Awkwardly Social

Last night in a fit of procrastination I decided to head over to 201 and measure and tape off where I was going to put furniture. I was still having a hard time picturing how everything I decided to keep was going to fit. I steeled myself for the parking struggle I think I’ll face for the rest of my time at this apartment, and pulled down my street and a choir of angels sang and a light from heaven shined down on my car and right exactly in front of my building was a parking spot. The parking gods and the universe and fate all collided to make me feel loved. I smiled the whole evening as I taped off my bed, my bookcases and all the rest.

I spent the rest of last night half watching a recorded episode of some bad reality television show that I’m embarrassed to say I find highly entertaining and occasionally putting a random thing in a box with another random thing. (I think I lost my stock pot. Or packed it with my books. No one knows but the me of yesterday!) By midnight I was out of tape and could not figure out how I was ever going to survive moving, so I went to bed. Lula snuggled in close and at 4am I woke up wondering why my last night of sleep there had to be so cold. And short.

The move was fine. I ended up spending more than I wanted to on the movers, but after seeing how hard they worked, I knew it was worth every penny. After they left, I spent the rest of the afternoon putting more random things in boxes - Brita filter meet Goldfish food!

After I finished mixing canned goods and butane fluid I packed up the Civic and drove to my new home. I dropped Lula off and went to explore, I was eyeing the El Salvadorean panaderia across the street when I smelled onions grilling. I actually did one of those lame double takes, and stopped dead in my tracks. The ever illusive and oft dreamed about was staring me in the face.

Tamara’s waist line meet The Dirty Dog.

A dirty dog, for those of you from the wrong coast, is a street dog cooked on a makeshift and highly illegal grill, wrapped in bacon and served with grilled onions and peppers and a grilled chilé. I got mine with everything. Which means mayo, mustard and ketchup and maybe a little crack cocaine.

The perfect first meal at my new perfect home.

I love it here. Sweet dreams.

Edited to fix Kristin’s name spelling, apparently I am about as hung over as you would imagine.

Despite the risk of sounding like an alcoholic with bad vision, I’m going to tell you about last night.

I can’t remember who linked to her, or how I stumbled upon her blog, but about 4 years ago I started reading the now defunct Debaucherous and Disheveled. Kristin talked about her travels to Belize and in a post that she removed moments after I read it, she opened up about something in her personal life that struck a cord with me and I was hooked.

She was in town on business last night and we got together for some cocktails, also joining us was Hilary from Superfluous Juxtaposition. When I say “some” cocktails, it’s safe to round that number up. No, round up higher. Yeah. I think 4 dirty martinis are suitable for a girl who has been through a rough month and who is bravely (thinking about crying) facing her 32nd birthday (it’s Sunday for those keeping track) with her chin up.

I know this is because we’ve been reading each other for so long, but I felt completely comfortable and like Kristin wasn’t some random stranger off the internet. She felt like an old friend. The kind that lets you tear up about your ex-boyfriend and can comfortably segue into talk about man boobs, flashers and skunk attacks.

We leaned over and asked the couple at a table next to us if they would take our picture and they happily agreed. The man asked, “What are you celebrating?” We all sort giggled and looked down at the table and it was either Kristin or Hilary who said, “Being big dorks.”

Kristin called her strange Lithuanian cabbie to come pick her up and I was about to stumble back up the street to my apartment but she insisted I should get a ride. I finally gave in and 2 seconds later, bumbled into my apartment, slammed into a box I had conveniently left right in the middle of my usual path to the light and fell down. I have two matching shin bruises and a goose egg on my left leg. It’s pretty much the way I like to end a lovely night, embarrassing myself with no one around to see me fall.

My current obsession is with finding a bed skirt that doesn’t suck, isn’t ugly and won’t show Lula hair. I should be worrying about the fact that my apartment continues to remain about 40 per cent packed, even though I keep packing more boxes, it stays only 40 per cent complete. Don’t ask how I figured it out, but there are measurements I have been doing in my head and from the outside my apartment looks one size, but once inside I have a whole House of Leaves situation going on.

