On a general kick to the stomach

My workday started out most peacefully, and held its promise through a farewell lunch for a colleague. I ate a salad for lunch and passed on fajitas. I've never felt so strong.

Until I returned to the office to be confronted by the mother from hell.

She was waiting for me, alongside her silent but strong (perhaps) husband, and I'm not certain how long she'd sat watching the door awaiting my return. There was validity to the gripe she had, but it was her approach and confrontation that left me fighting every instinct in my body that simply did not want to help her. It's days like this that representing something larger than yourself becomes really difficult. It would have felt so much better to just pull her hair. Hard.

Her daughter's housing? Messed up. Her course registration prior to that? The information never arrived. All because of an alleged error my office made. Could she be right? Absolutely. Could she be lying through her teeth? Just as likely. Is it interesting that these scenarios were just being brought to my attention? Two weeks after room assignments and four weeks after course registration? Most definitely.

I tried to listen. I tried to reason. I confess I got defensive from time to time, but was able to recover every time as well. And I took the blame for it all and asked that she focus her energy on me and not my colleagues. I was committed to earning her trust again and we were going to make it right. Eventually, I calmed her down. As for me? That took a little longer.

I have little to no tolerance for dealing with ridiculous people. And I can be ridiculous and emotional from time to time, but rarely without some sort of basis for my frustration and never with rejection of well intentioned people who hope to help somehow.

I guess it started with her refusal to accept the upcoming complete resolution to the problem at hand. She simply refused to wait for it. She and her husband are too busy and don't have the luxury of time. And I guess it's was when she made a point of saying her daughter, as a full paying student, deserved better treatment than the scholarship winner who was sitting next to her in waiting area of our office. "It's how the world works," she said, "We're PAYING for this. She (pointing to the girl in the waiting area) is not. We deserve better treatment. " I once again took responsibility for the error, but rejected her insistence that we treat scholarship winners differently from full pays. "I won't do that," I said. She smirked at my statement.

"And just how DO you put an only child in this situation?" At that point, I was pleased to share that as an only child myself, the status does not beg collegiate dysfunction. And I proudly stared at her in silence when she confessed she really wasn't there for her daughter. She was there for her. As the situation we've put her in is one she doesn't have time for and neither does her husband. Again, I just stared. How interesting to come in professing a crusade for your child, only to confess that really, all along, it's always been about just you.


When I called my colleague to relay the information, it was simply the second of two major hits he'd take that day. Another came from a father, who approached him after a presentation.

"How dare you set my son up to fail," the father said to my colleague.

"Sir?"

"How dare you match my son with two black kids. You're setting him up to fail."

Once my colleague got over the initial shock of the statement, he told the father he was operating on a gross and inaccurate assumption. He also shared that our process does not factor in race.

"Well, you should have been able to tell they were black from their names," the father replied.

Upon describing the alternative situation, what if a black student was paired with two white roommates, would he have the same fear, the father replied, "It's what they have to deal with. All their lives. It's what they're used to."

For the past couple of years, intolerance has become a bigger and bigger issue as students prepare to matriculate in the fall. Last summer I had two angry phone calls from parents whose sons were matched with gay male roommates. I simply don't know where its coming from and it breaks my heart.

Shouldn't this be the generation that bleeds tolerance, respect and diversity? How are we regressing? Or is it that people simply no longer feel censored to express such opinions?

And the entitlement. It gets worse all the time. Granted, our education is an expensive one, but it's also not a stay at The Four Seasons. And it's hard to argue community needs in the "Look at Me" Generation. One that thrives on Facebook and a collection of self-portraits taken with a digital camera.

40 minutes total - 9 hours ago - and I can't stop thinking about it.

Am I getting too old for this?

On goodbye yellow brick road...

I just filled two boxes with books I intend to leave behind. Finding a new apartment and wrapping your head around yet another move will do that to you.

My guy and I ventured to Raleigh on Friday with two missions: 1) Fill out his paperwork for grad school and 2) Find a place to live. Mission(s) Accomplished! And no, this is not coming you you live from a carrier and no, I don't have a banner in the backdrop. And, no, I don't quite have a job just yet, but we had to get my guy set up either way. Now I'm simply left to stare at my cell phone while hitting refresh on my email waiting, waiting, waiting to hear from my super important interview from last week. (pause). Sorry, had to hit refresh again.

