align="right" class="xl66">58.5%</td>
<td><br /></td>
</tr>
<tr height="20" style="height: 15.0pt;">
<td class="xl67" colspan="4" height="20" style="height: 15pt;"><a href="http://www.realclearpolitics.com/elections/live_results/2016_primary/president/il_dem.html"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.realclearpolitics.com/elections/live_results/2016_primary/president/il_dem.html</span></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
This seems about right--Illinois tends to swing ~60% Democrat, so it makes sense that would be the ballot choice split. It's convenient that this is also the national figure for how "youth" (aka: 18-44) vote.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Next</b></u>, let's make some logical leaps using EVEN MORE MATH! Hooray!<br />
<br />
Logical leap #1: 58% of the IL Democratic voters were 45+.<br />
<br />
The original person who shared CBS's graphic stated that 53% of the Democratic voters were people over the age of 50. Unfortunately, the bar chart shows us information for voters under 45, so we're going to have to infer some numbers. The 2010 census showed that 13% of Illinois' population was between the ages of 45 and 55. Around half of them are 45-50, and assuming they get out to vote slightly less than the 50-55 sect, I added five percentage points to the "53% over the age of 50".<br />
<br />
Logical leap #2: The 45+ crowd would not have come out in greater numbers<br />
<br />
Generally, people 45+ have around a <a href="http://www.electproject.org/home/voter-turnout/demographics" target="_blank">55% voter turnout</a>. So I'd venture it's safe to say that a "get out the vote" push that caused young people to come out and vote more wouldn't have caused older voters to make it out in larger numbers. The 45+ group who stayed home would have stayed home no matter what.<br />
<br />
Logical leap #3: Republican voters turned out in the same way (58% older voters, 42% younger voters)<br />
<br />
I have exactly zero information to back this up, but I figured it was a safe bet considering the mobilization of the young Trump supporters.<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<u><b>Finally</b></u>, the satisfying part: getting some results!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNH9Cm6oPrIHxEG0JW_u4Ik_iL6JiSX8VtKycFwHkSJUl935mxQPLsHeEu22bU0ELVIkuge3bY0HPn0fksxmb6FYGmeO5XSHt5p46PgvEYjLdZyz-WwVKQZqXHCrLav3pYsRTzmQTj8k/s1600/base+data2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqNH9Cm6oPrIHxEG0JW_u4Ik_iL6JiSX8VtKycFwHkSJUl935mxQPLsHeEu22bU0ELVIkuge3bY0HPn0fksxmb6FYGmeO5XSHt5p46PgvEYjLdZyz-WwVKQZqXHCrLav3pYsRTzmQTj8k/s640/base+data2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
This seems to make sense--the youth vote has been growing from an abysmal 20% a couple decades ago to an historic 47% back in 2004, only to drop a bit in the subsequent decade. Let's say that the youth had a 55% voter turnout instead, like their elders. What would that look like?<br />
<br />
Well, 55% of what I'm assuming are young, registered voters in IL would be 2,185,896 voters. But that's all of the potential youth voters. Only 60% of them would have picked up a Democratic ballot, which is what I'm worried about today.<br />
<br />
So in a "perfect" world where the youth of Illinois came out to vote like older voters, that would look like 1,311,538 young voters who should have voted on a Democratic ballot yesterday. How does that hold up to what actually happened?<br />
<br />
Likely reality:<br />
<br />
Actual Democratic ballots cast: 1,987,432<br />
Assumed actual "youth" Dem ballots cast: 834,721<br />
<br />
Hypothetical alternate reality, if 1,311,538 youth Dem ballots were cast:<br />
<br />
This means 476,817 more young people would have come out to vote! Holy smokes!<br />
<br />
<br />
If, according to CBS News' assertion, 70% of those young Democrats would have voted for Bernie Sanders (and this is assuming they're all equally fired up and #FeelingTheBern and wouldn't have voted for Clinton in slightly higher numbers), we would have had the following results:<br />
<br />
70% of the additional 476,817 votes = 333,772 more votes for Sanders<br />
29% of the additional 476,817 votes = 138,276 more votes for Clinton<br />
<br />
That would have made the final results from the 2016 Illinois Democratic Primary look like this:<br />
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UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footer"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of figures"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope return"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="line number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
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<span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Total (potential) Dem voters: 2,442,364</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Clinton: 1,140,891 (47%)</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;">Sanders: 1,301,473 (53%)</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">*~* Conclusion *~*</span></span></div>
<br />
If Illinois were a winner-take-all state, this would have been an enormous coup for the Sanders campaign. That kind of split between voters is about as decisive as an election gets in this country. As it stands, however, Illinois splits its delegates between candidates so Sanders would have merely gotten a marginal bump. According to the results, Illinois has 156 delegates to give out, and in reality gave 68 to Clinton and 67 to Sanders. That only adds up to 135 delegates, so I have no idea WTF they've done with the other 21 delegates. I hope they're okay, and that the Democratic Party is treating them well in whatever bunker they're being kept in.<br />
<br />
Dividing the known 135 delegates in the 47/53 split, Sanders would have gotten 71 and Clinton 63. That's a nice 8 delegate lead for Sanders, but isn't an Earth shattering triumph.<br />
<br />
Is your head spinning? Have your eyes glazed over?<br />
<br />
All you need to know is that your vote counts. This might not have been the radical revolution Bernie Bros keep dreaming about, but it would have made a tangible difference. Our political system relies on an inane system of surrogate voters, and you HAVE to show up to make sure those surrogate voters (be they delegates to the party conventions to select a nominee, or members of the electoral college) are empowered to choose a representative you trust. Leaving it in the hands of Grouchy Old Norm from down the street who hates children, the Commies, and lukewarm coffee because you don't think your voice will be heard is the reason we continue to have lopsided voter turnout.<br />
<br />
Imagine what this would have looked like if I'd been even more optimistic? If I hadn't cynically thought that the best we could do was a 55% voter turnout for youth voters.<br />
<br />
Think about it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-44299581466119525972015-07-28T16:42:00.004-07:002015-07-28T16:42:40.681-07:00On SuperstitionPeople who know me would tell you that I have a good head on my shoulders. I'm always calm, eminently rational, and have a broad outlook that serves to keep me and those around me on an even keel. People who have known me for a very long time, especially people who for whatever reason have been reading my online ramblings since I was a teenager, could also tell you that one of my favorite themes when I write about myself and my life is that I am suspicious of expressing my emotions: I'm afraid I'll jinx things if I verbalize hopes or fears. For all of my level-headedness I'm bizarrely superstitious.<br />
<br />
To wit: I am actually writing this on Monday, July 27th at 10am, about 36 hours before I get some important news. Partly, I am writing this because the spirit has so moved me, but I'm also writing it in this moment because deep in my heart of hearts I'm hoping that I am somehow jinxing the outcome--that by writing about impending bad news that I am short-circuiting the universe and will actually end up getting good news tomorrow, that by affirming and acknowledging and putting effort into recognizing the bad news the universe will instead decide to be contrary and give me good news instead.<br />
<br />
Obviously, since this has been published and you are reading it (and because jinxes do not exist and things like "writing blog posts" do not actually impact physical outcomes), the news was still bad.<br />
<br />
I've had a second miscarriage. My second in a row.<br />
<br />
I thought I'd be safe this time. I don't know why, maybe because this time I actually wanted to be pregnant and magical thinking is a powerful force. Statistics are just numbers, and even when the odds are low there always has to be someone who comprises the outliers. Both of my miscarriages were "silent", or "missed". This means that the fetus inside of me stopped growing and my body didn't notice. Last time it was detected at 14 weeks. This time it was detected at 10 weeks. These are quite rare--1% of pregnancies end in a silent miscarriage, and I'm now part of the 1% twice. It seemed so unlikely, you know? I figured if I was going to miscarry this time, I'd know. The pregnancy to this point had been so perfectly textbook, I assumed I'd have a textbook miscarriage as well, if it was going to happen. <br />
<br />
There is no one and nothing to blame, these things just happen and it's no one's fault. And yet I firmly believe that this was somehow jinxed. I was too overconfident this time, despite knowing that having a prior miscarriage increases the likelihood of having another one. I blame myself for telling too many people before having a confirmatory ultrasound. I blame The Buddy for buying pacifiers when they were on sale the week
after I got a positive test. Those little omens of hope and possibility
were obviously an affront to the fertility odds. I blame my coworkers for "betting" on me to be the next one to get pregnant, and for telling me that I was the front runner the very day I took the pregnancy test. I blame my dad for telling our favorite waitress at our regular
restaurant about my pregnancy the day before I went in for my
appointment last week--why oh why would we tell people before I saw the
doctor? But mostly I just blame myself for getting excited. I shouldn't have.<br />
<br />
We're just going to wait this one out. We are still fighting with the hospital and my insurance company about the D&C I had oh, right around this time last year. The fetus was underdeveloped enough that it won't be dangerous to me when my body finally does recognize that nothing is actually happening in there and we really don't want to have to deal with the medical bills again.<br />
<br />
At least, that's what my brain is saying to rationalize just waiting it out. One more small bit of superstition: despite the cold, hard evidence from the ultrasounds and the sad and serious look on my doctor's face, despite the hormone levels in my blood telling us that this is another failed pregnancy, I am still holding out hope. One of our best and favorite stories from the family lore is of the gestation and birth of my little sister. When my mom had gone in for an ultrasound they'd seen bad news: a tiny blob with no heartbeat, a miscarriage. Ever the frugal robots, my parents chose to forgo the surgical removal option and just let nature take its course, and miracle of miracles, Seester ended up being alive and well. The heartless blob was a tiny, benign tumor and Fetal-Seester was hiding somewhere, being sneaky. If you've ever heard me call her "Tumor", now you know why.<br />
<br />
And so, not because I am a frugal robot but because I am a mess of sadness, emotion, and superstition we've decided to just let nature take its course. I'm not entirely sure what that's going to entail, but I have a couple weeks until school starts again to get through it and get in a better head space.<br />
<br />
The grief is a little less than last time, but the anger is greater. I'm angry with the universe that this happened to me again, even though it was so unlikely, and I'm extremely angry with the sheer biology of pregnancy. I have been very sick and very tired for the last two and a half months. I've been throwing up multiple times a day, constantly nauseated to the point where I would just curl into a little ball and cry, and so fatigued that I could barely make it through a single work shift, and now I don't even get a baby out of the deal. It is so, ridiculously unfair that the first trimester can be so awful and life-ruining and end in merely a whimper.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-2092662642770430602014-08-13T14:55:00.000-07:002014-08-13T15:28:00.136-07:00"Of all the words of mice and men...<i>...the saddest are, 'it might have been'."--Kurt Vonnegut </i><br />
<br />
I haven't written about, or even really talked in general, what's been going on in my life recently. This would be because a lot of things have been happening, and I tend to not like talking about ~things that are happening~ in case I jinx it somehow; that by vocalizing anticipation or excitement I'm somehow setting myself up for inevitable failure and letdown.<br />
<br />
One thing that has happened: I finally changed jobs. Goodbye increasingly-soulless mega-corporation, hello independent-corporation that still operates with a conscience, for now. It's been a good change.<br />
<br />
One thing that is almost happening: I got accepted to NIU's Post-Baccalaureate accountancy program. Assuming all goes well next week, I'll be starting a 2-ish year track to becoming an accountant. I deeply look forward to having an office job with benefits.<br />
<br />
One thing that happened: I got pregnant. Surprise!<br />
<br />
