The topic of money comes up and everybody starts feeling bad about themselves for one reason or another

I 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.

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.

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 Wedding Industrial Complex 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 APW) who had the resources and mental fortitude to throw awesome parties on "tight" budgets (say, under $15K).

From APW, probably from elsewhere

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 some 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???").

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.

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 shrieked 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.

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.

F* this,
Thrine

Come grow old with me, the best is yet to be

I'm engaged! *confetti*

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.

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 could happen, so don't get too excited".

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 not to. Because honestly, who's 100% sure of anything? Fools, that's who. Right?

But then it snowed.

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.

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 absolutely nothing like 99%.

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.

Can Finally Rename The Bookmarks Folder From "Unmentionables" to "Marriage Stuff",
Cathi

"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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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 for a man.

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.

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.

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

Found: One Diaryland Blogger

If I've told you once, I've told you a thousand times: I suck at blogging.

I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm sure that you, Interested Party, don't mind too much. I, on the other hand, actually mind a lot. It bugs me that I can't seem to find the ability to write competently about either the trivialities of my life or deeper thoughts about the world at large. Recently my attempts at entries have gone like this:

So the other day I saw this thing and I was like "man, you know?" And I mean, I know stuff, and you know stuff, but....wait what's my point?

It's a problem.

My candidate won, and all signs point to a decent first couple months in office. I've been rather pleased that, pretty much the instant the election was called, all of the petty bitching and ignorant moaning evaporated (at least in my parts of the world). I'm excited, Interested Party. I realize that my guy is still mere mortal, and even worse, a mere politician, but I can't help feeling a tingle of hope and happiness whenever I spare a thought to his transition into office. The people he's choosing for cabinet and practically-cabinet positions warms my heart in so many ways. Science might get credibility back. The environment might be important again. Education might become more about the kids and less about the test scores. Foreigners might become our friends again. We might not have to live in a culture of fear anymore.

I couch all of my hopes with the modifier of "might", since, well, we can't know. But the right people are being put in the right places, so hopefully the machine will work according to plan.

Wee Martin turned 21 and I, myself, turned 23 not too long ago, and it's quite frankly creeping me out. We're old, folks, and the passing of my birthday has put an extra sort of pressure on my shoulders to Grow the Fuck Up. Sure, I have 3 jobs, all of which Iknow aren't "real" in the way my mind has classified job choices. Sure, I pay my mom rent every month and I buy my own gas and by and large purchase my own food and will have my student loans paid off in their entirety in two more months. By many measuring sticks, I'm doing just fine.

By my measuring stick, however, I'm failing. Most of this is due completely to a lack of effort on my part, and I tell myself that once I really start trying, I'll get that "real job" and my inner life-angst will be assuaged. Perhaps this is true. I do tend to be fairly lucky when I put some elbow grease into it.

I'm going to be honest right now, Interested Party, which is a rarity for this here blog. Not that I'm ever dishonest, but I am frequently vague and very often frivolous in my postings here, ignoring things that are actually happening in my life and mind. I've been slacking off in terms of real-job searching and apartment-leasing because I'm waiting to see what The Boy wants to do once he graduates. I decided a long time ago that while I don't know where I'm going, what I'm doing, or how I'm going to get there, I do know that I want him to be there with me.

I also decided a long time ago that my life is flexible. Whether by chance or design, I am an extremely mobile person. Because I'm living with my mom, I can pack up and leave at any time. Because my BA trained me for a field that, literally, has officeseverywhere, I can probably find a job anywhere in the country. Because my "paying for college job" was/is at a national chain, I can get an immediate position that'll earn me a livable amount of money anywhere in the country. Therefore, whether The Boy has given any thought to what he wants to do, where he wants to go, or if he expects me to be there with him, I'm ready at a moment's notice to move off to the East Coast with him, or find my own way wherever the opportunity presents itself if things don't work out like the chick flicks.

My point? I'm not sure, Interested Party. I'm at a weird place where I'm not sure if my conscious inaction makes me feel better, or worse. On the one hand, because I'm choosing to be where I'm at in life, I'm not a loser, because I know that once I choose to get a real job and choose to get my own place, it'll happen. On the other hand, how pathetic is it that I've consciously done nothing since I graduated because I'm waiting for some guyto make up his mind (let alone some guy who's notorious for indecision and apathy).

