Merry Christmas from Essex Junction

Where the hell is Essex Junction? Admittedly I didn't know until recently but its a small town near a slighly larger yet still small town called Burlington here in VT. Its great to be here. And by great I mean disconcerting. And by disconcerting I mean absolutely strange.

Don't get me wrong - I've been waiting for months to get to VT. Only now that I'm here I feel strangely disconnected. I don't know anybody. I can't remember how to get to the grocery store. There is snow on the ground but its 50 degrees out. Just a strange turn of events from the girl who until last week was a high-tech employee in CA.

I've been here 5 days and have watched an unforgiveable amount of TV. Course in addition to being jobless and friendless, I'm actually carless. Presumably prefering the more temperate climate my car has decided to stay in CA. Well not exactly true but it has yet to be picked up by the shipping company so my only mode of transportation is feet.

And yes, the REAL reason I'm here is of course my beloved fiance Frenchie. He is a doll and is doing his best to entertain. But I think I still need a little time to adjust through the strange feeling of not belonging here...

damnit

I was all prepared to leave my job at the end of January. Till my boss offered the chance to work remotely, "indefinitely." All of a sudden, Frenchie and I were a dual income household, one that could afford things like new garage door openers and drapes. Mentally my contuned and unexpected income was already spent.

Until today when he called to let me know that he had mispoke.

Ugh.

Such Strange Circumstances

So many strange things have happened in the past few weeks I'm at a loss as to where to begin.

Good Strange
My friends threw me a surprise wedding shower 2 weeks ago! I suppose this may not strike some as qualifying as particularly bizarre, but I had never imagined myself as the girl with the phallic deeliepoppers drinking Champaign while my friends extolled the virtues of a particular brand of lubricant. The party started with the obligated shower activities like pin the whazzits on the thatzit but quickly degenerated into the most solidly enjoyable drunken allnighter that I've enjoyed in years.

Around 6:00 am we had the bright idea to make some herbal tea trusting that a cup or two of Chinese flowers would be more than adequate to make up for the past 8 hours of excess. Sadly this wasn't the case but in hindsight, you have to applaud the logic.

Bad Strange
The Ex of my Ex who I have never met sent me an email this week. They started dating soon after the end of our long and mutually excruciating breakup. Unfortunately she was the rebound girl who wanted to be the girlfriend. I don't know the specifics but apparently their 2 year on/off relationship was defined by hopeful enthusiasm on her part matched by neglectful apathy on his. Needless to say this has left her feeling a bit down about the whole experience.

Her letter however, was to apologize for the fact that she now believes my Ex and I were still together at the time they started dating. However I'm fairly sure this is not the case. What's worse is that I'm fairly certain that the reason she believes this is that in actuality, he and I flirted with getting back together while THEY were dating. We didn't. We were both too bruised by the angst and heartache of the breakup. But given her email, I'm fairly certain she would be less than delighted to know that he and I were still circling about each other while they were dating.

Also,if he HAD cheated (which I can't entirely rule out), it would have been over 2 years ago yet for some reason she now felt the need to unburden and make amends. Why now? Maybe it is genuine guilt. Although I suspect, as they broke up 6 months ago and apparently she is still mourning the loss, it has more to do with her desire to still feel connected to him. And that perhaps being connected to me would help on that front. Who knows.

I haven't written back yet but I will. When I figure out what to say.

What the Man Says....

Well my boss initially seemed quite keen on finding a way to keep me on board. Then this morning the VP of Marketing came by to suggest a resource for people navigating career changes. This was predicated on the belief that I would need to change careers to find a position in VT as presumably I will need a new job. This seems to be a strong indication that decisions at the executive suite aren't going as I might have hoped.

C'est la vies.

On a completely different note, I had a horrendous run in with a sort-of friend this weekend. The sort-of friend is someody that I was really good friends with when we first met but that that initial pop of friendship has waned over the years into a lingering relationship that exists primarily as a nod to the fact that she was very supportive when I went through a painful breakup 2 years ago. It is a strange phenomenon that has kept us together this long. A relationship driven primarily by guilt and a sense of obligation.

She was the friend that was nutty but you sort-of overlooked the nuttiness of this sort-of friend trying to chalk it up to being quirky instead of raw insanity. Well she unleashed her raw insanity on me Friday night and it was U-G-L-Y. It was one of those scenes I wouldn't have believed could actually happen outside of the Jerry Springer studio. Something so out of hand that I can't find the words to describe it other than to say I hope to never witness anything like it ever again.

On the upside, I won't have to maintain the sort-of friendship any longer. Which after all this time, comes as more of a relief than I would have expected.

Good News!