Another thing that happened, learned just yesterday: it miscarried, surprisingly late as far as fetuses being gestated in healthy 28-year olds go. Surprise.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbsFBKctRIqerYp77RhFBU9dccE4PigK09rTuFgcLTFJ0pUmeaAGm8Lb5a7S9eWqKoFFciNcbdt_WHCr8lJrGu-fAC9QV2RtCp1DzN1YyM8LbQBFGfd_fwbNpMa2wivJiN77nR3XFj7k/s1600/sadness.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbsFBKctRIqerYp77RhFBU9dccE4PigK09rTuFgcLTFJ0pUmeaAGm8Lb5a7S9eWqKoFFciNcbdt_WHCr8lJrGu-fAC9QV2RtCp1DzN1YyM8LbQBFGfd_fwbNpMa2wivJiN77nR3XFj7k/s1600/sadness.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It feels a little bit like this looks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The Buddy and I hadn't necessarily told a whole bunch of people--no Facebook posts or printed announcement cards--just called our families and mentioned it to friends as we saw them. I'd been not-so-secretly imagining the delight I might feel when the first week of February came around and I suddenly announced to social media "Surprise! We have a baby!" It would be within reason for us to just quietly move on with our lives and not make our private lives a public affair.<br />
<br />
But as I started to tell people yesterday, the women in my life all had eerily similar things to say: many shared that they had experienced a miscarriage or two, or their mothers' had, everyone expressed sympathy, and to a woman everyone used the phrase "I wish people would talk about it more." So here I am, to talk about it more. Here to talk about it before someone else miscarries and, despite knowing the statistics of how as many as one-third of all pregnancies don't end up being viable, feels a bit alone. Here to talk about it as someone who doesn't have living children to look to for comfort, as someone who wasn't even necessarily planning on having children.<br />
<br />
This pregnancy was a surprise, and I'm not going to soften that concept like many tend to do and call it a "most welcome!" surprise. It was simply surprising. Right at the outset I couldn't even figure out how I wanted to be reacting and needed the clear head of bff Poncho to come talk me through the various possibilities. As a family, The Buddy and I weren't ready to be parents and as an individual I absolutely wasn't mentally or emotionally ready. To my/our credit, we didn't panic or even get terribly stressed out as the weeks stretched on, but there was an abiding sense of ambivalence and trepidation. At the 11-week mark there was a strong, steady heartbeat and we began to tell people. I still felt nervous, as if it wasn't necessarily "real", or that it wasn't "really happening".<br />
<br />
And then at yesterday's 14-week appointment, there wasn't a heartbeat. My OB wasn't concerned at first, he actually accused me of being "too thin" and that the Doppler was going straight through me and missing the fetus, but the visual scan confirmed that the fetus had stopped growing a little over a week before.<br />
<br />
I expected to feel relieved. I'd actually wistfully hoped for an early miscarriage so that we wouldn't have to face being parents before we felt ready, and I had asked The Buddy a couple months ago if I'd be a bad person if, in the event of a miscarriage, I was more relieved than sad. Of course he said that wouldn't make me a bad person, probably just a normal, conflicted one.<br />
<br />
But I wasn't relieved. I'm not relieved. Maybe in a couple weeks when my hormones are back in their regular balance and life has continued on I will feel a small sense of relief that our life isn't getting upended in five and a half months, but not now. I just feel sad. When the scan technician left the room to go get the doctor, I turned to The Buddy and asked what he was thinking, and all he was able to say was "really sad."<br />
<br />
The deep sadness is inexplicable to me, since this wasn't one of those really, really wanted pregnancies that a lot of couples spend months or years praying for. I can't imagine how I would be feeling if it were. It wasn't an experience I was enjoying, and it wasn't something I had been connecting emotionally to yet, but here I am, sad enough that I'm not necessarily fit to be out in public yet. I had the DNC procedure this morning, where I was put to sleep and our non-viable fetus was removed from me. I'm glad it's out, the emotional place of having a dead baby inside of you wasn't the best place to be. I spent two hours on the phone with our insurance carrier confirming that somehow, this isn't a "covered" procedure in the sense that it's not covered until we meet our astronomical out-of-pocket deductible, which made this whole thing worse.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure there's really a whole lot to say, beyond: This happened. I'm really sad. I want you all to know that it happened and that I'm sad, and that if it happens to you and you're sad too, it's okay.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-35113036858245146432014-01-11T19:28:00.002-08:002014-01-11T19:35:06.555-08:00Marriage: It's Great? 10 Small Domestic Annoyances That Actually Have Nothing to do With Marriage, Just Co-HabitationI know I usually start off the year with a recap, but who's really grading me on consistency anyway?<br />
<br />
There was a flurry of posts about marriage a couple months back--I believe spurred by backlash against Seth Adam Smith's <a href="http://sethadamsmith.com/2013/11/02/marriage-isnt-for-you/" target="_blank">"Marriage Isn't For You"</a> piece. A large majority of the pieces I read (including Mr. Smith's) were written by people who'd been married for a short period of time. Baby marriages, baby families. They seemed simultaneously full of hubris and desperately naive. They asserted a variety of viewpoints (marriage changes you! Marriage doesn't change you! Marriage is for your spouse and your children! Marriage is to honor God! Marriage is absolutely for you!), but all of them were in earnest. All of them made me uncomfortable.<br />
<br />
The Boy* and I have been married for a year and five months. Marriage has changed our relationship in some ways--being 100% sure feels amazeballs--but the majority of changes and lessons and "hardships" have been borne from the mere fact that we didn't cohabitate until we tied the knot. Hopefully, a year and five months will be a mere 2% of our marriage, and I absolutely don't feel qualified to be giving anybody advice or announcing that I've learned any sort of actual lesson in this short amount of time.<br />
<br />
And so I bring to you, Interested Party, "Lessons I've Learned From Marriage: It's Great? 10 Small Domestic Annoyances That Actually Have Nothing To Do With Marriage, Just Co-Habitation":<br />
<br />
10) He left wet towels on the floor when he would come visit. He leaves wet towels on the floor now. This is an annoyance that will not change.<br />
<br />
9) He picked up after me when he would come to visit. He picks up after me now. He never expects thanks, but I thank him anyway, because this is a quality I greatly appreciate.<br />
<br />
8) He uses my shampoo, which makes him smell like a girl. I guess I've learned I don't mind. He always buys new stuff that I like, because he is thoughtful, which is another quality I greatly appreciate.<br />
<br />
7) His shoes smell. Marriage stinks.<br />
<br />
6) Despite showing him the proper way to fold t-shirts, he continues to fail to do so to my satisfaction. I've learned to stop caring about his t-shirts, and only worry about my own.<br />
<br />
5) No one but myself, my mother, and my sister can load a dishwasher properly. This doesn't mean that when he does it "wrong" that the dishes won't get clean. Unless they don't. Because large bowls do not belong on the bottom rack.<br />
<br />
4) He plays way more video games than I ever imagined. Men need time to themselves, you see. I probably read more blogs than he ever imagined. Women need time to themselves, you see.<br />
<br />
3) He hates Christmas. Which isn't true, but he doesn't express the same sort of joy and does not celebrate in the same ways I do. A proper lesson would be that we should grow our Baby Family into having our own traditions. Reality is that I'm just going to force Christmas cheer down his grinchy throat until he learns to celebrate properly.<br />
<br />
2) His little beard hairs get everywhere in the bathroom. If only I had been properly forewarned about this hardship.<br />
<br />
1) Annoyingly, I've learned very little, other than that I have a lot to be grateful for. The Boy is great, marriage and cohabitation have been a breeze, and I am very happy. He's the best dude I've ever known, and it's a privilege to get to be his partner and live with him. Some people have a rough time of it, for all kinds of reasons, and we've managed to avoid those somehow. We're blessed in that way.<br />
<br />
2014!<br />
CMart<br />
<br />
<br />
*At some point he should probably grow into a more mature title. "The Man" is dramatically patriarchal. "The Dude" is a moniker taken by a dude in a bathrobe. "Hubs" makes me want to vomit. We call each other "Buddy", that might work. We'll field test it.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-74186937467688869922013-11-03T09:48:00.000-08:002013-11-03T09:51:49.939-08:00When again touched...by the better angels of our natureI was recently told by an extremely <a href="http://sarahbradyblog.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">smart person</a> that she greatly values my thoughts and opinions--that I should "start a blog" (knowing full well I have this...thing) because she thinks the way I interpret the world, and my ability to break things down, are valuable. Of course, I was deeply flattered. Anytime a PhD. wants to tell me that they think my brain is valuable, they're welcome to do so.<br />
<br />
So I thought about that for a while. I do have certain things going for me: Chicago Public Radio is my most-listened to preset in my car, and due to my work hours I hear a lot of BBC World News. I spend a lot of time on social media making judgmental Martin-squinty-eyes at happenings in pop culture. I detest hyperbole and overreaction. I tend to subscribe to Occam's Razor in most everything. I have a lot of free time, and I actually do enjoy gathering outside perspectives on most things. I'm pretty good at summarizing things and being legitimately fair and balanced.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://cdn.meme.li/i/lia8h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://cdn.meme.li/i/lia8h.jpg" width="320" /></a>All that said, the world is full of middle-class, white 20-somethings who think their thoughts and opinions are worthwhile. A lot of them cook and bake way better than I can, most of them dress way better than I do, and I'm willing to bet a bunch of them are a lot more resourceful than I am. A lot of them have more life experience than I do: they've lost someone close to them, they suffer from a chronic illness, or have overcome cancer, or perhaps overcome an addiction. Who am I? Other than being a lady, I more or less have had every privilege afforded to me. I can't believe that my ideas or point of view are needed in any way, shape, or form. I'm a slightly poorer, less disaffected, and far luckier-in-love Lena Dunham (who has been quoted as saying "I'm anti-pants", so we clearly have things in common).<br />
<br />
All THAT said, here are my thoughts over the last couple months:<br />
<br />
-I was very surprised George Zimmerman was actually found not guilty of any sort of culpability in the murder of Trayvon Martin. I assert you can easily figure out where people's hearts and opinions lie about that case based upon their framing of it as a "murder" or a "killing/shooting". I spent a lot of time thinking about ways I could speak out about what I felt was injustice, without co-opting the feelings of black Americans.<br />
<br />
-The WikiLeaks scandal made me uncomfortable. I understand why Julian Assange is free while Chelsea Manning is jailed. I don't like that our government was keeping some really damaging things from the public, but I also don't like government secrets getting leaked. I'm team "anti-leaks" while also being "team transparency in governance. I assert you can tell how compassionate a news organization is whether or not they respected Chelsea's request to call her Chelsea and use feminine pronouns.<br />
<br />
-Mass shootings keep happening, and I will never, ever be able to have a rational discussion about gun control with people who aren't anti-guns. Not because people who are pro-guns/pro-2nd Amendment/anti-gun control are horrible people, but because I am extremely irrational in my fear and loathing of guns. I can understand the right to bear arms, and the framers' intent, and social/cultural factors that probably contribute more than access to guns, but I don't think I'll ever be able to shake that gut feeling that guns are bad, and no one should have access to murder machines. For these reasons, I stay out of these discussions.<br />
<br />
-Boo government shutdown. Boo Tea Party. Boo Republicans for letting yourselves be bullied by party extremists. Fist-bump to the President for negotiating with Iran and not bitter GOP House members. Some people thought that reflected poorly on the President, but I think it sent a loud, clear message about what he thought about the Tea Party and their demands. We don't negotiate with terrorists.<br />
<br />
-On a related note, I'm not completely a bleeding heart namby pamby liberal person, in that I had only marginal reserves of sympathy for the government workers who were on forced paid leave. I repeat--paid leave. Yeah, not getting your paycheck at the beginning of the month was probably hard, but welcome to the private sector. Except in the private sector you wouldn't be getting those un-worked days paid back to you on a later check, you'd just be SOL. "What are they supposed to do??" cried politicians and citizens decrying the shutdown. IDK, dip into their savings? Budget? Find a new job? Your average American seems to have been able to figure it out when it happened to them, and Congress hasn't been securing their back-pay.<br />
<br />
-The Affordable Care Act has already helped me (the Boy
only needed 6 months of gap insurance before he could be added to my
plan since he could stay on his parents' plan until he was 26, free
birth control, free yearly preventative care screening), and I'm excited
to find time to read the literature Friday's sent me to see if I'm
eligible for subsidies. I'm sorry if younger, healthier people will be
"penalized" for being young and healthy and having higher premiums than
they're used to, but I think (if for some reason this system stays in
place for the long term *cough team nationalized health care cough*)
they'll appreciate young people carrying that burden when they