I almost spent $200 on a rug on my lunch break the other day. $200 that I don’t really have. Thankfully sanity prevailed and that non-existent $200 is still in my ’savings account.’ Other things I have considered buying but have not purchased - a blender, a non-ugly filing cabinet, salmon cream cheese (I’m still regretting not buying it), a new comforter, ten donuts.

I burnt the shit out of a bag of popcorn on Monday night, filling the entire (old) apartment with smoke, nary a smoke alarm went off, triggering my newest phobia of burning up in a fire. Reading Triangle really did a number on me. Moving into a building with a rickety old fire escape within jumping distance of my 2nd floor window has done little to allay my fears. As Allie and I looked at the apartment, I grilled her about the likely hood of my survival if I jumped from the window when the apartment caught on fire. We considered the ledge, and the fire escape. We talked about the trees that may or may not cushion my fall. It was a very serious discussion punctuated only by my nervous laughter. Most likely, in our estimation, I might break a leg, but would survive. Lula on the other hand, is a goner.

I am finally getting rid of the disgusting wind breaker jacket that I’ve had since my backpacking trip across Eastern Europe in the summer of 1994. I decided that since I would never wear it again for fear of the smell from that trip returning, it’s time some kid at Goodwill has a crack at it. I’m also parting ways with the sleeping bag from that trip (ew) and the ‘backless’ bra that was so unflattering I should have just gone without. Things I’m still not sure I can give up - my 16mm split reel (that I will never have cause to use, but reminds me of film school), the Tiffany Elsa Peretti heart necklace that Louie gave me and I tried to give back to him the morning he broke up with me and he either forgot it or left it on purpose, and all of the stuff that’s in my Grandma’s cedar chest - I just can’t bring myself to part with the baby booties my Dad wore and the teddy bear he hugged. Also in that chest is my Grandma’s pit-stained wedding dress (she was tiny, but sweat like a good Hendrickson) and a fur collar she took out of a long-gone jacket.

My only consolation during this move is that I somehow have 2 bags of chocolate chips in my cupboard that I am allowing myself to eat. I feel like I deserve them.

I can’t believe the stuff people will buy, and the prices they will or will not pay for said stuff.  Humans are so weird.  I love it.

Yesterday, I had a yard sale and made enough to make it worth my while, add to that the money I made from selling some of my furniture through Craigslist and wow, I am not quite so broke at the moment.  It’s a nice feeling. Which means, I have enough money to pay for some really reasonably priced movers, and still some left over.  I’m thrilled.  Mostly because I have never had someone else move my shit for me.  I have lugged that queen sized mattress for the last time, same goes for the fridge.  I almost cried when I found out Allie had good affordable awesome people move her stuff for her.  I feel so grown up.

Last night, Allie and I went to my apartment and we measured the snot out of it.  It is small and has some awkward features, but I sense it and Allie sensed it - the energy is good there.  It feels right.  I know that sounds like some hippy-dippy bullshit, but I feel good there.

This week is going to be a tough one for me, the internet is off at the house starting tonight, I have a ton of packing and an even bigger ton of stuff to go through and rid myself of.  I don’t know why I’m holding onto some of the papers I have in my filing cabinet, or why there are 30 copies of my thesis film on VHS sitting in a storage bin (I guess I thought people would watch it?) but the new place is a no-Tamara-trash-zone so I have some serious cuts to make.

Lula is pretty sure she’s getting abandoned every time I leave the house, so that has me a little stressed out, what with the peeing at the bottom of the stairs and the scratching wildly at the door the minute I leave.  I think I might have to give her some of the drugs I have left from her first month of separation anxiety madness.  Poor thing.

I don’t have much else to say, I have some funny stories to tell but don’t have the energy right now, so I’ll save them for later.  Or forget.  One or the other.