Well despite my alarming stress-induced boil and loud misgivings, I managed to spill the beans to the boss this morning.

I was surprised and hopeful by his response. It was simply this, "What do you want?" Well I want to keep my job, salary, benefits, move to VT and continue to work here but have absolutely no expectation of that being a reasonable request. So I asked, "What do YOU want?"

"I want you to stay on the project."

OK its not a guarantee but its about 1,000% more positive than the response I had been prepared for. I didn't even think that full time remote employment was even within the realm of possibility. So now I'm all giddy and excited. Maybe I won't end up managing an Olive Garden after all.

Tomorrow 10:00 AM PST

Tomorrow I have a meeting with my boss. I actually like him. He leaves me alone, helps when I ask for it, and is generally supportive. All of these things are rare.

Tomorrow I'm supposed to tell him that Jan 2 is my last day. There has been much debate among my friends as to if this is too much notice. But I'm leaving him in a bad spot and I wouldn't feel right about waiting much longer. Also I won't know if I'll be allowed to work remotely until I come clean about my plan to flee the scene. And plus, sneaky just isn't my thing.

So I've been waiting for this day for MONTHS. And yet as the clock winds down to our meeting, I'm feeling increasingly unsettled about it. I have butterflies. I'm distracted. And the little pimple on my cheek has expanded to a full boil. At this rate I fear its simply pausing on the path to growing into a fully formed second head. And there is a little voice inside my head (or maybe it is the growing consciousness of what will soon be my second head) saying, "Wait."

Unfortunately I can't tell if this is a wise voice that I should listen to or simply the voice of fear of the unknown.

The longer I wait, the less I look like a team player. The less I look like a team player, the less likely he is to go to bat for me to work remotely.

The longer I wait the more painful it will be for him when I give notice, the more negotiating leverage I have.

The sooner I give notice the sooner I can stop feeling guilty about not giving notice.

The sooner I give notice the sooner I can "work from home" to actually spend some time in VT with Frenchie.

The sooner I give notice the sooner I can find out if I need to find a new job in VT or will be able to keep my own.

Thoughts? Hmmm....

Happy Halloween

A good if largely unsatisfying weekend.

Frenchie came to town which is always a mixed blessing. As desperate as I am to see him, his departure leaves me feeling hollow and lost. Two more months - I'll manage. But I'm feeling frayed by our distant homeless lifestyle.

He also had his first American Halloween, complete with costume party, costume, brain-shaped jello molds, etc. He was adorable as Pepe le Pew. I sadly was a bit less exciting as "nameless cat" or "Object of Pepe's desire."

It was a lovely party but it was yet another example of the fact that I have reached the Age of the Crossroads. When in your 20's a party invitation is unquestionably an invitation to hang with other 20 year olds who will be imbibing heavily. The odds of seeing some mismatched pair making out behind the ficus tree are high. And you don't plan on leaving the party before midnight. As you creep into your late 20's the basic party math stays the same only the odds of the hookup behind the tree decrease and the odds that most of the party guests will COME as couples increases.

Somewhere in the early 30's the party scene takes a subtle but unambiguous turn. Specifically, people start bringing children. And there is nothing like awkwardly downing an Irish Car Bomb under the unwavering gaze of a sober 10 year old to make you realize that its time for the have and the have nots (kids) to diverge socially for a while.

Then on Sunday we had a slightly hungover soccer game where the upper division league champs handed us our asses on a platter. I expected to loose. But I don't know what hurt more, the 0:3 score or their happy laughter as they blithly lobbed shot after shot at our poor and largely undefended goalie. Ugh.

5 days till D-day (I give notice at work on Friday).

Another Option

What if I just move to VT with Frenchie, skip the whole career path, get knocked up and do the housewife thing. Personally I think I would love it.

My fear is that I know dropping out of the workforce has the same effect of buying a new car - your resale value drops the minute you drive off the lot. And when the day comes to re-enter the rat race, it can be a real uphill climb.

Hmmmm....me a housewife?

Door # 3

A friend was bitching at work today. Only today was different. Today the bitching bothered me. Because it was combined with apathy. And it got me thinking.

I think you have a few choices. Only they are discrete, you have to pick one.

#1 Bitch about work. Try to make change.
#2 Accept work for what it is and shuttupaboutit.

Bitching with no interest, thoughts, or initiative to help make it better is kind of a waste of everybody's time. I guess there might be times when you're forced to accept that nothing will change and still need to vent. But I think I was responding badly to the general "not my problem" apathy.

Personally I'm going for door #3 - Moving on. I've bitched at work. I've tried to make changes. And in my fantasy I think I've made a few. But I'm looking forward to moving on. The plan is to come clean on November 7th....