themselves are older and sicker and don't have to pay a zillion dollars
to stay alive, let alone have any sort of quality of life.<br />
<br />
-Logic behind American obsession with English nobility re: royal baby
eludes me to this day. Didn't my elder Martins fight a war to ensure I
didn't have to care about the monarchy?<br />
<br />
-Egypt: get
your act together. Please don't ask me, or the US, how. We don't have
good ideas. A similar entry would fall under "Syria".<br />
<br />
-I'm
kind of mad at Edward Snowden, more than I am Chelsea Manning. That is
exactly the kind of leaking I disapprove of. Boo Edward.<br />
<br />
-I've been married for over a year and will be spending Thanksgiving in Boston. Thumbs-up and smiles all around.<br />
<br />
Whew.<br />
<br />
Word-vomitingly yours,<br />
Thrine Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-3360973142496213242013-07-09T11:17:00.002-07:002013-07-09T11:17:55.203-07:00What's in a name?I was simultaneously hoping no one would notice, and that everyone would notice.<br />
<br />
I changed my name on Facebook a month or so ago...back to what it's always been. <br />
<br />
I had changed my name on Facebook shortly after the wedding only semi-reluctantly. Even though I was pretty sure I was comfortable with the choice we as a couple had made, it still felt wrong to me. But the flush of nuptial bliss and all those shiny pictures of me in a beautiful gown with my glowing and handsome husband (!) made me feel a bit like a new person on Facebook already, so why not go and update the name?<br />
<br />
It took a couple attempts. Should I do the full thing? The Boy and I had agreed to share both a middle and a last name. He would take my "maiden" name as a 2nd middle, as would I, and I would assume his surname as my own (it seemed egalitarian. ish). Catherine Elizabeth Martin Durbin. But, would people think I was doing a double-barreled last name instead? After several gos, I finally settled on Cathi EM. Durbin. Several friends joked I should be Cathi Elizabeth M.D. I silently sulked that, even though The Boy went to the DMV with me to change his name on his license, he didn't change anything on Facebook. And why should he? He didn't have his original middle name up there, why should he suddenly decide to display his new one? Our egalitarian-ish choice was seeming less egalitarian, and I bristled.<br />
<br />
I changed my display name on my e-mail, and after several months I changed my voicemail message. I held off doing anything with Social Security--I didn't want to confuse the IRS, you see. Paperwork takes time, who knew if three months would be enough time for the corporate office to officially change the I-9 or W-4 or whatever it was before the W-2's came out? Tax season came, and went. We filed jointly with no issues.<br />
<br />
Time passed and still I stalled. Friends and acquaintances got married in the meantime, and all of them changed their names on Facebook too. Every time one of my lady friends gleefully changed her name online, my heart sank. Where were my strong, feminist peers? Why wasn't anyone standing firm and keeping their original name? How was I supposed to live vicariously through someone, if no one was doing it?*<br />
<br />
It was around that mental point that I realized it wasn't too late for me--I could still remain Cathi Martin. I didn't have to live vicariously through someone, I could just...live. I rolled that concept around in my brain and felt a small thrill--and a huge dose of guilt. A couple days into mulling over this option, I had a conversation with a coworker who accused me of not wanting to be married anymore. I asked The Boy a dozen times if he would be sad or mad or disappointed if I never officially changed anything and he kept reassuring me (as he did when we were engaged) that it really, <i>really </i>didn't matter to him; do whatever made me happiest. I read things online cheering on the non-changing choice as small, individual victories for The Sisterhood, and I read things online forecasting the demise of my marriage since I was obviously holding <i>something </i>back.<br />
<br />
I told my dad that I didn't think I was ever going to officially change, that I'll always be a Martin. He smiled into his plate of nachos before fixing his face into an expression of bland concern and told me that it sounded like I'd put a lot of thought into this. The irrational sense of guilt I was feeling (like I was somehow cheating The Boy out of something?) was still there, but it was so, so much smaller than the hot ball of anxiety and wild horror that had been spinning inside my chest when making the small moves to change my identity. The final straw came when a couple wedding invitations arrived addressed to "Mr. and Mrs. Boy Durbin". While I know my poor friends were just exercising "proper etiquette", something finally snapped inside of me.<br />
<br />
So, here I am. Cathi Martin. On the one hand, I really hoped no one would notice that "Cathi EM Durbin" had changed back to "Cathi Martin", since I didn't want a Facebook wall full of "omg--divorce?????" messages. On the other hand, I wanted everyone to notice. I wanted it to be a big deal, so that the next time someone has to think about changing their name, they don't worry themselves sick over it like I did.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, I'm pretty sure there's still time for both of us to officially change our last name to "Awesome" if we wanted to.<br />
<br />
<3 p="">CMart (who reserves the right to change her mind again)<br />
<br />
*For the record, I don't think changing one's name is inherently an un-feminist choice, or that my friends who did change their last names are weak, or downtrodden. I know that's the implied counterpoint to the above rant, and I want it clear that I don't think that. My brain was just in a weird, bad place where everyone else's choices seemed like a referendum on my own, and on society as a whole, which absolutely isn't true. I almost wish that changing my surname upon marriage was as natural and joyful a choice as it was for so many of my friends. Having a family name would be nice, you know?</3>Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-40767420707844274492013-06-05T15:00:00.001-07:002013-06-05T15:00:50.752-07:00Puppets (or: The Double Edged Sword of Projected Expectations)Last night at work a familiar scene played itself out in the corner of the bar. Some guests had a perfectly normal experience, and ended their stay by hailing a passing server to get a manager to lodge complaints about the evening that were a complete mystery to me.<br />
<br />
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The details are irrelevant, really. Perhaps they were angling for free food (our culture seems to support the transactional model of "here is my complaint--I'd like to redeem it for one free meal, please"), perhaps their expectations were unrealistic, or perhaps they didn't like the cut of our jib. The motivations of guests who fabricate complaints aren't really any of my concern. The other bartender and I provided perfectly fine service and we weren't in trouble, so we just shrugged and rolled our eyes and went about our business of giving perfectly fine service to our other guests.<br />
<br />
I've been bartending for six years, and unfortunately it's taken me almost as long to reach a state of acceptance about my place in the world while I am in uniform. I spent a long time confused about it, as my bosses, coworkers, and the regular guests all seemed interested in me as a unique person (as I was, them), and so my assumption was that all the other persons I was interacting with also considered me as a fellow person. Having been raised my entire life by parents and a community of people who acknowledged that I am a special snowflake, worthy of consideration as an individual, it's easy to see why it has taken several years for that paradigm to shift.<br />
<br />
All snark aside, it really has made my work life immeasurably less stressful to truly internalize that by and large, I am not important to my guests. Sure, the caliber of service I provide will impact their enjoyment of the 45 minutes I've been placed in charge of their food and drink, but I am but a cog in a machine. This realization shouldn't have taken so long, honestly. All those guests are cogs in my own personal life machine. Insert Bar Guest, Receive Money. Their lives outside of the walls of my bar are irrelevant to me, and their worth as a person is directly tied to the amount of drinks they order and how generous of tippers they are, so why should I expect them to care about my worth as a person outside of competently mixing up a tasty beverage?<br />
<br />
The bright side of this is that when guests behave irrationally, I am a duck and their nonsense is water. Off my back. And such as. When someone starts our interaction by sullenly ignoring me, or snapping at me, it's easier to remember that it really isn't personal. When someone tries to scam a free meal by complaining about me because they've decided society's rules about payment for goods and services don't apply to them, I know it has nothing to do with me.*<br />
<br />
The dark side is that sometimes I'm reminded of my interchangeable status after a bar guest has lulled me into a false sense of making real, human connection. I get plenty of people (men, usually) who obviously just want to talk about themselves and their own opinions--that's a fact of bartending I accepted long ago. No one wants to hear what I think about the Cub's bullpen when they have their own theories and gripes. What has surprised me, and taken me just as long to accept as the aforementioned zen-like shrugging, is when I find myself floundering through some sort of personal script a patron has lured me into. These scripts tend to take the form of the patron offering me advice, trying to "save" me from bartending. I used to not realize what was happening until they ignored my statements of "actually, I'm quite happy" by trying to convince me that I couldn't possibly be. I've since had enough experience with these conversations to see them starting, almost always with a "So, what <i>else</i> do you do?" which is rapidly followed by the patron telling me how smart, pretty, and capable I am. I hear that question and those words and heave a heavy, inward sigh, and hunker down for some concern trolling doused in paternalism, disguised as friendly banter.<br />
<br />
These people don't know me. They've never met me before, and the only information they have about me is that I am cheerful and capable of pouring a Bud Light in a timely fashion. I'm no psychologist, but I feel pretty comfortable asserting that the people (men) who tell me how much potential I have after three minutes of interaction, and who spend the next thirty minutes telling me exactly how I can turn my life around, have a deep seated need to feel powerful and smart. I'm a captive audience member. I'm female. I'm in a position of service to them. They have implied social status over me in myriad ways, and by exercising that status to educate and inform me, they're enacting a scene for themselves where they themselves are smart, powerful, and capable. I could be anybody. I definitely don't have to be me, personally.<br />
<br />
So, it's a double edged sword. Being a cog, in general**, protects my insides sometimes and shreds my insides sometimes. Mostly, I just want to mix some drinks, lament about the Cubs, and come home with some money.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*Obviously, sometimes I do mess things up and I take full responsibility for those mistakes--usually by apologizing, correcting the mistake, and offering something beyond mere correction to placate the angry folk and delight the understanding folk. I actually can't think of a time when I legitimately messed up/didn't notice a kitchen mistake that required a guest to request a manager of their own accord. Not to brag, but I'm relatively good at most aspects of my job, including foibles.<br />
<br />
**I am not a cog in many specific cases. I have lots of regulars who like me as a person, and whom I enjoy as people. They ask about my husband and the TV shows we have in common, I inquire after their pets and and their upcoming international travel. We make each other smile and the 45 minutes we spend together some days leave us all with more than a full belly or a pocket full of tips.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-15210598686861210622013-03-27T12:07:00.001-07:002013-03-27T12:08:04.080-07:00We sat down for a minute, grew up into menDespite being the owner of a relationship-status indicator ring for over a year, I'm still not entirely used to wearing one. Even when foregoing my diamond solitaire and merely rocking the plain gold band, I'm constantly playing with it, conscious that it's there. I forgot to put the rings back on after doing dishes last night, and found myself hyper-conscious of their absence all night--going to fiddle with the rings that weren't there, taking an extra moment to make sure they were dry after washing my hands and re-remembering I wasn't wearing them.<br />
<br />
Similarly, I've been feeling a bit stir-crazy in the apartment with The Boy. While we've settled into a comfortable pattern I've had more and more moments where I just really, really wished I lived alone again. Yet oddly, less than 24 hours after he left for Kentucky this past weekend I found myself getting antsy. Where's Boy? I'm bored! What am I supposed to do here, by myself? It felt like loneliness, not the solitude I remembered from my hermitage.<br />
<br />
It seems I've gotten used to this being married thing without even realizing it.<br />
<br />
The concept of "being an adult" has been on my mind quite a bit recently for various reasons. Car insurance things, job interviews, researching home prices and staring pensively at the savings account, being asked at least once a week by someone I know when I'll provide the world with a baby Martin. I keep waiting to wake up one day and feel like an adult--some mystical, overpowering mindset that will imbue me with a sense of steady confidence and direction. The mental ability to be able to take control of any given situation is what I associate with adulthood, and I still just feel like I'm winging it.<br />