Moving day is Saturday.  Wish me luck.

Carletta tagged me, and I have to do what Carletta asks.

Here’s the rule: Remove 1 question from below, and add in your personal question, make it a total of 20 questions, then tag 8-10 people in your list, list them out at the end of this post. Notify them in their chat box that he/she has been tagged. [ed. note - I have no idea what a chat box even is, so, I’m guessing… I’m too old for this meme.]

1. At what age do you wish to marry?
I think there was a time in my teens when I thought old ladies of 23 should be married. hahahaha. I’m looking down the barrel of 32 and see no marriage in sight. I kind of think I might never be married, and I’m totally OK with that.

2. What color do you like most?
I’m drawn to heather grey, charcoal grey and most natural greens, that is, greens you would see in actual nature.

3. Where is the place that you want to go the most?
I long to spend another vacation on the beach in Tulum. That place holds some serious good vibes for me. But I think if I were to go somewhere new, it would be either Belize or China.

4. Which part of you do you hate the most?
God, I hate my ass and thighs, always have.

5. Where will you be in 10 years?

I have no idea, but I seriously hope it involves laying on a coral sand beach with a margarita in one hand and a book in the other.

6. What are you afraid to lose the most?
My sanity. Crazy runs in my family.

7. If you win $1 million, what would you do?
Make my movie.
8. What’s your wish for the year ahead?
Try a little harder, and hopefully progress in my career.

9. How did you celebrate the New Year?
Champagne, karaoke and Tia Tequila’s MTV bash. It was perfect.

10. Till now, what is the moment that you regret the most?
I seriously don’t regret things, seeing everything as meant to be or as lesson I was meant to learn, but not trying harder in my relationship is a big regret for me.

11. Which type of person do you hate the most?
Nihilists.

12. What is your ambition?
To make movies that people love.

13. If you had one wish what would you wish for?
To know the answer. Wait, I know the answer is 42, I want to know the question!

14. Name one of your body part your hubby or boyfriend tells you he adores:
Ouch. I’m so totally single. I have no idea.

15. What is the best gift you can give someone this year?
My point of view. I can be serious, I can be funny, I can be honest, I can be brutal - I hope I’ll give people the right thing at the right time.

16. List two of your Top Ten New Year’s Resolutions.
Try harder is my only resolution.
17. What do you need to do this year in order for you to be happier in life?
Try harder.
18. What are the Top 2 things that you are most thankful for the year 2007 that made you even more happier for 2008?
2007 was probably the hardest year I’ve had since grad school, I think someday I’ll look back and be thankful for the car crash and the break-up, but right now I’m just glad the whole year is over.

19. What was the best lesson you learned in 2007 (be specific)?
Relationships can end at any moment, and you must handle those difficult situations with as much grace as you can. Even if that tiny bit of civility is all you can muster, you must.

20. In this very moment, are you doing what you thought you’d be doing at this stage in your life?

Nope. I seriously thought I would have a house, kids, a yard, and a ‘career.’ 32 was seriously old and boring when I was a teen. I had no idea I would still be having so much fun.

I’m supposed to tag people, but I don’t know, I feel a little stubborn about that, so I’m going to not tag anyone. I’m way too drunk right now.

I don’t know if it’s superstition or the break-up or laziness, but I didn’t want to make a long list of resolutions this year.  There are a lot of specific things I want to accomplish, but those are just the big, daunting, somewhat tedious items on my to-do list.  The one thing I’ve been thinking about most is why my relationship failed, why I’m still not achieving the level of success in my off-line writing I thought I would be achieving by now and why I’m still 10 pounds away from my ever changing goal weight.  And the answer is not a pleasant one.