Advice Needed

So....I'm getting ready to give notice. I've always assumed that my boss DOESN'T know that Yves has been in VT since August. But a buddy at work has just suggested that I would be an idiot to think that he doesn't know. Thin walls and all that. So here are my options:

1) Give notice with the "Frenchie JUST got an offer" story. The upside is that if boss DOESN'T know, than this looks the least sneaky. If he DOES, however, I look like a liar and a boob.

2) Give notice with the "Frenchie and I have been trying to make long distance work and it isn't working." Story. The upside is that the boss DOES know, I don't look like a liar and a boob. But if the boss DOES know, than I'm back to looking like a boob. Who does long distance with a fiance?!?! And who does long distance when the distance is ACROSS THE CONTINTINENT!

Ugh.....

SAHM?

3 Weeks till N-Day. N = Notice. As in at work. That I will be leaving.The downside to giving notice is that politically it is very castrating - jerkboy will be empowered to push me out of the way. Frustrating but unavoidable. The upside is that my departure won't be a secret anymore.

And I will get to propose my work-remote plan. Which will either be accepted or rejected. But at least my future job prospects won't be the big gray blob of unknown that it is right now.

So lets say my work-remote plan doesn't fly. Then what?

Option #1
Find a new job. Sure I don't see many or any prospects in VT. And sure I don't really love what I do anyway. But the extra cash would really come in handy for Frenchie and I. Also work tends to be the primary place one makes new friends and being new to town and friendless could be a bit of a bummer.

Option #2
Get knocked up and join the Stay At Home Mom bus. Which is both appealing and scary. I like the idea of being a good Mom and raising my own children. Of not rushing my kids off to daycare so I can make some BS work meeting. Of not having co-workers look at me askew as I leave at 4:00 each day to shuttle kids around. On the other hand, can I really stay home alone every day with an infant and not go totally bonkers?

Hmmmm.....

Huh?!?!?

So Jerkboy and I have been doing the he-said/she-said dance for 3 months. Frustrating, unprofessional, annoying.

What gives me pause for thought is that people seem so ready to believe him. Is he somehow more believable than I am? Am I somehow UN believable? Or is it simply that I would be ashamed to make so public a fuss about another co-worker. Thus he is the relative "squeaky wheel" and gets all the oil.

He presented our (my?) product to the company this morning with all of the passion and entheusiasm of a mouldy potato. Man he is a putz. When I write the great american novel, he will have to be a character. The skinny balding guy who has the unfortunate luck to be balding from the back in that awkward monkish way. The guy who wears the same glasses as my high-school prom date in 1987. The guy who is so socially uncomfortable that when he laughs it sounds like something between a sneeze and a cough.

Back in Office

Just got back from VT where the fall foliage was frustratingly absent. Apparently all our efforts at global warming are paying off - September was 5 degrees warmer than average and the trees are still a nice tropical green.

Still the main reason to go was to see Frenchie. Somehow all of the stress of the past few weeks evaporated the minute I got off the plane. Work, jerkboy, soccer, everything faded like distance in the fog and while I was there, seemed completely irrelevant. In fact now that I'm back in the office I am still not re-engaged - work still seems really irrelevant. Why am I not in VT with Frenchie right now? Oh thats right....cold hard cash. I'm financially bound to stay here till December. Damnit.

It was great to see Frenchie. Ah the joyous football nap. Big warm boyfriend, chilly nights. Purring cat.

Well have meetings to go to. Stress awaits....

The Smell of Dread

I am minutes from a meeting I have dreaded for days. This meeting, like talking to a crazy person, has the potential to go really really bad.

If by some miracle it doesn't go badly, the execs are going to meet up in the scrum after the meeting to discuss the fate of the team. As a member of the team, that includes me. Things have gotten so toxic that now Dad needs to step in and break up the fight. Part of me is relieved, after months of struggle I would like to move on one way or another. Part of me is horrified that as an adult professional, I actually need "management" to fix a problem for me.

For a while I made my genuine best effort to turn things around. Admittedly after a few months I more or less gave up. I've never been in a work situation with somebody who I felt so genuinely had no interest in relating to me in a positive or professional manner. So admittedly my grand gestures to improve "our working relationship" dried up about 6 weeks ago.

So we shall see how the decision falls. What an ass.

Suitcase Shuffle

What is the statue of limitations for living in a suitcase? I think I've hit it. Only I'm facing 3 more months of suitcase life. And its not even really suitcase living. My stuff has expanded out of a suitcase into a myriad of bags (I knew I was holding on to that fancy Nordstroms shopping bag for a good reason) based loosely on category of bagged item. Does this make me a bag lady?