<br />
However, it's also occurred to me that by most standard measures (and many non-standard, but damning signs) I'm a fairly high-functioning adult. Let's see:<br />
<br />
-I work around 40 hours a week<br />
-I pay my own bills<br />
-I scrutinize said bills when I feel like there's no possible way we consumed that much electricity <br />
-I live on my own, with my spouse <br />
-I make my own doctor appointments (and actually, you know, go for yearly checkups)<br />
-I have a non-dealership mechanic I trust who I recently gave $1500 to so as to make my car not explode<br />
-I buy fresh produce. Sometimes.<br />
-I actually have a strong opinion about the quality of toilet paper we have in our home (several ply, soft, but not so soft that it disintegrates into fluff on contact)<br />
-...and disinfecting wipes (spring for the brand name. Trust me. There's a reason store brand is so cheap)<br />
-...and laundry detergent<br />
-I've had garments tailored for everyday wear<br />
<br />
Which all sounds so very dull, and settled, and...adult. But realistically, it's a pretty great racket. I have money and agency, and pretty much get to do whatever I want. Fortunately "whatever I want" is fairly benign things like "order sushi delivery" and "take a vacation", or perhaps "binge-watch RuPaul's Drag Race". So I'd say that for now, I've got adulthood pretty locked up and should stop worrying about it.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaany5eBhDO7q0mjNgeo1mNhTPNtjvr9tD9cJIylG-IuNzi3JSsirN5109_r3aZDaf6ecun69cWnQcbFvB_kfJXaq2w_VF3Sgyy8YFaIkMZ-bmgAMHgbSjnlGGWLBpbf2L6xkJlFIYLU8/s1600/responsibility14.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaany5eBhDO7q0mjNgeo1mNhTPNtjvr9tD9cJIylG-IuNzi3JSsirN5109_r3aZDaf6ecun69cWnQcbFvB_kfJXaq2w_VF3Sgyy8YFaIkMZ-bmgAMHgbSjnlGGWLBpbf2L6xkJlFIYLU8/s320/responsibility14.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2010/06/this-is-why-ill-never-be-adult.html" target="_blank">Hyperbole and a Half</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Right?<br />
<br />Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-90792052891239209582013-02-15T15:34:00.003-08:002013-02-15T15:34:50.500-08:00Grin and bear itThe majority of my adult life has been spent living in an apartment*--an honest-to-God shared housing situation with a lease, landlord (or lady), and adult-like neighbors who don't (often) get drunk and rowdy and knock the "exit" signs down every Friday night. Because of this, I'd like to think that I've pretty much mastered the nuances of being an apartment dweller, as opposed to a dorm dweller or a home owner, or living off my parents' largesse dweller.<br />
<br />
I hold the door open for people whom I know live in my building, and I don't buzz in random people who are just button mashing at the front door in hopes of gaining entrance. I'm mindful of community laundry hours even though I often need to wash my clothes at 3am and I'm <i>pretty </i>sure my apartment is the only one bothered by laundry noises. I don't listen to my music overly loudly, and I do my annoying noise-making activities like grinding coffee beans during weekday afternoons when people are more than likely awake/not even home. I honestly have never thrown a party myself because I'm afraid of disturbing my neighbors with joviality (which might be going above and beyond expected neighborliness, but my aversion to having people not like me overpowers my desire to clean up Doritos ground into my carpet and pick up discarded beer bottles after an evening of frivolity). <br />
<br />
I expect the same courtesies to be extended to me. I don't think that's an unfair expectation of the other grown-ass people who live in my buildings. In general, and especially in my current building, we all get along quite peacefully. I buzz in the teenage boy who habitually locks himself out, my across-the-hall neighbors kept an eye out for packages while we were on our honeymoon, upstairs Carlos and I keep an ear out for trouble. It's a pretty great gig, overall.<br />
<br />
However.<br />
<br />
Very little gets under my skin like blatant disregard for others. This peeve of mine translates itself in a lot of ways: rage at drivers who are too good to use their turn signals because CLEARLY they're the only one on the road that matters, glaring at litterbugs, fuming silently over people in front of me at the bank who could have gotten their act together at the little kiosk before getting in line but instead chose to wait until they were being served to go rummaging through their purse for whatever time consuming thing they're about to do.<br />
<br />
Today's post is brought to you by angsting over whether or not to remove someone's laundry from our (only) washing machine in order to do my own. That, however, is a pretty common shared housing complaint and as long as you aren't a d-bag about it (like throwing the offending laundry on the floor instead of temporarily in your own basket) I think everyone agrees that having your laundry handled is a logical consequence of neglecting it. I'm a little annoyed, mostly at having to touch someone else's wet laundry (ick), but it reopened a deep and festering wound I have with one of my neighbors in particular.<br />
<br />
Mr. and Mrs. Blue Cobalt--why do you insist on always taking up two parking spaces in our lot? Why?! I know it's a new car for you, but it's not, like, a Porsche. And even if it was a Porsche, do we, your neighbors, have a track record of being terrible at parking and dinging up each others' cars? As far as I can tell, all of our vehicles have been unmolested in their tenure in the back lot. Most especially, why do you do this in the spots that are closest to the building? It's winter. I'm cold. If you weren't taking up two spaces instead of one, I could have walked 15 fewer steps to get inside, and had 10 fewer seconds to fantasize about lighting your stupid car on fire to keep warm on my extended walk to the back door.<br />
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<br />
I'm constantly annoyed. I want to retaliate, but I can't think of any way to do so without stooping to their level. I could leave a note under their wiper, I suppose, but if they then choose to ignore the note and continue to park like a dick I'll just be <i>super duper extra</i> annoyed when I see them taking up prime parking real estate. I've contemplated parking like a jerk as well, elsewhere in the lot. Perpendicularly to the spaces, perhaps, since it seems we in this building don't care about standard parking convention and it's a free-for-all out there! I've also thought about parking next to them, also straddling a line, but that seems like it's just an open invitation for retaliation. These people don't have any concern for parking niceties, who knows what other social ills they are capable of?<br />
<br />
This trial and tribulation is a continuous thorn in my side, but it does allow me to exercise my most powerful Apartment Dweller tool: sucking it up. Sometimes people are annoying but it is absolutely not worth escalating over. They're not really hurting me, and I really should just get over it. Much like hearing the Red Hot Chili Peppers blasting above my bedroom at 3pm, or wincing at the hoarde of teenagers in their minivan honking for 5 minutes until aforementioned teenage boy comes out, it's better to keep the peace and just roll my eyes and move on. There's no real reason to go around having uncomfortable confrontations and creating tension between neighbors, when at the moment there's only momentary tension around situations.<br />
<br />
That doesn't mean I'm not going to keep whining about this parking thing, though.<br />
<br />
*I suppose one year was spent in a shared house situation, but the same concept still applied as we were all employed during various hours of the day and night and had to be more conscientious of each other's time and space than in other share-houses.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-64738699749078392542013-01-13T13:16:00.001-08:002013-01-13T13:21:20.110-08:00Post hoc ergo propter hocYes yes, it's two Latin titles in a row. You can blame Netflix for this one, having ruined my life by putting The West Wing up on instant streaming. This one is a logical fallacy, meaning "after this, therefore because of this". It seems befitting of a New Year's post. I'm making resolutions (or at the very least, new decisions) and planning my year due to the things that happened last year. I'm not sure that 2012 is in of itself responsible for how I will approach 2013, but I'm sure it did have some influence.<br />
<i><br /></i>
Here is how I signed off at the end of 2011: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i></i><br />
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
have high expectations for this year, some things I'll be verbal about
and others which are too precious to be spoken aloud lest I jinx it.</span></span></i></div>
<i>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></span>
</i>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
</div>
<i>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<b><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Things I Hope Come To Pass In '12</span></span></u></b></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Become a manager, fo realsies</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Get out to Boston twice (once is for sissies)</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Plan the best bachelorette party in the world</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Not ruin my makeup at the Poncho Wedding Extravaganza</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Not die in an earthquake/flood/cyclone/deluge of frogs on 12/21</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-My vote for Obama in November will be one for the winning side</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Buy a Jetta</span></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></span>
</i>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
</div>
<i>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Unmentionables,</span></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Catherine</span></span></div>
</i></blockquote>
For the record, the preface and the sign-off were referring to the thoughts "I really really hope The Boy and I get engaged if not married this year please oh please oh please" frenetically tumbling around my head for the better part of the last couple months of '11. That being said:<br />
<br />
-Frenetic, marriage-like secret hopes? Success! Got engaged on the first snow of the season (thank you, practically snowless winter) on 1/12/12 and married 8 months later.<br />
-Get out to Boston twice? I...think I made it only once :( I'm going to blame <a href="http://linsnoopy.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Seester </a>for coming to Chicago too often. <br />
-Become a manager? Success. Fo realises? Failure.<br />
-Best Bachelorette party? Success! <a href="http://mirandawrites5.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Miranda </a>seemed to have a good time.<br />
-Not ruing my makeup at Poncho Wedding? Success! I blubbered the night before while practicing my speech, but held it together during the day itself.<br />
-Not die? Success!<br />
-Obama win? Success!<br />
-Buy a Jetta? Failure. I did buy a new car for The Boy, though.<br />
<br />
So out of 8, counting the manager thing and the car thing as .5 each, I'm 6 for 8. While accomplishing 3/4 of one's goals doesn't sound too shabby, I'm still (for no reason) in an academic mindset, and a 75% is extremely unacceptable for an A-student like myself. This is, of course, not weighting any of the assignments. I'd say getting engaged AND married counts for more than buying a Jetta, though both do require a certain amount of commitment.<br />
<br />
I don't typically take the start of a new calendar year to review my life and make resolutions. This is largely a result of my having very little follow-through and also hating disappointing myself even more than I hate hard work. So instead of setting goals and likely not living up to them I instead make a wishlist and leave it up to luck and whatever work I feel like putting in to check things off the list. This year is different, though. I've felt compelled not only to reflect upon the last year but to also, well, be resolved to do things differently this year. Our household's resolution is to "Be Grownups" by, like, seeing a financial planner and getting life insurance and writing wills and stuff. My personal resolution(s) is based around the theme of Choosing.<br />
<br />
I want to make better choices in 2013, overall. I've been empowered over the last couple months by various sources that life is but a series of choices, and I have the power to choose. This has settled itself into my brain in the following ways:<br />
<br />
-Choose health.<br />
When staring at the fridge, feeling munchy, to choose a vegetable snack instead of chips. When faced with 4 hours of free time, choosing to spend one of those at the gym. I can even still watch The West Wing on my Kindle Fire! My leisure time doesn't even have to be interrupted!<br />
-Choose to speak up.<br />
When someone says or does something I find objectionable (especially with regards to driving while intoxicated, as many people in my social circle do) instead of being silently uncomfortable, speaking up. <br />
-Choose to promote myself.<br />
When an opportunity presents itself to me re: a career, to take it instead of forgetting about it.<br />
-Choose peace.<br />
When someone is aggravating me (*cough* guests at Friday's *cough*), instead of treating it like a battle to be won where they realize they were wrong and I am right to instead just be nice and help them out without trying to prove a point. I've been comparing the two methods at work over the last couple weeks, and the latter is far superior. While in my mind, winning a battle of wills and holding firm that I was not the one to make a mistake feels righteous, it never feels good in practice. It usually just makes me feel like an asshole.<br />
<br />
So, with all that said...<br />
<br />
<u><b>Things I Hope Come To Pass In '13</b></u><br />
-Have a full time job, with benefits, that isn't bartending<br />