I don't know I don't know. So much going on in my mind and so little I can do about it because of my decision to wait and see. In the meantime, Boy things have been unusually wonderful, which is a nice change-up from previous months, and I'm happy, by and large, with my life.

The good news, Interested Party, is that I always find time to post an end-of-the-year recap and New Years wish list of things to pass, so I won't be absent from here for too terribly long.

Deep breath,
Catherine Elizabeth

And this, this is my Season

I will go down with this ship

In the universal tradition of small talk, my coworkers and customers alike have been lamenting the change of the season. It seems that I am alone when it comes to celebrating wintertime, since everyone else makes a sour face when the word "snow" is mentioned.

Winter has always been, and will probably always be my favorite season. When I was little I loved it because it contained Thanksgiving, my birthday, Christmas, New Years, and Valentine's Day. Holidays always meant days off school, and the holidays that didn't (my birthday, for example) came equipped with gifts bestowed unto me, so it all evened out in the end. I've gotten a little bit older and have faced the sad reality of having to work on holidays and have stopped caring about receiving anything more than hugs on my birthday, yet the magic of winter remains.

In addition to my continued love for hats, mittens, scarves, boots, and hot cocoa, I associate winter with peace. The world stands still as we move further away from the sun, and brings a beautiful quiet to our world. As I sit here typing, snow is falling rather rapidly outside the window, and even though it's "stormy", I bet if I were to go sit outside, there'd only be the faintest rustling of snow as it deposits itself on my car. I love the quiet, I love how nothing seems rushed and everything makes more sense.

Winter break, which will now be known simply as "winter" to me from now on, has been my time of reflection. I sit down, make my lists and figure out what's going to happen with my life for the next year. Being able to do so in the solitude of stilled life, in the calming effect of cold air, and the illusion that life is on hold until the spring thaw has a cathartic and inspiring effect.

This year brings more difficult things for me to sort out due to the fact that said "things" are emotional in nature. I'm a firm believer in keeping my feelings wound up tightly like rubber band balls which are then locked up in one of those fire-safe boxes that will probably withstand Armageddon. Therefore having to even acknowledge that I have rubber banded balls of emotion, let alone attempting to unravel them in order to plan out the road ahead is a task needing some snowy solitude to sort out on its own merits.

Eskimo kisses,
Catherine Elizabeth

1 day until wee Martin turns 21
14 days until I'm un-palindrome'd
26 days until Christmas
32 days until 2009

The Future Freaks Me Out

I’m a dreamer, I’m not a vicious schemer

The concept of forever gives me the jibblies. I don't necessarily mean in the infinity and beyond sense, although contemplating an infinite sense of time and universe gives me an existential twinge of uneasiness. That kind of forever isn't really much of my business.

The forever that makes me curl up in a ball and suck my thumb is the kind that that many of my peers appear to have conquered, as evidenced by the myriad of facebook status changes from "in a relationship" to "engaged". I won't say that I don't trust other people, but I am exceedingly skeptical of my own ability to adapt to the changes in others.

I mean, I like The Boy well enough, and all signs point to him tolerating me pretty well. And, to be perfectly honest, I don't foresee either of us breaking up with the other any time soon. But I cannot guarantee that at any given time, The Boy won't do something to irreparably change my esteem for him, like voting for Bob Barr in November or deferring his imminent graduation to follow his dream of living in a cardboard shack in Belarus.

I also cannot guarantee that I, myself, won't suffer a psychotic break and glue feathers to my arms and terrorize children for the rest of my life. Some things just can't be predicted.

So, when I contemplate forever it's always with an elaborate system of "buts" and "ifs" so forever is neatly dissected into more manageable pieces. If everything works out. If we want the same things. But I don't mean wedding bells. But only if you want to. Etc...

Sometimes, I curse my penchant for foresight.

I rock the Haro sport,
Catherine

Congratulations, Class of 2008

I've got a plan: we walk out the door

Despite being rather insistant than I'd rather be shot in the face than have to sit through graduation, I realized tonight that missing it is robbing me of something I've overlooked: the goodbyes.

While sitting in the June sun, watching 500 people I don't know walk up and shake a drunk collge president's hand while wearing the most absurd clothing known to modern man is clearly not a situation I'd gladly sign myself up for, I'd forgotten that the formal ceremony would be not only my last chance to see some people who were a big part of the latest chapter of my life, but also an excuse to let myself cry a little.

I'm not the sentimental type, not really, but it struck me rather hard tonight that I will probably never see some of my college acquaintences and friends ever again. I went to the bar, as per usual on a Thursday night, with the usual crowd, but when I left, I knew it was for the last time, for real.