Frenchie has moved to VT and thankfully, our stuff has arrived. He was chafing under the empty house lifestyle although it was only for a week. Now he is unpacking all of our worldly possessions, undoubtedly in places I will find disagreeable and thus will be Ms. Controlling next weekend when I'm actually there rearranging all his hard work.

He has also discovered that our new house has mice. Understandable given our somewhat rural location. So I wonder if my 17 year old cat will be able to keep them at bay? Now I'm harboring horrible images of my poor slightly senile sweet kitty being overrun by insolent mice who take advantage of her toothless status to start sleeping on her for warmth.

Had a nice weekend with the roommates. They are fun people and I will miss them when I move out on Wednesday. Course they are also horrible slobs and thus it will be nice to sit on the couch without having to look for candy wrappers first. And last night one of them let loose to such a degree that the entire livingroom became temporarily uninhabitable.

Still, need to move on to a cheaper abode. My new roomate is a sweet person and we'll have fun. Although it will be very girly fun. Her favorite network is Lifetime TV. Yowza....

Laugh and the World Laughs With You...

Cry and you're forced to spew in a blog because nobody wants to listen to you whine....

HOUSING
I'm tired of living out of a suitcase. I still feel like a guest in the house. Its so freekin hot I can't sleep at night. And despite the fact that cleaning ladies come every week I can't get over the fact that the bathroom feels gross. And yes the lack of sleep is not helping me feel like the delightful petunia I know I should be.

BOSS
I can't even complain about "a" boss because it feels like I have about 8. In fact who exactly is NOT my boss? I've been spending my days being micromanaged eight ways from Sunday and I'm ready to spit blood about it.

TEAM
Your team are supposed to be your homeys, right? Your buddies? Guys who have your back? People you go to lunch with to joke about how much you hate everybody who's NOT on your team. Unless of course various teammates missed the teamwork class and instead use every opportunity to undermine you and sneak around behind your back causing trouble. Its like sleeping with snakes. Only you can't really fall asleep because they keep wriggling around in bed and you never know what exactly they are doing down there.

BOYFRIEND
Yes I love him, all the way. But he is a HUGE slob. In our previous house he had his own room to slob around in. Now that we are sharing a room, his slobby mess is my slobby mess. I step through his socks and underpants each morning and I'll tell you, it is NOT sexy. Picking through dirty underpants on a regular basis does NOT encourage sexy thoughts. In fact the only thought going through my mind is, "Dear ghads, what the hell is going on with this guy and why can't he keep his underpants corralled in one corner of the room!"

SOCCER FRIENDS
Yes I love them and in general they are great people. But one called last night to let me know that somebody was whining about the fact that I order them around on the field. So I asked, "Can you give me some examples of when I've been too bossy?" And was told, "Yeah, she just said you are always telling her to go line, or get open, that sort of thing." OK so she is just the messenger and I DO have a big mouth on the soccer field. But frankly- that's how you play soccer! You talk on the field! You coordinate with your team! Its not like I'm yelling at people or criticizing anybody. I'm trying to make plays happen and I can't do that when people stand around watching me loose the ball because I have nobody to pass to.

Especially irksome as I go out of my WAY to compliment EVERYBODY I play with on a regular basis. Doesn't matter how bad you suck I will find something positive to say. But apparently that goes unnoticed. But the time I told you to drop back for the pass - yeah that was WAY out of line. Grrr....

Its sort of a no-win situation. I play with weaker people because I like them and we have fun. But then they are upset with the fact that I'm trying to coordinate our movements on field a bit better because, well, its been a whole YEAR and we haven't won ONE SINGLE GAME. But they just want to have fun and play recreationally so my on-field coaching isn't appreciated. But then I started a more competitive team with players who are looking to practice, work with a coach, etc. and the people who want to play recreationally are upset because they weren't invited to play.

ROOMATE
Fun guy. Adult child. Now that our financial fortunes are no longer tied I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. But its a good thing we moved out because I don't think I could keep a straight face about his crap anymore. Uh....hello?

-When you have unprotected sex with a child you CANNOT play the victim when she gets pregnant.
-When you race your motorcycle at insane speeds so that you could CLEARLY not avoid any unforeseen obstacles you CANNOT cry foul when you put your bike down because there is a patch of dirt in the road.
- When you complain about women being "fat pigs" because they are 5 lbs overweight you sound insane. Most 40 year old men don't restrict their dating to twiggy 24 year olds. Or if they do it is because they are much richer than you are.

OK that feels better. Now I can get back to work. Phew.