-Same-sex marriage legalized in Illinois<br />
-Take two vacations, at least one to Boston<br />
-Be able to jog a mile in under 10 minutes without feeling like I'm going to die<br />
-The Boy getting a full time, degree-relevant job<br />
-Having ownership of some sort of retirement fund<br />
<br />
Grownup Year,<br />
Catherine<br />
<br />
<br />Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-59861882551137672382012-11-15T13:28:00.000-08:002012-11-15T13:31:10.642-08:00Esse quam videriI've been accused of a lot of things in my life--being too damn pretty, knowing too many things, talking way too much, stealing a mean lady's credit card*, caring too much about Harry Potter, etc... A rude person might also accuse me of being a quitter/giver-upper, but I'd rather say that I'm naturally agreeable, and if someone tells me I can't do something then I will probably agree with them.<br />
<br />
Being easily discouraged has been a problem for me for pretty much as long as I can remember. Some people hear the word "no" or "you can't" and their response is "oh YEAH?!" and then they go invent Facebook and become billionaires at the same age I'm sitting on the couch, eating Cheetos, moping about "what should I do with my life :(". A few examples: After a lifetime of hearing "yes" for...anything I ever applied for or wanted to do, I applied for an internship with WGN and never even got a phone call about it. This minor, minor setback convinced me it wasn't worth applying for any other internship, ever. When I was told I wasn't a good fit for the Next Media promotions department (for being a girl, as far as I could discern), I promptly stopped seeking advancement in any capacity. I think it's the other side of the "oh YEAH?!" coin--the stubborn toddler side. Tell me no? Oh YEAH? Well then I'll never do anything ever again! That'll show them!<br />
<br />
I have a new job that I've been at for a fairly short amount of time, and there's been some growing pains. It's not a defined position, so I have no clear directive other than "make the bar better", and a lot of that work involves sitting, looking around, and thinking. What physical/mechanical/structural aspects are holding us back? How can we improve upon them? What are the bartenders like? What are their strengths? What are their weaknesses? What can I help them with? How can I help them with that? It's all very intangible at the moment, especially as I'm still learning about the new company and their standards and procedures. There's been a lot of quiet hours sitting at the dead bar top with a pen and notebook, scribbling ideas.<br />
<br />
I'm new, there's a learning curve. I know this, my boss knows this and seems content with how I've been using my time, and yet I let the office assistant get inside my head yesterday. I don't know if she was intentionally being dismissive and disapproving, or if she was merely asking questions and has a blunt demeanor that I'm not used to, but regardless of intent, she shook my confidence. I walked away from that encounter wondering "what on earth am I doing?"<br />
<br />
But no. No. Not today. I was excited about this job and felt confident about this job up until this woman planted a small, but powerful, seed of doubt in my mind. I can feel that seed struggling to take root in my brain, thoughts like "I should quit now before they waste more of their money on me" keep cropping up, but I'm trying really hard to stamp them down.<br />
<br />
I'm not miracle worker and I'm not a robot-- I can't just show up and perfectly perform a function that I haven't been trained to do yet. The small things I've done have been met with approval, my ideas have been accepted and praised, and I'm getting to know the staff. One step at a time. I just need time to get my footing, to get comfortable, to actually feel ownership in this new place. I've been at Friday's for six years now and I've forgotten what it's like to be new at something. I just need to keep reminding myself that feeling lost is okay.<br />
<br />
Right?<br />
<br />
<br />
*I've never stolen anyone's credit card, no matter what that bonkers teacher might think Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-23854288437907949282012-11-08T01:39:00.000-08:002013-01-13T13:28:03.792-08:00Four More Years of the SameI know a lot of my friends, on all sides of the political spectrum, are feeling cynical and deflated that after all this hype, we have elected what is, more or less, four more years of the same. The same President, the same parties controlling the House and Senate, what was this all for? And I hear that, and it does seem like this election cycle could be seen as a huge waste of time.<br />
<br />
However--with this particular election, in this particular political climate, the status quo is my beacon of light. Nothing changed--and for that, a suffocating fear that had been gripping my heart over the previous 48 hours evaporated.<br />
<br />
I know so many Americans are probably feeling the opposite, a sense of dread as they worry about their future. Will their mortgage ever get out from being underwater? Will they find a job? Will they lose their job? How are they ever going to pay for college? I understand these fears, I have them myself. I do, however, know that both parties want America to be better again. No one likes our struggling economy, everyone wants to get up and out, and I honestly don't think either party knows how to fix it.<br />
<br />
But while I, too, am nervous about my economic future, what I am NOT is worried about my status as an equal in this nation as a woman, or the status of the LGBTQ identified Americans for whom I am an ally.<br />
<br />
This current incarnation of the Republican party scares me to death. If I woke up today to an incoming Republican President and a Republican controlled Senate, I would have panicked. I would have panicked that my rights as a woman would be stripped away one legislative repeal at a time. I would've panicked that Roe v. Wade would be overturned, and that any choice I had regarding pregnancy would be taken from me. Would I be forced to carry a non-viable fetus to term, with abortions outlawed? I would've panicked that my access to birth control would be taken away, making actually planning a family when Alex and I are financially stable a crap shoot. I would've panicked that, once the Affordable Heath Care Act was repealed, that my asthma, ever worsening scoliosis, and multitude of allergies would disqualify me for the very medical treatment I need when prospective providers reject my preexisting conditions. <br />
<br />
I would've panicked that my gay friends, who have just barely begun to taste the security and privilege of the protections of legal marriage, would lose it all in one shattering swoop. I would've panicked that transgender Americans, still so marginalized and finally getting noticed by our government as people in need of protection, would be cast back into the dark and dangerous world of non-recognition and bigotry.<br />
<br />
What the Republican party was campaigning on this year was a total stripping away of basic human rights and decency, and that scared me to death. So yes, we have four more years of the same, but it is four more years of tolerance and progression to an equal, kind, and egalitarian nation. Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-65586940134238177892012-09-13T17:57:00.001-07:002012-09-13T18:04:43.914-07:00God knows, we're worth itI highly recommend hitting "play" for this song before continuing on.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/yzQ9VrnNQLQ" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Our wedding, as seen through a photo lens</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The great photography is (c) <a href="http://www.shanewelchweddings.com/" target="_blank">Shane Welch Weddings</a>, whom I cannot recommend highly enough. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">All the blurry ones and ones from dancing and beyond are from friends.</span></div>
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>And then they took a cab home and lived happily ever after.</b></span></div>
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Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-83094163626530201742012-09-01T09:36:00.001-07:002012-09-01T09:36:42.579-07:00I'm still looking upSo much to talk about.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/183783_10151102477588405_1252505367_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ash4/183783_10151102477588405_1252505367_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amazing photography from <a href="http://shanewelchweddings.com/index2.php#/home/" target="_blank">Shane Welch</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I'm married; the wedding was awesome, everyone was awesome, the food was awesome, my dad's men's choir was awesome, the fact that someone was always there dancing with me even though I just had an iPod for music was awesome, The Boy was awesome, my sister was awesome, Poncho and Mr. Poncho were especially and epically awesome, the staff at Meson Sabika was awesome. I'm still kind of floating on a cloud of awesome.<br />
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Honeymoon was Las Vegas. It was very hot and dry, I actually missed humidity. Sleeping however long we wanted was amazing. Being together 24/7 didn't get annoying. The pool at TI was stupid. We saw a guy get stopped by a bike cop for jaywalking on Fremont St. Cirque du Soleil O was mind-blowing. Penn and Teller were pretty funny. We saw some sharks and they were okay, but the big sea turtle was better. We walked pretty much everywhere which was kind of a mistake. The Friday's at Gold Coast blows, but they did have a lot more food. We doubled our gambling money. Being able to drink while walking down the sidewalk was great.<br />
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First day back in "real life" was bar champs, where I took second place, which is the best place because that means I don't have to do it again for another year. We still don't have enough bartenders to cover shifts for a full week, so things are as stressy as before.<br />
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Living with a boy is different, but fine. We made dinner together last night. He hogs the bed. I'm still messy despite thinking I'd be better at picking up after myself with another human being's comfort to worry about.<br />
<br />
I'm happy. Nervous about trying to come up with a sort of "married life" routine since "lol whatever" has been my living-alone M.O. Something more eloquent to come later.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-92045870561728775132012-04-06T19:21:00.000-07:002012-04-06T19:21:38.660-07:00"She doesn't even go here!"Not that I've ever been a nominee for any sort of superlative, but if I were to be, I can fairly accurately predict that my superlative would be "most likely to randomly snap and kill us all."<br />
<br />
<a href="http://thepwe.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/meh_cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://thepwe.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/meh_cat.jpg" width="161" /></a>Let me explain: I say this because I've had at least half a dozen people suggest this about me, not because I think it's true. If I were to ever snap it would probably just involve a bunch of yelling and dramatic hand gestures--perhaps I'd finally live my dream of tossing a martini into someone's face--but I think climbing up the water tower with an AK47 is a bit of hyperbole on my peers' part. This perception of me has never really bothered me, if only because it's not necessarily inaccurate. In general I'm a pretty chill chick, and yet deep down, like, WAY deep down, I care deeply about a lot of things. I just take great pains to appear as if I don't care about much. So I understand where this impression comes from<br />
<br />
A hostess at work recently accused me of being "like...REALLY green" after I explained my hanging onto a cell phone I hated because people die in the Congo for the minerals that make them. My gut instinct was to protest, but this lady clearly doth protested too much, because my response went something like this: "What! Nuh uh! Pffft. I mean, yeah, I care about the plight of civilians in the Democratic Republic of Congo who are impacted by the warlords and militias who control the cobalt and tantalum mines. And sure, I recycle...like my apartment doesn't have a recycling dumpster so I have to drive to Naperville's recycling center to make sure my stuff gets recycled. But I mean...you know you're supposed to take the caps off your water bottles before you throw them into a bin, right? Otherwise they can't compress and they take up more space in the landfill or explode under pressure in a recycling bin..."<br />
<a href="http://gifninja.com/animatedgifs/540612/i-just-have-a-lot-of-feelings.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://gifninja.com/animatedgifs/540612/i-just-have-a-lot-of-feelings.gif" width="200" /></a><br />
I trailed off at that point because the look on the hostess' face was a combination of glazed over, smug "I told you so", and looking frantically for the nearest exit. <br />
<br />
The thing is... I really do care about minimizing my impact on the earth, and I really do care about spreading the word about our electronics re: the situation in the Congo. It blows my mind that things like our cell phones, laptops, iPods, and tablets are almost considered disposable, <i>especially</i> our cell phones. Jessica, over at her blog (<a href="http://www.faithpermeatinglife.com/">Faith Permeating Life</a>), challenged readers to consider the difference between merely <a href="http://www.faithpermeatinglife.com/2012/03/when-is-raising-awareness-valuable.html">"raising awareness" and "taking action"</a>, and cell phone waste is my "pet" cause. While I do care about the pointless waste of water bottles, the increasing restrictions on women's rights in the US, that Haiti is still far from being rebuilt after their earthquake, that the trade embargo on Cuba is patently unfair, that homosexuality and the life and dignity of the humans who express it is even up for debate, I take the time and effort to try to educate people on their technology. Your micro devices are made from <a href="http://www.cellular-news.com/coltan/">coltan</a>. Coltan comes from the Congo. Warlords run the coltan mines in the Congo. Still. After 10 years of this issue being brought to the international stage. Warlords rape women, kill men, force children into labor, and threaten all of the above against the people who live in the villages with the mines if they don't cooperate. Every cell phone uses coltan and no manufacturer can promise their coltan doesn't originate from a warlord.<br />
