"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."

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

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..."

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.

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, especially our cell phones. Jessica, over at her blog (Faith Permeating Life), challenged readers to consider the difference between merely "raising awareness" and "taking action", 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 coltan. 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.

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.

 And this is what I try to impart to people: 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. 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.

/soapbox

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.

Knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back

Allow 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.

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:

My relationship with money
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 Seester, aren't terribly sympathetic to my plight).

My relationship with others
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.

My relationship with expectations
I have a lot of high ideals for myself, which are coming into conflict with the aforementioned tight-waddiness. Can I live with outdated appliances, a community laundry room, hand-washing my dishes, noisy neighbors, and ugly carpets? Of course. Do I want 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.

My...relationship
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.

Other things I'd rather not talk about:
-Our nationally elected officials
-The economy
-"Why on earth would you come back here from the city???"
-My weight (yes I've lost some, please stop exclaiming over how noticeable it is, as it's making me feel fat retroactively)
-Gas prices

18 over par,
Cathi

Feigning Adulthood

That right there is my ability to be responsible. I won it when I was 25.

As a denizen of the Internet I've been hearing a lot of buzz about the latest entry on the Hyperbole and a Half blog. It rings true for a lot of young people, I think, in that we're finding out that being a Grown Up isn't anything like what we thought it would be. I'm not too sure what I thought that Growing Up would entail, but I definitely thought, and still cling rather naively to, that at some point I will indeed be An Adult whose life consists of doing Grown Up Things.

I've been experiencing a lot of generalized anxiety recently. Some of this stems from things with The Boy being tossed abruptly out of their tattered nest of status quo and making what feels like a reckless decision to pretend to be a City Girl. When the generalized anxiety flares up and manifests itself in an acute form I tend to deal with it very badly. Getting up and facing the day means being conscious and thinking about things, so I compromise by staying in bed and brooding instead. The knot in my stomach makes it nearly impossible to eat, and thanks to the scale in my bathroom I know that two weeks ago during an acute flare up I lost 4 pounds in three days from sheer stress.

Now I've gained it all back, don't worry yourself Interested Party. The acute knot of anxiety eventually diffused into a more generalized nervous tingle throughout my body. This sort of general anxiety is handled much, much better than the Acute Onset Emotions. Somehow my body hardwired itself over the last few years to develop the natural coping mechanism of "getting my life in order" when I get stressed out.

Much like the above linked blog post (did you click it? You should have, and if you didn't here's another chance) I will go into a frenzy of doing adult-like things in order to make some semblance of order out of the chaos I feel has infused my life. I deposit my money wads into the back with more regularity. I shower more frequently and even shave my legs. I make my bed in the morning and remember to brush my teeth immediately after getting up. I make sure the kitchen is free of unsightly dirty dishes and crumbs. I do laundry and actually fold and put it away. I read books I've meant to catch up on. I re-hang the posters in my room that have fallen down. I vacuum. I make important phone calls and schedule lunch dates with friends I've neglected (because lunch dates are far more mature and Grown Up than spontaneous bar outings). I splurge on a latte from Starbucks. I make it to the gym once or twice. I go grocery shopping and buy things other than peanut butter and salad dressing.

I suppose you can't fault me for performing healthy tasks in the face of less than healthy anxiety, but I do hate that it takes extreme discomfort on an emotional level to kick me into Being a Grown Up.

Seester and I will be moving in together in a month and I have grand notions that living with her will up my Adult Behavior quota. She, for example, personalized the condo she'd only be in for 3 months within the first day or so, which included lugging almost every book she owns up three flights of stairs. I on the other hand didn't even put posters up in my room until 9 months had passed. I'm really hoping that her innate skill at living like an Adult will rub off on me.

Who am I kidding. It's likely that after a week or two she'll be yelling at me for leaving dirty dishes in the sink and my socks on the living room floor. But who knows, making such a huge change in my life might knock some tidiness into me.

Swiffer,
Cathi