I will miss college and I will miss the people who I now realize I took for granted. My buddy Nicky D, who somehow always managed to earn the title of "friend" despite the fact that we only really hung out a handful of times during the last four years. The wily Bug, whose molestations weren't necessarily welcome, but always made me feel included. Monk, who was always around, always friendly, and always hilarious. Even Paige, who I never particularly liked due to one of my first encounters with her, but was a part of my life nevertheless. These are people who made up the landscape of my college experience, who I will not necessarily attempt to stay in contact with, and will assumedly never see again except for the odd reunion-esque get together.

There were no false promises of staying in touch. I told Nick it was a pleasue mostly being friends, gave some hugs, and waved rather casually, and that was that. We're all going on to a wide variety of things, all of which can be deemed "the real world". We will get jobs, have families or new groups of friends who seem like a family, get old, break hips, and eventually die. For most of the people I knew at NCC, all of this will happen without my notice and right now, not being afforded a formal, official goodbye, is weighing rather heavily on my heart.

The end of an era is scariest, I think, when you see it coming.

And so, my friends at NCC, I will miss you. Thank you for being a part of the last 3 years of my life. Thank you for making me feel like I belonged. Thank you for laughing with me, gossiping with me, and learning alongside me. I wish you the best, really.

Class of 2008,
Catherine

Missing Pieces

Life goes easy on me, most of the time

It occurred to me the other day that I am teetering on the precipice of "The Rest Of My Life". I understand that "life", in general, cannot be planned out as effectively as I organize my days or computer files, but I am of the planning persuasion. I create plans and follow them until something interferes. Then I create a new plan based on a highly scientific pro/con list analysis to deal with the situation accordingly, and then continue on.

That said, there are certain major factors for TROML that I have to be able to plan for, at the very least in theory, right now. Career. Debt (or the elimination thereof). Buying a home. Buying a car. Getting a retirement plan. Marriage. Kids. Travel. Despite my easy-going nature, I can't just sit around and expect life to happen on a "wait and see" basis. Not having some idea of what the future may hold makes me nervous, sick, and quite frankly, outright terrified.

It's not necessary for me to have clarity and promises. I don't need to have a job lined up with a 401k, a financing plan on a new Jetta, a ring on my finger, or a relationship with a travel agent to feel okay about my future. I just need a general idea, an outline. I have some of that. I know what industry I want to work in, and thus I know where I need to be sending resumes and over letters. I know what car I want to buy, so I know how much money I need to save. I know how much I owe to the government for school, so I know what my financial situation is likely to be. I know I would like to own a house, not rent forever.

Other things, however, remain on a "wait and see" wavelength, which irks me because not only do I not have control over those particular aspects, it seems to me that I don't even have control over whether I get to know about how things might play out.

Alls I'm saying is that it's hard for me to make decisions that need making now, when I don't have all the data I need.

Harumph,
'Thrine

O rly?!

I am heaven sent, don't you dare forget

Post-school life isn't nearly as relaxing as I imagined it to be. Doing nothing takes a lot of energy. There's naps to fit in, coffee to make, clothes to put in random yet purposeful piles, beds to unmake after an annoyingly helpful mother makes them up, dishes to dirty and leave about, among many other tiring, toiling tasks (alliteration creation, for one).

I keep finding excuses to put off sending my resume out. First I needed to take a week off from life. You know, to relax and do all of the aforementioned tiring, toiling tasks. Next, I need to help my mom move me into her new condo. Now I need to wait for her to get cable/internet so I can finish my resume and do research. And so on. The real world is scaring me a bit, and while I realize it won't be so bad once I get there, I'm continuing to put it off. I'm not good with change. Where my leg warmers at?

Work is becoming increasingly more interesting. A year into it and I finally feel like I'm beginning to develop what it takes to be a legitimate bartender. I've become pretty good at multitasking, but now I need to work on multitasking with a smile. My "concentration face" is not a happy one. Idle banter is coming more easily, and I'm really working on trying not to let casual flirtation from patrons freak me out too much, and my army of "regulars" is slowly growing. Let's just hope Drew "totally didn't kill my wives, bro" Peterson doesn't join up.