<br />
Is this our fault? Of course not. Should we feel badly about wanting and using cell phones and laptops? Surely not. But I do think we should make informed choices. Does your cell phone still work? Keep using it. I personally find it irresponsible to purchase a new device every time my inclinations change; I don't want to increase demand for products that are actively harming human life.<br />
<br />
And this is what I try to impart to people: <b>use your cell phone for as long as you can. Think twice, or three times about replacing it. And for the love of God--recycle it when you're done</b>. I usually stay very quiet about this topic until something provokes it, and then you get a passionate rendition of my nationally ranked persuasive speech from '07.<br />
<br />
/soapbox<br />
<br />
I could have also written this post in the vein that deep down inside I care very deeply about my upcoming wedding and marriage, but try very hard to stay quiet about it until provoked.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-74042174400233349132012-02-28T23:11:00.000-08:002012-02-28T23:11:33.373-08:00"It takes a family to raise a child..."<i>"...it takes a village to help that family raise that child." - Naperville Police detective Shaun Ferguson</i><br />
<br />
In the last 18 months, seven teenagers in Naperville have died from heroin overdose. It's seemed that the "teen heroin epidemic" was all the local media could talk about all of last year, to the point where it started to sound a bit trite and over-hyped, but then in the first six weeks of 2012 eight people died from heroin in DuPage County, including a girl from my high school.<br />
<br />
My senior year of high school they installed a plaque on the wall of the cafeteria that was instantly and crudely dubbed "the Tree of Death". It was intended to be a memorial for students who died while attending our school. I believe it was prompted by the tragic deaths of two Juniors, Anthony and Diana, when their car hit a tree and burst into flames. When I left NVHS their names, and the name of a girl who had been a few classes ahead of me who died of complications from a disability, were the only ones memorialized on small, bronze leafs. When a friend and I nostalgically stalked through the halls of our school this past Christmas we visited the Tree. Thankfully, the unnervingly large and lush tree remained by and large blank, but there were several more names up there than when I had graduated. I recognized one boy who lost his fight to cancer the year after I left, and another boy who died from complications of his disability. There were three or four other names, however, of students who had died in the last year who I'm almost certain were victims of this "heroin epidemic". One wasn't supposed to graduate until 2014.<br />
<br />
The community has been more or less in a constant state of shock and denial about this over the last year. At first it was older kids, young adults who'd graduated and attempted to leave the nest, and then it was just one or two teenagers from the same friend group. But then the hospitalizations, arrests, and deaths started spreading beyond one peer circle, one neighborhood, one school, and people started getting scared.<br />
<br />
I don't know how much of the gradual rising of panic is due to media hype and general mass hysteria and how much of it is legitimate fear that our town's teenagers are spiraling out of control without knowing the risks they're taking. What I do know is this: when I was in high school a mere 6-10 years ago (has it really been so long??) this wasn't happening. There may have been a few students who were addicts, but no one was dying. There may have been whispers and rumors, but there wasn't a pervasive sense that you could easily score from a friend-of-a-friend if you wanted to. Something is different, something has changed, and that icy feeling of hopelessness has settled into the pit of my stomach.<br />
<br />
On <a href="http://articles.chicagotribune.com/1998-03-12/news/9803120234_1_heroin-overdose-heroin-users-teenagers">March 12, 1998 the Chicago Tribune printed an article</a>
warning of increasing herion use among Naperville teens. The article
itself seemed to be more about the ~interesting and ~scary phenomenon of
rich, white kids willingly going to Chicago's west side to mingle with
the poor, black gangs to score heroin than the actual problem of drug
addiction itself, as no student had died from an overdose yet, but it
did quote community leaders being concerned about an escalation in future years. Sadly, I think we're there, and it seems that the awareness and prevention actions taken weren't effective. <br />
<br />
The Boy and I have ramped up our discussions about things like starting a family and raising kids (you know, to make sure we're on the same page, and if not, that we can at least openly discuss this sort of thing before we're legally and spiritually bound to one another), and my general fear of not knowing how to raise a child, let alone guide a teenager, has increased a hundred fold. I was and have always been a Good Kid, and my friends have always been of the Good Kid variety, with small variations. We cared enough about school to know it was important to graduate, if not with the highest honors possible. Most of us had after school jobs because we were taught to value money and weren't necessarily given the frivolous things we wanted to spend money on. We loved the theatre department, we loved working hard at tech, and we loved each other. We drank lots of Mountain Dew but never (as far as I know) drank alcohol. We joked about drugs but never tried them, not even cigarettes (most of us). We would tease each other about sex but almost none of us were having it. We assumed some of the kids at our school were doing any or all of these, but it was no one we knew and not really something people talked about.<br />
<br />
I have no idea why any of us were like that. We all had fairly different family backgrounds and socioeconomic situations, and were raised by wildly different parents. I don't have the faintest idea why we were good kids and other kids were not. I don't know what it was about my high school experience that, more or less, got all 740 of us out mostly unscathed, and what's killing the kids at my high school now. The terror of not knowing why this is happening is paralyzing me when I pause to think about trying to raise a child in an environment where drugs and death are so pervasive, and I don't even have an actual child to be scared for right now.<br />
<br />
I don't know what to do, other than hugging every teenager I see really tight and whispering "don't do drugs!" into their ears. I don't think the police, or teachers, or parents here know either, and that's what's keeping us up at night the most.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-42940773600804795672012-02-02T15:49:00.000-08:002012-02-02T15:49:30.780-08:00The topic of money comes up and everybody starts feeling bad about themselves for one reason or anotherI fear this post is going to come across as pure, unadulterated whining--the type of whining that I promise you I've already slapped my face in the mirror about in order to attempt to snap out of it. If that's what it sounds like, I want you, Interested Party, to know that I don't mean it to be. I'm confused, I'm conflicted, and yes, I'm a little jealous and sullen, and quite frankly, I don't like any of it.<br />
<br />
Yes, this is going to be a post about wedding planning. Or at least, wedding contemplating. Feel free to skip merrily to the end where I will attempt to have a less-bitter sign-off.<br />
<br />
From what I recall of my studies, the bitterness, frustration, jealousy, and subsequent guilt about the antecedent feelings are fairly typical of one from a middle class upbringing. I've been sitting here in the pants I bought on sale, eating the food I got at the grocery store using coupons, surfing the Internet on the computer my dad and I built from salvaged parts several years ago, and staring at other couples sitting pretty in their Ivory Towers of Wedding Privilege (and please, I know how ridiculous that sounds, considering my ability to even be able to legally get married is privilege enough. Remember the guilt I'm feeling?). On my left side, I have the <a href="http://apracticalwedding.com/2010/03/classic-apw-wedding-industrial-complex/">Wedding Industrial Complex </a>shoving champagne toasts and chair covers in my face and my WIC-influenced friends ever so excitedly chatting me up about the open bar we're obviously going to have and all the hijinks they're going to get into as we party into the night. On my right side, I have a family history of modest church hall receptions of punch and cake, and a vast blogosphere of people (yes, even on my beloved <a href="http://apracticalwedding.com/">APW</a>) who had the resources and mental fortitude to throw awesome parties on "tight" budgets (say, under $15K).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://media.apracticalwedding.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/cashwedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://media.apracticalwedding.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/09/cashwedding.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From APW, probably from elsewhere</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And here we are, caught in the middle. On the one hand, I'm so, so proud of my parents for raising me to be self-reliant, thrifty, and forward-thinking so that the concept of spending even $5,000 on one day (even, especially!, if it was other peoples' money and not my own) makes me want to throw up in my Payless shoes. On the other hand, I'm beginning to wonder if I'll really regret it if we don't have <i>some </i>sort of reception/party that involves drinking and other people dancing. Then, on the other hand that I've grown out of sheer frustration, I wonder if I will then regret THAT decision in two years when we realize we have to postpone buying a house because we need another two years to re-save up for a decent down payment (or, hell, later this year when I look at my savings and go "hey, where'd my Jetta Money go???").<br />
<br />
What it's all boiled down to is me windmilling my arms around in an attempt to stab anything and everything in sight out of frustration with myself and the universe when I read discussions about budgets. I'm jealous of the couples who are shy and private and were over the moon to have a 10-person wedding where they met at the courthouse and then went to dinner at their favorite restaurant afterwards. I'm jealous of the couples who are paying for everything themselves and who seemingly have no qualms about dropping so much money on one event. I'm jealous of the couples who have parents in a position to insist on paying for most things or everything.<br />
<br />
I wish we were the type of people who could look at our collective savings and go "Yes. We can afford a baller party that people will have an awesome time at, and not regret not having this money afterwards in the slightest." I wish we were the type of people who, if my mom announced she was liquidating her 401k because it was useless to her, could go "Awesome. Thank you so much, we are forever in your gratitude, and will put you in a very nice home when you're senile." I wish we were the type of people who didn't value social ritual, and could say "Let's get church-married and go home and watch Netflix while drinking 2-buck-Chuck." To say any of these things, however, would be a betrayal of who we are. Realistically, the responses I and The "why would we stop at Burger King when we can just eat trail mix for 14 hours on this road trip" Boy would have would be "This is House Money and also parties are stupid", "omg mom, no, thank you but please no", and "but SB <i>shrieked</i> and danced outside of a restaurant in 40* weather when we told her we were engaged, we can't not invite her or then not feed her!" respectively.<br />
<br />
My mom told us to just elope, and if how crazy I'm feeling already is a portent for what's to come, she might be right.<br />
<br />
F* this,<br />
ThrineCathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-88972848485243594702012-01-16T12:15:00.000-08:002012-01-16T12:15:12.781-08:00Come grow old with me, the best is yet to beI'm engaged! *confetti*<br />
<br />
A friend I've had since high school has always been unfailingly enthusiastic about his life. He's had more jobs than I can count and took far longer than normal to finish college, but he always threw himself 100% into whatever venture he was embarking upon. He would speak so convincingly about each and every new life path (each with its own 5-year plan) that despite the fact this life plan was different every 4 months, I believed him every single time that This Was It and it was going to be Awesome.<br />
<br />
That sort of optimism is alien to me. I hold on to doubts and fears and when I look five years into the future for any given thing, I see a thousand paths of disaster lying in wait. I try to be optimistic that, well, my life's been pretty good so far, so the chance of a flash flood washing away all my belongings and ruining my newly painted apartment walls with mold is really quite slim; yet I still have that little voice going "yeah...but it <i>could</i> happen, so don't get too excited".<br />
<br />