I’ve spent most of my life doing the minimum.  This is what happens when you’re told you’re smart for most of your habit forming years.  Instead of telling me that if I worked hard I would be able to get the things I wanted, I was told I was smart, I would be OK.  “You’re smart, you’ll figure out a way to get that 20 page paper done by tomorrow that you’ve known about for 3 months.”  Guess what, I always got it done.  I always spent the entire semester dreading that final weekend before it was due, but never got off my ass and did the research.  So here I am, approaching 32 and I’m still cramming for life.  Here’s the thing, you can’t cram for your relationship, you have to do the work every day.  You can’t cram for your screenplay, you have to sit your ass in the chair and write.  You can’t cram for weight loss, you have to - well, you get the point.

So, on December 17th, 2007, my world got flipped around, I’m starting over and instead of making a grand sweeping change that is sure to be given up on in one month - like RUN EVERY DAY OR DIE - I’m resolving to ‘try a little harder.’  It sounds so simple and maybe it’s too simple, but so far it’s working.  All I have to do to keep this resolution is ask myself a couple times a day, “Did you try a little harder, can you do a little more?”  And if I say yes I can try a little harder, I can do a little more - I run a little faster, I add an extra set of push-ups, I write a few more pages.  Generally, I’m only asking the question if I know I can try a little harder, but it helps to have the extra push even if it comes from me.

I expect to resist this in a few months, I expect to get to a point where I want to tell myself to shut up, but one aspect of my personality that I shove in the corner most days is a supreme level of stubbornness.  I am a stubborn mother-fucker, and I mean to get the most out of that.  At least, I’ll try to.

She was the Front Desk Supervisor at the first hotel I worked at in Minneapolis. Her hair style was quintessential Minnesota - permed, mid-neck length, and always kind of wispy and limp. She hated conflict, so would passive aggressively write memos to the whole front desk staff (all 5 of us). The one thing a FDS has to be good at, is facing conflict. It is not the job for someone who hates being yelled at. I hated many things about this woman, but it was always her hair that annoyed me the most. I guess because it reminded me of what I had to look forward to if I stayed on the road I was trudging down.

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This post is part of the x365 project.

I’m having a little bit of a minor freak out.  I signed my lease last night, and measured the apartment.

Boy is it small.  And has awkward angles and a heater that ruins the place I would put my bed, and I am worried.  I have to get rid of so much more stuff than I previously imagined.  Somehow I made the space way bigger in my head than it actually was.  Somehow?  I know exactly how.  I brainwashed myself into thinking moving from a gigantic two bedroom with a balcony and more storage space than I deserved to a studio was going to be OK.  I brainwashed myself because I need a fresh start, a start that I can afford, and now I am freaked out.  I don’t think I can keep the toy box that my uncle made for me when I was a little kid, or the little school desk that I took when my parents sold their house, or even my desk.

On the scale of things that should worry me this is not that big a deal.  I said last night to Catherine, no one ever died from getting rid of their stuff.  These are just things.  I can’t take them with me, but that doesn’t mean I will forget that my uncle made me a toy box when I was a baby.  Or that my mom had a school desk that she put in the hall of the house she designed with my dad.  Or that my friends gave me their couch when I needed a couch.

I’m thrilled with the apartment, it’s a design challenge but I am up for it.  I’ll show you pictures when I get the keys on Sunday.

She was not the cool teacher to get for 1st grade, everyone wanted Mrs. Curry.  I got Mrs. Bowman.  Every piece of skin that peeked out from her clothing was wrinkly and wattlely.  She was a little deaf so she could never hear my answers.  I had a hard time transitioning into sitting  in a desk and waiting for specific times to sharpen my pencil having come directly from the free-for-all known as Montessori school.  She didn’t like it when I referred to my Montessori teachers by their first names. We weren’t a good fit.

It wasn’t until much later that I learned his name was more commonly a girl’s name, to me it always stood for the first boy I caught and kissed while playing kiss tag in first grade. My crush on him that first few months of my transition to Camp Verde was epic. I was kind of disappointed he didn’t come to our class reunion.

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This post is part of the x365 project.