I love my parents for a variety of reasons, but among these reasons are the following:

-After picking up The Boy, looking dishevelled and rightfully like he had spent the night wandering drunkenly around the city, and taking him to my mom's place to get him cleaned up and tucked into bed, I overheard my mom talking to her bff on the phone, saying how "cute" Alex was and how he seemed to have a bit of a rough night, "poor little thing".

-After attempting to explain the O Rly? owl to our dad, Linda sat him down to a) find said owl, but also b) showed him some lol!cats. My dad then asked if she could save the lol!cats to his bookmarks.

9 days until I officially graduate!
11 days until I fly to Austin!
12 days until AFA!
24 days until I leave for Nashville!
25 days until NFA!
29 days until I'm done with my competitive forensics career!
66 days until Kate and Travis' wedding!
66 days until my friends graduate from NCC!
86 days until DC with The Boy!
103 days until Hawaii with Linda!

You tricky devil,
Thrine

This is the Countdown

This is going to be the best thing we've ever seen

In two and a half weeks I'll be done with school forever.

Forever.

School and I have been together for 19 years now, if you count the stage where we just fooled around and played with blocks. My parents were only together for 17 years, so this is the longest relationship I've ever experienced, and I'm not sure if I'm quite ready to break up just yet.

I had a friend go off on me the other night, telling me it was about damn time for this madness to end. He thinks the last 3.5 years of my life were unnecessary and that I've wasted my time and money on school--something he views as worthless, pointless, and downright tool-ly. I'll be honest, it hurt m feelings. I mean, school and I have had our ups and downs, and I'll have to admit to having quite the sordid affair with innumerable naps, but I love school. We have a long history together, and for the most part we've been good to and for each other.

Getting beyond the metaphor, I've fallen into a bit of denial about the end of my participation in formal education. Honestly, school is all I know, and I haven't adequately prepared myself for the impending immersion into Real Life. I keep track of years on a Fall-Spring schedule. I know that I'm doing well in life if I'm getting A's. I keep track of the days by knowing what classes I have and when I have tests or papers due. I even like school. I enjoy the classroom setting, I love class discussions, and I like having an excuse to carry a messenger bag.

I've heard the platitudes about how "education is a life-long process" but come on. Give me a break. If life is anything like summer break, I will quickly fall into a painful monotony of a bad sleep schedule, poor nutrition, and dreading having to get out of bed and put some pants on. What do people do when they're not in school? When do you decide to hang out with people? What do you do to occupy your time when you don't have homework looming over your head?

This freedom of time gives me the willies.

Taco Tuesday,
Cathi

Remembering the past, living the present, avoiding the future

When we were made we were set apart

On Motive
----I've been spending a lot of time avoiding the local news, trying not to think of DeKalb, or Northern, or anyone I know connected to that community, because my delicate senses are still freshly wounded from the shock. The one exception is that I'll take time to pause whenever some splashy headline involves Steven Kazmierczak (who, by the way, I'm really glad has an unpronounceable name. No more household-name killers like Charles Manson or Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris). While I might need some time to process the complex emotions involved, knowing the why always seems to help. In this case, there doesn't seem to be a reason, and that, strangely, makes me feel better.

I think in any tragic situation, being able to blame God, Fate, or simply Dumb Luck is much easier on the soul than having a tangible person or incident to blame. This could not have been stopped. There was nothing NIU officials, students, security, or admissions counselors could have done differently. In some cases, being completely helpless feels just a bit better than feeling like you, or someone else, failed at some responsibility. There were no warning signs, there wasn't even a reason for him to be in DeKalb at all. It's. Not. Anyone's. Fault. And that gives me some comfort.

On Time
----I've semi-unofficially been dating the same person (officially known as "The Boy") for two years now. The funny part is, I'm still feeling caught up in that "honeymoon phase", which I've been told is supposed to fade after a bit. No one's scientifically measured how long that "bit" is supposed to be, but you'd think that after two years we would at least hate each other at least just a little.

On the flip side, these last two years in every other aspect of my life have seemed like they've taken forever. I can barely remember being an intern, being "on my own" is a distant tickle in the back of my hippocampus. The weird part is that, while I have a whole two years of Relationship Memories, they often get jumbled around in my Other Life mental timeline. I've been just as enamored, just as fascinated, and just as happy with The Boy since day one that it's difficult to pin-point where any one happy memory occurred. Which means that even as we've gotten to know each other and learned about each other and spent so much time together, I'm still finding things to love, things to enjoy, and things I still want to know.