Being with The Boy is my greatest example of that. To be fair to my psyche, my tendency to doubt our future had concrete evidence (see: him breaking up with me for a month in 2010), but ever since we got back together things were wonderful. Amazing. Completely different than the previous five years. I could tell he was just as invested in our relationship as I was and I would tell myself that is was real, this was It, finally. I was 99% sure of us, and our 5-year (10-year, 80-year) plan. 99% is easy to round up to 100%, and it was easy to tell myself that the part of me that was holding on to the 1% possibility that something could go awry was just being silly and pragmatic, that I was only doubting because it'd be illogical <i>not</i> to. Because honestly, who's 100% sure of anything? Fools, that's who. Right?<br />
<br />
But then it snowed.<br />
<br />
The first snowfall of the season finally came, and The Boy was uncharacteristically eager about going downtown Naperville to walk around and look at the snow. It snowed, and with just the soft rustling of snowflakes filling my ears, he asked me if I wanted to marry him.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/s720x720/398642_594108754777_64601544_32207538_79498322_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://a2.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc7/s720x720/398642_594108754777_64601544_32207538_79498322_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I unromantically asked him if he was sure, and his eager/terrified nodding persuaded me that he had, in fact, thought this through and he was, indeed, sure. We put a simple and beautiful ring on the fourth finger of my left hand, hugged really tight, and smiled like goons. While the world around us was freezing over and turning a beautiful and brilliant shade of white, the 1% left inside me melted away. And let me tell you, 100% is <i>absolutely nothing</i> like 99%.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, I know things could still go wrong. People change, life happens, and the possibility of Forever is not a guarantee. But right now, in this moment of time and this stage of our life, I'm 100% sure that this is what we both want, that we're 100% in this together, and 100% going to promise to try our best to make it happen.<br />
<br />
Can Finally Rename The Bookmarks Folder From "Unmentionables" to "Marriage Stuff",<br />
CathiCathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-17041780897741326232012-01-03T11:57:00.000-08:002012-01-03T11:59:06.557-08:00Two Thousand Twelve, Common Era<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;">
</div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My brain is a wild jungle full of scary gibberish. I'm writing a letter, I can't write a letter, why can't I write a letter? I'm wearing a green dress, I wish I was wearing my blue dress, my blue dress is at the cleaners. The Germans wore gray, you wore blue, 'Casablanca' is such a good movie. Casablanca, the White House, Bush. Why don't I drive a hybrid car? I should really drive a hybrid car. I should really take my bicycle to work. Bicycle, unicycle, unitard. Hockey puck, rattlesnake, monkey, monkey, underpants!</span></span></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This new year snuck up on me. I kept marked track of time starting with Thanksgiving, counting down the days until Linda came home, counting down the days until my birthday, panicking over the days left until Christmas in which I had to do gift shopping, delighting over Christmas, and frowning grumpily at my schedule which had me working every single day from the 26th until New Years Day. You would think I would have been prepared, yet I somehow managed to awake in a panic at 6am on the 2nd remembering that I hadn't paid my rent yet. And now, my year in review:</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 18px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 20px;"></span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
<i></i></span><br />
<i></i><br />
<i></i><br />
<i><div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<b><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Things I Hope Come to Pass in '11</span></span></u></b></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Move back to the suburbs</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Success! A happy one, in which I see my friends, see The Boy, and hermit it up in my apartment of my very own.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
-Go to New York and meet the long lost fams</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Success! My Great Uncle looks, talks, and acts exactly like my Grandma, my...great cousins? are quiet and exactly in-between my and my mother's ages. They gave us squash.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
-Not lose The Boy again</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Success! I dare say this has been our best year together, thus far, largely due to the fact that we're (well, I'm) not afraid to talk to each other anymore.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Get on the management track</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Success, by a hair! I officially started Shift Supervisor training last week, which is but a stepping stone to Real Management (also shaves off an entire month of management training, which doesn't sound too shabby).</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
-Chop off my long(er), sexy-like hair</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Failure of epic proportions! Not only did I not chop it all off, but I neglected to get a single haircut the entire year, barring trimming my own bangs every so often.</span></span></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">
-Help plan a wedding</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Success! Poncho Wedding Extravaganza is well underway. I'm not sure how much help I've actually had with the planning aspect, but I think I'm providing an acceptable level of moral support.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
-Seester goes to grad school!</span></i></div>
<div style="-webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Success! She refused to comment upon her scholastic future so I commented for her. Of course she got into grad school. Duh.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Overall 2011 was happier for me than 2010, and I think I can credit it to two things: surrounding myself with the people I love most, and making actual, conscious effort to progress in life. I'd been floating semi-aimlessly for the last three years, and actually sitting down, making a plan, and putting in some effort toward that plan has done more for my disposition than most other things.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Living in the city was a fun experiment that ultimately showed I'm a suburban chick at heart. I love love loved living in a place where I didn't have to drive anywhere, where if I decided I wanted a pizza RIGHT NOW I could just slip on some shoes, shuffle downstairs in my sweatpants to the 7/11 100 feet away and grab a frozen pie for $4, where I would walk to and from work along the Magnificent Mile and where I would have the street and the storefronts all to myself when I would work closing shifts and I could gawk at my leisure, where I had my Poncho Twin more at my disposal than usual, and where I felt like I was Living Life and being Part Of It even if I did spend most of my time sitting on the same couch I'm sitting on now, watching the same seasons of Gilmore Girls on the same TV. I was very lonely (despite living with my sister, which was lovely), and felt very poor (things cost more money in the Chi, not to mention the 10% sales tax), and spent most of my time HATING my job and wanting out, but I was entirely charmed with the concept of "city life". I felt adult, I felt adventurous, I felt young and alive. Rube alert.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I have high expectations for this year, some things I'll be verbal about and others which are too precious to be spoken aloud lest I jinx it.</span></span></div>
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<b><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Things I Hope Come To Pass In '12</span></span></u></b></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Become a manager, fo realsies</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Get out to Boston twice (once is for sissies)</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Plan the best bachelorette party in the world</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Not ruin my makeup at the Poncho Wedding Extravaganza</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Not die in an earthquake/flood/cyclone/deluge of frogs on 12/21</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-My vote for Obama in November will be one for the winning side</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">-Buy a Jetta</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Unmentionables,</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Catherine</span></span></div>
</i>Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-34840819794276274442011-10-27T15:59:00.000-07:002011-10-27T15:59:32.274-07:00"Some of them were so busy worrying about cracking glass ceilings that they never asked what the air was like up there."I'm starting to feel older. Already when people ask me how old I am I tell them "26", even though that milestone is still two months away. Perhaps it's living alone, perhaps it's the serious conversations with my bosses about how to turn my job into my career, perhaps it's all the research about retirement funds I've been doing, perhaps it's having an immediate family member not immediately available to me, and perhaps it's the seriousness and marvelousness of my relationship with The Boy beginning to make sense in my brain.<br />
<br />
I feel like I've matured rather significantly over the last six months or so, and I think it's because for the first time I'm actually taking my future seriously. When I graduated from NCC I had all the hope in the world (and none of the ambition) that things would fall into place. I was young, I had time. I've since seen that success takes work, and that I'm finally not-as-content enough to begin to put in that work. There have been a lot of late nights spent pondering what my values are, what I want for myself, and readjusting the image I've had for my life that has always been in the back of my mind.<br />
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It was, perhaps, growing up with my primary caretaker being my mom that led me to believe that I, too, would be an independent lady who had my own house and my own car(s) and my own life. My mom owns a toolbox and she knows how to wield the objects therein. She would go to work in the mornings, cook us dinner at night, drive us to gymnastics and piano lessons, and read stories to us before bed. She would go line dancing with friends sometimes. Whenever something broke in the house she'd either fix it herself or knew exactly who to call. My mom always had a plan and an answer for everything; at least it seemed to be so when I was a kid. My mom did whatever was best for herself and for us. This is the model of grownup life that I have fashioned in my mind.<br />
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It was also, perhaps, being exposed to the "Girl Power!" movement and the slow scraping away of the veneer of social expectations that made me feel obligated to be a strong, independent lady. The glass ceiling still exists, wage disparities are still significant, social expectations are still wildly privileged toward men and detrimental to women and as a socially conscious young woman I feel this overwhelming burden to contribute to the de-stigmatization of women in the public eye. On the one hand, I've largely succeeded. I went to college and I graduated from college with a degree and without a husband. I pay my own bills, people respect me for my intelligence and wit, I am the sole leaseholder on my apartment, and I can't cook worth a damn.<br />
<br />
I never assumed I would get married, but I also never assumed I wouldn't. I mostly just figured that if it happened, I wouldn't let it interfere with my life. Obviously, I never spent much time thinking about it at all. The Boy and I are tiptoeing our way toward that goal, and now that it's more of a real possibility than ever before I'm finding myself reaching with one hand for a paper bag to breathe deeply into and with the other for something solid to keep me mentally upright. I love him more than I thought I was capable of and I couldn't be prouder of him, his accomplishments, and to have him by my side. He has become family and I can easily glimpse snippets of Future Us (most notably 90 year-old Us sitting at the kitchen table in the lake house he built as he asks me to help with the Sunday crossword and I snap at him that, for the zillionth time, I'm awful at those things. Pass the World Politics section, please), but I'm very suddenly unsure of what this means for myself and my bright, shiny, independent lady life.<br />
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Believe it or not, his life and his goals are important to me, and it very viscerally feels as if I'm betraying my gender by caring about someone other than myself, most especially a man. To compromise is to have a healthy relationship, but to compromise on even the smallest details of my Grand Life Design feels traitorous. I had this awful, panicky moment several months ago when he was pondering pursuing a job in Kentucky and the mere thought of going with him made me feel like a monumental failure. After everything my mom sacrificed, and how hard she worked, and how far society has come, and after all the expectations of greatness my loved ones have of me, I was going to bow down to the patriarchy and uproot myself and everything I know <i>for a man</i>.<br />
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I'm slowly piecing together what happiness looks like for me, but it's a much more difficult process than I originally thought. So many messages are directed toward young girls and young women these days that I'm not sure we even notice the impact they are having until the worst possible moment. I'm proud to feel so empowered, grateful to be aware enough to know I have options and choices and to know that I could, if I wanted to, shoot for the moon and write my name among the stars. I do wonder if a balance is needed when it comes to empowering girls, though. When being told I could be anything I wanted to be I'm not sure the best way to demonstrate that was with a big red X through the image of a wife wearing an apron vacuuming the living room. Someone has to vacuum. Especially when you live alone and the entire place is carpeted.<br />