We actually found our new place on Friday night. We intended to spend all day Saturday looking around, but once we arrived at our 5th stop of the first evening and realized it was everything we could possibly want, we dropped off our application Saturday morning. We were pretty much giddy walking out of the place, so it really was a no brainer. The rest of Saturday was spent bumming around downtown and campus and getting home a couple of hours earlier than expected. Not so bad at all.

We're downgrading to a one bedroom, but that probably makes a great deal of sense as we transition to a one income family, for the most part. Plus, though many of our friends and family claim they can't wait to visit, we can't quite imagine we'll be hosting any more folks than we saw when we lived in DC - a city with a lot more to do than Raleigh and with three major airports and Amtrak serving the area. We know you really think you're going to visit and we really appreciate it. But, we're also realists. The air mattress will do for the few, the proud, and the brave who venture our way.

We couldn't be more excited about the apartment. My guy's commute, and my potential commute, are a breeze at about 10 minutes maximum. Our balcony faces a lovely wooded area with a pond in the complex, a complex that is brand new and within spitting distance of every store or restaurant you can possibly think of. We're within walking distance of a Harris Teeter, and the development has a lovely gym, ample parking, and no enclosed staircases, resulting in a smaller chance of stairwell sex. It's been a problem with our neighbors as of late. And my fingers are crossed but, from the looks of the place, I'm guessing there won't be a need for a "crack clause", as I like to call it, in the lease. Our current lease does have a whole section devoted to a scout's honor to not sell, distribute or do drugs on the property. A final good sign? The state trooper car that's constantly parked out front belongs to a resident. The lights aren't typically flashing, unlike our current situation. ACES! Nevertheless, I did insist on an upper level unit, in an homage to my street smarts.

My guy and I made a promise to each other to do the mother of all purges of our collective crap, ahem, possessions long before we agreed to get a one bedroom, but now it's simply necessary. As the friends who helped us with our last move can attest, we have WAY too much stuff. And, really, they only helped with my portion of the move. But living on your own for the last 9 years (not counting college) can result in some major gathering. It's what we women do, after all. Still, it was painful to move last time and painful to watch our helpers. I'm committed to getting it under control.

But it makes me so sad to let go of books. They're the notches on the bedpost of my intellect! I adore looking over my bookshelves and taking in this impressive sample of what I've read. I also just love how books look; simple, sophisticated and a decorative insight into the mind of the owner. Nevertheless, they serve no real purpose and I will never pick them up again. Well, except to move apartments. And I can find new homes for them where they will be loved and cared for and perhaps passed on from there to another exciting destination.

So what's getting cut?

My Bill Bryson collection - ouch. This hurts. A lot.
Bridget Jones 1 and 2, The Nanny Diaries and any other chick lit that is required reading for lady singletons in their twenties. Good riddance. A long time coming... really.
Various undergraduate and graduate required reading. Ok, not all of it. But I'm down to two from undergrad and about five from grad.
Anything written by Maria Shriver meant to inspire me.
And on and on and on..

So what stays?
Whatever is left that I haven't read.
Ripley Bogle - my favorite book from my London Study Abroad experience. The trip that taught me how to be a scholar and opened up my eyes to a whole new world.
Troilus and Criseyde and The Canterbury Tales - they made me fall in love with the English major.
Grad school classics - Higher Education Law and the Black-White Test Score gap. You can borrow them if you promise to give them back.
The Position - a good read, nothing memorable, but the first book my guy ever gave me.
A Prayer for Owen Meany stays too. My favorite John Irving book. I introduced Irving's writing to my guy with this one and I'm pretty sure he loved me a little more for the experience of it.
The Red Tent - responsible for taking me out of a reading rut and making me appreciate religion again.
Art History books - yes they're heavy, but they're also my brother.
The Little Prince - for religious purposes.

Neither list is exhaustive. And I'm sure some of the cuts will make their way back to the shelf before all is said and done. Purge number 2 of my clothes and shoes will come next, followed by my excessive coffee mug collection. Note: I completed purge number one months ago on the shoes and clothes, and yet the bags STILL remain in my apartment. Methinks that's not the best sign for really letting go.

On protection...

I think I have ADD.

Lately, I find I can't concentrate on one task for much longer than a few minutes. I feel like Mozilla Firefox is, in part, to blame. This multiple tab business invites major multi-tasking, and is all too enabling with my rapid-fire thought process. Currently, I have my two e-mail account tabs open, facebook, mycokerewards.com, a bridesmaid dress site, my blog stats and my blog itself. My wedding spreadsheet is also on the ready, and I just added new pictures to a flash drive for our digital photo frame. Here's a sampling of the brain sparklers from earlier today:

I should check for more jobs in Raleigh.