On (pre)Occupations
----I've not yet embarked upon The Great Rest Of My Life Hunt, largely because The Great End Of An Era has been heaping work upon my doorstep which I, of course, have been ignoring violently. Unfortunately, there are some things that one must do in order to, like, graduate and stuff. For now, I'm content letting life come at me as it will, because I'm clearly not motivated to grab any bulls by their horns. Besides, I can always just bartend for the rest of my life.

On Farewells
----Catherbadger

Ah, l'amor

This love isn't good unless it's me and you

Disclaimer to The Boy, should he read this: You're going to try to read between the lines, or think I'm hinting at something. I'm not. Don't freak out, love. Kthx.

I mentioned in my Late '08 entry (one click away ala the "previous" button!) that I'm mere weeks away from Real Adulthood. I'm soiling myself in fear on a daily basis and have metaphorically thrown up in my shoes so many times a metaphorical DSW could buy out Microsoft. Metaphorically.

On one hand, The Great Unknown is terrifying in of itself. I don't know where I'm going, what I'm doing, or how I'm going to get there once I figure it out. On the other hand, The Great Unknown is...freeing. I'm no long on the great conveyor belt of life. I've reached the end and I can do anything I want. I can move to Berlin and teach English, or move to Aurora and get a meth habit to occupy my time. Anything my heart desires.

The problem with these infinite possibilities is that as they come rushing in at me, they all crash abruptly against the great Relationship wall and then mingle about in confusion and panic. I've realized that The Boy and I are important enough to each other that whatever it is I do with my life will also affect his.

And that's a responsibility laid upon my shoulders that I'm not entirely equipped to deal with.

I'm a product of late 20th century feminism, whether I like it or not. While I might feel that factoring The Boy into my decisions is a good and right thing to do, the part of my brain that absorbs American Culture revs up and starts shrieking at me. "Factor him in?! Are you nuts? You're letting a man interfere with your future?! Don't let the patriarchy tie you down! You can be anything you want to be and he will only hold you back!"

And thus, I can see why so many people get married right out of the college gate. Factoring "some guy" into your big, beautiful future is limiting, silly, stupid. But factoring in your husband has an entirely different societal connotation. Marriage is a bond more important than many things. Marriage is about compromise. That's what we hear. So, when trying to figure out what to do, getting married in order to narrow the Big Scary Playing Field seems like a great idea! Even if you're not ready quite yet, you will be eventually, right?

Obviously, this sort of nonsense is easily sorted out by having rational conversations, but when one is standing on such a large precipice, irrationality has a way of creeping in and presenting scenarios in ways that don't seem so ludicrous.

I'm mostly just counting on my historical good fortune to kick in when I need it most. Things almost always work out for me, I don't see why that should end now.

Don't panic,
C!Mart

Brevity

We're worth fighting for

I like to think that I have a pretty good grasp on the English language. I know the function of subjective clauses, can use words like "tawdry" or "misanthropic" without blinking, and have been able to read and write going on 17 years now. I also like to think that my mind is capable of being, at worst, adequately deep and analytical.

Blah blah blah, so I can pwn you in Scrabble and tell you which "a/effect" to use. To what end?

Apparently my gifts are display models only. Like the tawdry leg-lamp from A Christmas Story, my skills sure look pretty, but serve no real function. You would think that one such as I would have a lot to say about, oh, Hamlet, but AP English can attest to the fact that I only had about 300 words to spare pertaining to the play. Verbally, I'm characteristically long winded. On paper, I'm little more than a haiku. Perhaps a limerick on good days.

Writing is, however, a passion of mine, and I like to spend time making lists (to-do, pro/con, top 5, etc...) or chronicling my life via this here blog or pen/paper. I find it especially helpful to write out my thoughts on issues that I would find otherwise difficult to give voice to (ex: Dear roomie, your big creepy ex-boyfriend, while welcome to sleep over, should really not be left alone to scar me for life be more careful about his sleep apparel...).

That said, I have a lot of important decisions coming up in my life that seem to necessitate a minimum amount of intellectual and emotional certainty. So, being a creature of habit, I sat down to detail my precise thoughts about a number of things. What I plan to do about a career. Where I want to live. Where I see myself in 5 years. How attached I am to That Guy. Things like that. Important things. Things I apparently don't have complicated opinions about, as it took me all of half a typed page to get everything down.

Either I'm very sure of what I want in life, or my emotions are so deep they lend no language. Let's go with the former.