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Navigating adulthood is hard, you guys. I'm enjoying my fully developed brain and stabilized body chemistry but the weight of the world has become quite the burden.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-70684576677900012342011-10-04T20:47:00.000-07:002011-10-04T20:47:36.843-07:00Another belief of mine; that everyone else my age is an adult, whereas I am merely in disguise.Thus sayeth the ever wise Margaret Atwood.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://luxury-idea.com/decoration/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/guest-bedroom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://luxury-idea.com/decoration/wp-content/uploads/2011/07/guest-bedroom.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stolen from luxury-idea.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>One mystery of childhood that I frequently pondered is why grownups' bedrooms were so frightfully <i>boring</i>. The walls were beige, or some pale blue, and other than maybe a wedding picture on a dresser top the only decorations were generic seascapes or perhaps a fake plant in the corner. The only form of entertainment I ever saw in grownup bedrooms were small TV's, so small they were hardly worth watching and always much too far away to be of any practical use. Their curtains were boring. The bed was always made. Clothes were always put away in a hamper, or else at the very least folded at the end of the bed. Why on earth adults would choose to live in such drudgery was beyond my comprehension.<br />
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For perspective, I always had wonderfully expressive bedrooms growing up. I blame the previous owners of the house I grew up in for fostering this tendency since birth. The room my loving parents placed Infant Cathi into had lime green shag carpeting and Pepto pink paint on the walls. The first time I was allowed to plan and decorate my room, I chose <i>Aladdin</i> as the theme. I had Princess Jasmine bedsheets and a reversible comforter (depending upon whether I was in a pink or purple kind of mood), I had a fuzzy, glow-in-the-dark <i>Aladdin</i> poster on the wall. I had <i>Aladdin</i> curtains. It was magical and I loved every inch of it. As a preteen I redecorated into a more moderate theme of "blue purple and green", but the room was <i>alive</i>. As a teenager I requested that all four of my walls be different colors, and I painted on the darkening shade that covered my window with cheap Jordasche nail polish and invited my visiting friends to do the same.<br />
<br />
I now type this to you from the bedroom I share with no one, in the apartment that is mine and mine alone. The bedroom walls are a lovely and tasteful grayish-green that I adore. The only entertainment in here is my bookshelf full of fantasy novels. I currently have an 8-picture frame hanging on the wall for decoration which still has the stock photos in it. Beyond sleeping and going through the vicious cycle of "get dressed and throw clothes on the floor" and "be angry at clothes being on the floor, pick them up" I spend very little time in here.<br />
<br />
You know why? I've unlocked the secret of grownup bedrooms. I wanted this place to be peaceful and distraction-free because I wanted my bedroom to be a place for sleeping and resting. It is no longer my refuge from the rest of the world, the only place I have to express myself and be surrounded by things I love <i>because I have an entire apartment</i> just for that.<br />
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Suck on that, children! Just wait until you grow up and have nine hundred square feet to do with as you please! For the record, I've personalized the rest of my space with Guitar Hero band equipment, posters of places I'd like to go, and a china cabinet full of my speech and debate awards in the place of china.Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-57971636444914739182011-08-11T23:31:00.000-07:002011-08-11T23:31:46.492-07:00We are made from the sharpest things you say<div style="text-align: center;"><i>We are young and we don't care; your dreams, and your hopeless hair--we never wanted it to be this way for all our lives.</i></div><i><br />
</i><br />
Back in June I spent a weekend at a youth leadership conference with Alex's parish acting as the token female chaperone, where it was made abundantly clear to me that I have forgotten what it is like to be a teenager. I'm not quite so far removed from the experience that I think dying my hair funny colors and wearing silly hats will help me relate, but I have forgotten what it feels like to be my own sun.<br />
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It's not that the kids at the conference were selfish and egocentric--this was a group of Good Kids at a church retreat learning how to be more effective leaders, after all--but all of their thoughts, emotions, worries, and joys were always of the most pressing concern. Each and every single one of the teens I got to know over that weekend were on their own, private adventure in which they were the main protagonist. Their hushed conversations during Mass were more like stage-whispers than actual stealth, they listened to their peers tell stories as they eagerly awaited the right moment to interject with their own anecdote or opinion, and the vim and vigor for life were undeniable in their eyes as they swept their gazes around the room.<br />
<br />
They updated Facebook constantly on their verboten cell phones.<br />
<br />
I'd forgotten how intense life could be, where I was fully cognizant that each and every single breath I drew was inextricably linked to my own destiny, and I'd forgotten how important my life could be. College and post-college life (I refuse to consider this The Real World, the bills aren't soul-crushing enough and my job is too fun to be reality) imposed both a sense of philosophical relativism and a practical awareness of the importance of others. It is with a combination of this more mature panoramic view and (thanks to reacquainting myself with music I used to love) a visceral reminder of teenage passion that I have read about the rioting in England, and found my reaction to be, above all, one of profound horror.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh313RsP609AskdG96hiZsbYf5PeSSBV6AeaLgKo2ollIuvVTBJ3Epp6D69l2iW7ZvTQSIwTTC-Tk3JbpymXWkQJZCDYGTeXsT0NUXoCbgvxNe_8NA-fr9rGfWCDIqc_ml-hecW49zwKN8/s320/%25210_2011_0809_EnglandRiots_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh313RsP609AskdG96hiZsbYf5PeSSBV6AeaLgKo2ollIuvVTBJ3Epp6D69l2iW7ZvTQSIwTTC-Tk3JbpymXWkQJZCDYGTeXsT0NUXoCbgvxNe_8NA-fr9rGfWCDIqc_ml-hecW49zwKN8/s200/%25210_2011_0809_EnglandRiots_01.jpg" width="190" /></a>The media accounts of the four days of riots all seem to agree that the rioting was, by and large, perpetrated by youths, many as young as fourteen, and as far as anyone can tell, after the very first protest march to demand justice for the man who was shot by police, the violence, the looting, the fires, and the deaths were nothing more than sport.<br />
<br />
Five people are dead. Three of whom were young men trying to defend their neighborhood against the gangs of youth who were attempting to destroy their homes. A family whose apartment was burned down were almost killed when teenagers began throwing burning bottles at the car they were seeking refuge in. Hundreds of people are homeless, dozens of business owners have lost everything they have, and hundreds of people were hospitalized--mostly non-rioters.<br />
<br />
I remember what it is like to want to be a part of something bigger, and I remember what it is like to get caught up in a moment. What terrifies me the most about what transpired in England is that I find it completely believable. My friends and I were good kids when we were teenagers. We generally did well in school, we were fiercely dedicated to a club, we didn't drink or smoke, most of us weren't having sex, and if we broke the law it was laughable misdemeanors, yet it doesn't take too much stretching of my imagination to imagine us getting sucked into something as epic as rioting. I don't believe that the majority of the young people out rioting in England are bad, sociopathic people. Some of them? Sure. But not all of them, and the idea that it can be so easy for so many normal people to cause so much damage, to be so callous and unthinking makes the breath catch in my lungs.<br />
<a href="http://img.ibtimes.com/www/data/images/full/2011/08/09/144857-cars-burn-on-a-street-in-ealing-london-august-9-2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="123" src="http://img.ibtimes.com/www/data/images/full/2011/08/09/144857-cars-burn-on-a-street-in-ealing-london-august-9-2011.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
I don't know what there is to be done, I don't know if anything can be done to prevent something like this from happening again. I just know that I'm going to be very kind to the teenagers in my life.<br />
<br />
<br />
Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-52438137325970844552011-08-06T13:13:00.000-07:002011-08-06T13:13:36.261-07:00Knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come backAllow me to announce publicly how bummed I am that football is happening this year. I would have found a winter season without the obsession, misogyny, homophobia, and pseudo-aggression that accompanies the NFL quite refreshing; also it would have allowed me to successfully avoid buying a Bears jersey for work for the 5th year in a row.<br />
<br />
My current quest to get myself an apartment is an unanticipated exercise in assessing my core values. Nothing really makes you pause and turn a puzzled eye inward like hearing the phrase "never again the hand-washing times!" leave your mouth. Despite living a whole entire quarter century without killing myself, getting a call from a debt collector, or setting anything/anyone major on fire, there's a number of things that have called for reexamination. For example:<br />
<br />
<u>My relationship with money</u><br />
I've always known that I'm a saver, not a spender. When I get a paycheck (or organize my rubber band bank at the end of the night) my first and strongest impulse is to put it straight into my savings account so that I may gaze upon the pleasantly large balance and rub my hands together in diabolical glee. "Yes," I think to myself, "look at all my money. Tomorrow there shall be more! Good, good." I was also raised to be a bargain hunter, to do a lot of research and spend a lot of time so as to find the optimum mix of savings and quality. Now confronted with the outrageous overinflation of rent prices, I've discovered that I react with fist-clenching anger with no one to vent my righteous indignation upon other than my poor family (who, if you're <a href="http://linsnoopy.blogspot.com/">Seester</a>, aren't terribly sympathetic to my plight).<br />
<br />
<u>My relationship with other</u>s<br />
The simplest solution to my residential tight-waddiness would be to get a roommate. Splitting exorbitant rent two ways would result in a completely manageable amount to be spent each month, and honestly not a lot of lost independence. However, ask me if I want a roommate and watch the involuntary grimace cross my face. Maybe it's the fact that I'm forced to be social all day/night at work and am thus spoiled for my personal time, or maybe I'm just finally owning up to the fact that I'm a crotchety, inconsiderate lady at heart, but the idea of having to share living space leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I've never really been good at sharing; it was something I did growing up under duress and even then not very well, let alone graciously, and now that I'm a Grown-Ass-Woman I'm making sure that I don't have to share if I don't absolutely have to.<br />
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<u>My relationship with expectations</u><br />
I have a lot of high ideals for myself, which are coming into conflict with the aforementioned tight-waddiness. <i>Can</i> I live with outdated appliances, a community laundry room, hand-washing my dishes, noisy neighbors, and ugly carpets? Of course. Do I <i>want</i> to? Oh hail naw. I'm twenty five years old, I'm doing fairly well for myself, and if I can afford not to live in some dump, then I won't. I find nothing glamorous in slumming it. "Luxury" costs extra money though. I'm still not sure which I value more.<br />
<br />
<u>My...relationship</u><br />
Everyone who isn't my dad or my sister has asked me the question "what about The Boy? Why aren't you guys living together?" and to that, I say "mooooom stop bugging me about it!" This has actually required the most amount of introspection and list making, and is something The Boy and I need to discuss beyond him jokingly(?) bugging me to hurry up and find a place so he can come live a life of leisure with his Sugar Mama.<br />
<br />
Other things I'd rather not talk about:<br />
-Our nationally elected officials<br />
-The economy<br />
-"Why on earth would you come back here from the city???"<br />
-My weight (yes I've lost some, please stop exclaiming over how noticeable it is, as it's making me feel fat retroactively)<br />
-Gas prices<br />
<br />
18 over par,<br />
CathiCathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2222243722680288424.post-38961172365866164542011-07-27T12:40:00.000-07:002011-07-27T12:40:27.698-07:00Love, got the windy city on my back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/44441_537239456154_49300507_31659188_2694599_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://a7.sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-ash2/44441_537239456154_49300507_31659188_2694599_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You know, I think I might miss it here after all.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Cathihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050091306709261372noreply@blogger.com0