Maybe I should rethink the wedding colors. Should they match the reception room instead?

I need to outline my presentation for next week's interview.

Where will we live in Raleigh?

Did I ever book that meeting space?

Please note that any rapid fire thought occurring at work that is actually related to my current job didn't enter in until number 5. I will be found out any day now, I'm just sure of it.

Now that my bridal party is lined up, I've invited a lot of wardrobe questions. As such, a visit to dessy.com includes an invitation to read more about A Brides Guide to Bridesmaids. I was told by a former colleague today she'd be more than happy to send along her "How to Make Your Bridesmaids Happy" tips, as she is a recent disgruntled b-maid courtesy of her bridezilla now sister-in-law.

I have no interest in pissing off my bridesmaids, and I've been on the organizing end of enough events to have an understanding of the fact that NOTHING actually goes off without a hitch. Rolling with the punches is essential. It's my hope to bring that and a healthy dose of open mindedness to all things related to this event, but to my bridal party in particular.

Upon perusal of the Brides Guide to Bridesmaids, I clicked on A Brief History and learned the following:

The history of the bridesmaid varies across cultures, religions and time periods. In early Roman times, bridesmaids formed a kind of bridal infantry as they accompanied the bride to the groom's village. This "protective shield" of similarly outfitted bridesmaids was supposed to intervene if any wayward thugs or vengeful suitors tried to hurt the bride or steal her dowry.

This changes everything.

I am suddenly way too excited by the options for wardrobe. A bridal infantry? My wedding is going to kick ass. Swords covered in flowers, shields with delicate etchings and suits of armor. Then I don't need to hear anyone bitch about an unflattering style or color. Huzzah!

Or perhaps we should go Kill Bill style. Yellow jump suits, ninja garb or school girl uniforms with morning stars.

Like I said, the options are endless.

Gotta go. I need to get these girls signed up for martial arts classes.

On traditions...

I just spent three days back home in Maine. It was honestly the perfect amount of time. I stopped just short of boredom and was able to hit the brakes to a screeching halt before complete irritation with my mother set in. That's probably not entirely true to form, however, as just 1 day and overnight was devoted to her. Oh well, I'll take it either way.

With every trip home I'm typically dismayed by the increasing lack of connection I feel to the place. This is always disconcerting to me, as I credit Maine for shaping who I am and wonder what deeper meaning such disconnection may actually mean. Nevertheless, I was much more focused on how relaxed I felt during this trip. Deeply and utterly chill. Perhaps because I got an excellent bite in my job search, perhaps because the upcoming changes in my life, while major, seem to be all for the good and taking most favorable turns. Perhaps it was because the number of life changes going on gave everyone plenty of topic for conversation and the emptiness of awkward silences made fewer appearances, leaving me less pressured to fill them.

I was also struck by the family traditions that were able to seep through despite such a short window of time. Most of our traditions revolve around food, though little of it is prepared ourselves:

* The two dinners with dad were spent at Bugaboo Creek and Ricetta's. It's been many years since we stepped foot in a restaurant together that didn't involve a talking mechanical moose or pizza.
* Mom made popovers the morning after our lobster dinner. Even though I bought the lobsters for her belated birthday dinner, I made her cook them (aka, plunge them into hot boiling water to their hellish demise). I am a despicable daughter.
* Family dinner at my uncle's. This time, traditional sarcasm was served alongside a delicious cookout.

Other traditions? SPORTS! Red Sox, Celtics, US Open Golf. Constantly. And when I fell asleep during the Celtics game, my father continued the tradition of posting the final score on the bathroom door so it was the first thing I saw when I woke up.

I laughed out loud. That's a personal favorite.

Oh, and there were plenty of tears, as is tradition. Really, it's not as bad as it sounds. My dad and I just get into these reflective conversations and one of us always manages to lose our cool. If anyone ever wonders why I'm such an emotional bugger, they can blame my dad. Simultaneously one of the toughest guys I know and the weepiest bloke in the world when it comes to me and inspirational sports stories. My father broke down talking about both Jon Lester's no hitter and his regret that his parents never got to see everything I achieved . Seriously, I never had a shot a emotional normalcy. And don't get me started on the waterworks endured due to Tim Russert's passing. An Irish Catholic whose son just graduated BC? He was basically family.

Accents. One of my most endearing (or most annoying, depending on who you are) attributes is how I pick up whatever accent I'm around. This should be particularly funny once I make my move down Raleigh way, but I always fall a little bit in love with the slightest Maine accent I take on when I'm home. Never in front of my mother, of course, who forbade me to have one, but around my dad and his side of the family, convenience store clerks, you name it.