Blackout,
Cathi

Fate, \"The One\"

Got a body like a battle axe

Despite being generally trusting and occasionally downright gullible, there are a good number of things I don't believe in. Aside from the obvious, like Santa or the Tooth Fairy, Fate and "The One" tend to top my list.

When it comes to Fate, I'm a bit pigheaded about the whole thing, since I'm too lazy and philosophically retarded to actually define it. However, some people, after having a rough day at the office, consider it Fate when a song comes on the radio during the drive home that describes exactly how they feel. I'm more inclined to call that Mainstream Music's Ability to Appeal to the Masses, but then, I'm a cynic. And a communications major.

As for "The One", my stance on this is slightly more defined. Unless you define "The One" as "The One I've taken a lot of time to get to know and consider and have deemed suitable", the magic aura surrounding this mysterious person just doesn't do it for me. I won't discount the possibility that I might only love one person in my lifetime, but I do think it's profoundly depressing to think that there is one, specific person out there for you. There's a lot of people in this world, and the odds of that person being in your graduating class seems slim. Of course, that's what Fate is for. These things tend to go hand in hand, I've noticed. I'm just saying that even though I might not hear bells the first time I lay eyes on someone, doesn't mean that, after time has gone by, I won't hear bells or feel thunderstruck every time he smiles at me.

I'm also disinclined to acknowledge meaning behind coincidences or dreams. But hey, being a cold, hard realist is very In these days.

Monkee Men,
Cathi

Weddings

I could write it better than you ever felt it

It's beginning to approach that time in my life where there will be a wedding every other weekend; ones that I'm invited to, at least, as opposed to me and my buddy Vince Vaughn looking for hijinks and hookups. It seems that after people graduate college, that nagging question of "now what?" often gets answered with "weddings!". With the recent engagement of our youngest cousin, Linda and I spent some time on our coffee date today discussing things like divorce, preparedness for marriage, and dress code. 

You know, the usual topics associated with the impending marriage of a relative.

This being said, I had my first legitimate "wedding plan" thought last night as I contemplated Kate's engagement. The train of thought went something like this:

-Hooray! An excuse to dress up!
-I can buy a new dress!
-Why are we expected to dress up for this sort of thing?
-What if people hate dressing up?
-For my wedding, I'm going to explicitly state that if a) this is an exciting opportunity for you to get dolled up and strut your stuff, by all means, knock yourself out, but b) if you're lamenting having to spend money on a new outfit, hate wearing collared shirts or uncomfortable shoes, then by all means, go nuts and wear pajamas and bunny slippers.
-Instead of having his/hers sides of the church, I could have dressed up/dressed down sides!

At this point, I drifted off to sleep and dreamed about an old friend getting blown up in a pick-up truck, but I think it stands as a milestone that I actually gave a serious moment's thought to an albeit hypothetical, but altogether real future wedding. It's a stereotype that all girls have their weddings planned out by the age of 16, but I've somehow managed to avoid the stereotypical. When I was younger I used to think that I never wanted to get married, because if it goes wrong it's really, really bad. However, I've warmed up to the idea of pretty dresses, fancy shoes, and obligatory spa days. I'll just need to be really, really, really sure first.

10 days until Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows!
12 Tage bis Miranda kommt nach Hause!
13 days until Miranda is 21!
14 days until Jaci is 21!
15 days until Warped Tour!
36 days until GenCon!
61 days until college: the final chapter!

Like Rats,
Cathi

Impending communication

On a bender and it shows

I had one of those frightening revelations yesterday, Independence Day, that just about 7 months from now I'll be facing Real Life. Life has always had a definitive plan, a direct path, and come March 2008 the path abruptly sprouts forks. I'm more of a spoon person, myself, so this fork notion doesn't exactly appeal to me. I suppose I could go to graduate school, but honestly, at this point it'd just be beating a dead horse. Plus I hear loans are a bitch.

Despite three completed years of higher education with the goal of obtaining a piece of paper stating the contrary, I'm not very familiar with the realm of communication. Communication, much like my concept of love, is this sort of grand, romantic ideal that has formed in my head over the years since I've had very few good examples to follow. I'm pretty sure it's the key to a successful relationship, and I've even had imaginary communicative sessions in my head where I, Caribou coffee cup in hand, eloquently deliver my thoughts with poise, and my conversational counterpart is equally as clear and composed as he sips a Chai tea latte. In this imaginary communicative session I listen with interest, making appropriate facial expressions and responsive noises, and I always know the right follow-up questions to ask. Of course, since this is imaginary, that stands to reason, since I was inventing the other side of the conversation myself.

My point? I'm an experiential learner. I need to touch the hot stove to figure out that yes, it is, indeed, hot. So as my life progresses ever closer to those pesky forks, it's becoming incrementally more urgent to actually have a communicative moment or two with certain people. Of course, as with more important things in my life, I'll just put it off until the very last instant, and, because I'm amazing at everything I do, it will go off without a hitch and I'll get an A+. In, uh, life.

What am I going to do without grades to track my progress? I suppose that's what money is for.

Now with more sodium!
Thrine

schooly things

Give me your right hand, but keep your left hand free. Let's run in circles, yeah let's make history!

ACHTUNG: Einer gegenstandlos, egoistische Aufsatz ist unter diese Achtung. Ablaufen Sie mit Umsicht*.

I believe it was Durbin who pointed out that the quotation above reminded him of the orangutan dance in the Jungle Book. Fitting, considering the song is about monkeys.

After doing some number crunching (anyone else remember that computer game?) I've realized that I'm, literally, one single credit hour over being able to graduate a term early. It's not really worrisome, just "grrr" frustrating. I suppose I can't complain, seeing as, regardless, I can graduate on time, if not early with some fast talking, with two entire Bachelor's degrees. Fancy me. You know what that means, though? I'm approximately one year, six weeks away from being a real grownup. Maybe I should go for a Master's, just so I can a) put off paying my student loans for another 3-4 years and b) pretend I'm allowed to be irresponsible for a little while longer.

What do you think the odds are of me convincing a richy-rich high school (maybe Neuqua?) that they need a radio program? Because that would be super kick-ass. Kick-asstic, if you will.

For once, school isn't making me crazy. Granted, academically, school has never really had to make me break a mental sweat, but deadline-induced stress-sweats have been numerous, especially since college started. Time management: 1. Cathi: 0. Having only two classes makes me feel like I'm getting away with something diabolical and evil, especially since the "homework" side of my day-by-day schedule is essentially blank. I will admit that, Dark Lord allegiance aside, it's really nice to be able to come home after class or work and think "What do I need to do? Watch two hours of Law and Order? Fabulous" without actually neglecting something of real importance. I assume this lackadaisical approach to life will end come Spring Term, but I pledge to enjoy it while I can.

I think I'd like to be an intern at WGN radio this summer. Yeah, let's do that.

Sorry if I bored you, but you can't say I didn't warn you.

Love,
Cathi

*Altavista's Babelfish translation: "NOTE: One articleless, egoistic essay is under this attention. Run off with circumspection."

ramblebramble

Haven't you heard that I'm the new cancer?
Never looked better, and you can't stand it.

At times I find it impossible to understand why people do the things they do, and at others I find I understand them perfectly.

All rants begin with an observation. "Haven't you noticed?" Every conversation we have is based upon universal connections. We have a mutual understanding of human nature, of love or tragedy, of frustration or simple joys. I understand as well that these words, spit out from frantic fingertips in a fishbowl, have no effect on you, the reader whom I cater to whether or not you actually exist unless you have a general idea of what I'm trying to convey.

Today the theme is connection. Or not. Perhaps the theme is chaos, but letting you in on that secret would ruin the impact of the confusion that would set in halfway through this entry when I begin to ramble about meanacing squirrels and Cubs wins (an irrational number). I think I'm just going a little crazy, but honestly, who isn't? I guess we could hope that the Germans remain sane at all times. Look out, Austria.

Yep, looks like chaos is on the ticket. Isn't it facinating how so many random things result in the sum of our lives? Playing the "what if" game can be fun, at times. What if Linda had been aborted due to a tumor that posed as a dead baby? What if I concentrated on school more? What if I never applied to work at Dairy Queen? What if I never joined speech team? So many questions, never any right answers.

I'm hungry. Taco Bell will fix this in the short term, but I think I'll need an adrenaline shot to the heart of "work ethic" to fix it for long term. I have a lot of dreams, Berlin, radio, Chicago, family, travel, concerts, but it will be very difficult for these things to come to pass if I never buckle down and do a homework assignment or two.

Ramble ramble. Three cookies to whomever made sense of this. Let me know, so I can actually bake the cookies, or at least buy them in convenient Keebler form with the money I peddle from upper middle class tools.

Panic! At the Cathi,
'Thrine.