Finally, whenever I'm back home, I'm always reminded of just where I got my kindness from. My apologies if that sounds egotistical, but the fact that I'm apologizing for it shows you I'm not all that bad. From the TSA employees to the restaurant host to my family. People just go out of their way to make you feel welcome there, and perhaps that is the most important general lesson I've ever taken from the place and one I never hope to lose. I'm often saddened by the general lack of kindness I feel from people, and not just strangers, but those to whom I'm be introduced by a friend or colleague. People just don't go out of their way for what isn't directly relevant to them. And I guess there's nothing wrong with that. But there's something about a general kindness of strangers that always puts a spring in my step. And if I'm introduced to you by a friend or colleague, I'm going to go out of my way to get to know you a little. Sure, maybe this will be the first and last time that I will ever see you, but that doesn't make the impression I leave with you any less important. After all, maybe our paths will cross again. Still, even if they don't, I owe it to the person introducing us to give you my best. That alone is enough for me.

And even if you're just seating me at a restaurant, I know we have the power to set the tone for each other's next few hours. Quite frankly, I want no part in being the catalyst to your crappy shift.

Good food, kindness, emotion, sports and accents. Maybe my next trip home won't take so long to happen next time.

So... what's new?

As I write this blog, I have a tail tucked between my legs as punishment for my negligence to cyberspace rants and realizations. Of course, the closest tail I could find was on one of the feral cats that lives outside of my apartment building. I wish he'd stop hissing and trying to get away. Some animals just don't understand the importance of sincere gestures.

So it's been a while. The thing is, I have a lot going on in my world right now. But it's okay. It's a family tradition, really. Why engage in one or even two major life changes when you can indulge in three at the same time?

My job search (and the relocation it requires) continues, with some progress. A phone interview last week, another for a different job this week, and a face to face for last week's phone interview about to be scheduled. I also continue to be mishandled by a university not to be named who may or may not be interested based on a variety of factors, such as : 1) how much money I'm willing to not make 2) how much of a title downgrade I can swallow and 3) the stages of the moon. Still, there does appear to be a light at the end of the job tunnel, and my fingers are triple crossed for this week's phone interview. Wish me luck.

Oh, and I got engaged.

My guy popped the question the Friday before Memorial Day. Before you curse me for waiting so long to tell you, dear blog, understand that there is a frenzy that follows such an announcement. For example, I may actually come close to my monthly allotment of cell phone minutes for May and June! And for as much fun as people make of me for being a) so "on the ball" with planning or b) so freakishly obsessed with planning, it's amazing how much people expect you to have figured out within the 24 hours post-proposal. Really, I'm just trying to determine a budget with what I've done so far, but it's incredible how far down Alice's wedding planning hole that can inadvertently take you.

The few days following my engagement were probably the happiest days of my life. I hate how anti-feminist that sounds, but it's true; there really was magic in the air. And there continues to be, don't get me wrong. I fall more in love with him every day, and perhaps that is how we know it's the real thing. His one major fault, as far as I can determine, is his whacked perspective regarding the size of my fingers. While friends would describe them as thin and delicate, his choice of ring size assumes sausage fingers. As such, I have been without my lovely ring for almost a week as it endures band liposuction. I could try to convince you of the fact that I don't desperately miss it, but I'm a horrible liar.

With every passing day, I am reminded of what a remarkable human being my guy is. Oh, pardon me, my fiance is! He is the type of person you always want around: smart, hilarious, humble and kind. He is the type of person who can't help but make you a better person, professional or friend. He's someone whose person, heart and standards I never want to let down. He's someone who believes in the benefit of the doubt. He quietly makes sure I don't let my Irish temper get the best of me with Jedi mind trick mastery. He has a smile that commands mine in return. I don't understand what I ever did to convince this gem of a man to sign on for the long run, but I will strive to replicate it again and again and again.

We're both children of divorced parents who never remarried. The bizarre logistics of that reality in wedding planning, by the way, are well worth their own blog entry, but that is for another time. As he got down on his knee and offered me the ring, once I accepted and wiped away my first round of tears, I placed my hands on his shoulders and promised him, "I will always give you my best." He promised me the same. We don't enter this next stage lightly. We enter it with the understanding there are both joys and sorrows, highs and lows that are to come. Nevertheless, there is no one whose hand I would rather hold or whose side I would rather stand by.

Thank you for keeping me silly, my sweet. I love you back.