Whirling & Swirling

I have a new ring. A new fiance. A new house. A new apartment. A new state. I am awash in newness. I am drowning in newness.

We moved into the new apartment this week. Its not new to us, our friends have lived there for a year. However as sub-letters it isn't really our house. We're more like squatters. Squeezing our stuff into the closet around the "real" tennants stuff. Intruders who are disrupting the established ebb and flow of the place.

Still on the upside, the house closed today. Its official - we are homeowners. No more lying about pet ownership. No more deposit issues. Whatever happens with this house, there will be no more landlords suspiciously eyeing our credit history. Really its a delightful feeling.

Course the house is new to me as well. So new I haven't actually seen it yet. Although the house itself is not exactly new. Far from it. Still its new to me. And very exciting at that.

The Pissing Contest

On the scale of company politics and inter-personal relationships, I'm not at the top of the heap. In fact on a good day, I probably fall into the middle.

My new team mate started last week and he is so lacking in both areas that he makes me look like Kissinger.

Today is his fourth day and we've already engaged in 3 pissing contests. I can't tell if:
a) He is just an asshole.
b) This is just new-guy insecurity manifesting itself as short-term aggressive posturing.
c) Once I establish my own alpha-male dominance he will recognize me as the big pack dog and back off.
d) Our battle for dominance will make my work life a living hell.

So I am tap-dancing around the issue and avoiding direct confrontation as it seems inappropriate to take the new guy to task before he has even been here one week. But my patience has limits. He is one-email-where-my-boss-is-copied-on-the-message away from a showdown.

Shiny Stuff

I'm an engaged person. Wow...I mean...wow. I feel like I set the women's equality movement back 1,000 years every time I say this but....I love the whole ring thing. First there is the idea that somebody had to make a huge sacrifice to give you this expensive gift. Then there is the pleasure of simply having a lovely new piece of jewelry. And then there is the (ghads I can't believe I'm admitting to this) the whole public symbol part. Its cool and I wear my new ring like a merit badge. I've been picked for the varsity team. I'm going to the show. I'm worthy.

Sad but true. Tisk tisk....

Still I hope we get married soon. If for no other reason than I feel like a total dorkus saying, "My fiance." I would stick with the "boyfriend" thing but Frenchie corrects me every time I do. He's kind of kidding, but kind of not. I feel like Elaine in Seinfield every time I say it. Yike.

When you get engaged, everybody in the known universe immediately asks you, "When is the date?" I feel like this is a test of your seriousness. No date = no real commitment. Sadly in our case no date = no money. Which is only partly true as we have our hands full with house shopping, moving, etc. But I was looking at one of those wedding magazines that talks about how much to spend on this and that. It was vaguely funny. Yeah it would be nice to have some quality photos to keep for years to come. But if some photographer wants me to spend $3,000 on photos he'll have to grab it out of my cold dead hand. And don't get me started on the rest of it (invitations, party favors, etc.). Can somebody explain to me why I need to spend $500 on a wedding cake? Is there gold in it?

But back to the topic. Frenchie is a sweetie and he has good taste. I love my ring. And I love him.

The Agony and the Ecstasy

Found a house. Amidst the fake wood panneling and racoon droppings that seem the norm within our price range, we stumbled upon a little yellow 2-story house surrounded by trees and flowering perennials. Even better, it was void of shag carpeting, cat pee, and wouldn't need work the second we stepped into the building. Frankly - it was delightful.

And we were delighted to make an offer. That day. For a bit over asking. And the little old lady who is selling it was delighted with us. The apple-cheeked young couple who wanted to raise a family in her house. And thus we were told "This is a done deal." A direct quote from the listing agent.

Well while the little old lady waited for her children to read through the contract, another offer came through. Less money but they offered to buy the house without an inspection. And this was apparently more appealing than the apple-cheeked young couple who offered more money. So we offered even more money. And the little old lady got yet another offer - less money (still) but no inspection AND cash.

And thus we were out. Because apparently avoiding an inspection was worth more to her than money and the future prospect of little baby feet running about on her lovingly cared for wood floors.

The whole thing stinks although neither of us can figure out what the backstory is. But we feel strongly that there is one. That the whole thing was doomed from the beginning.

And of course there is the dissapointing process of going back to the drawingboard to look through the houses built on swamp land or filled with small rooms covered in thick aqua paint to figure out which is the least disagreable and thus worth a flight to go look at. And sadly as of now, the answer is a resounding, "none."

House Hunting Fun...

... or How I Ended Up Living in this Van

The move to VT is prompted by many things - one of which is the promise of a lower cost of living. Sure I could eventually save up enough to afford a house in California. But by that time I will be 80 years old and more likely spending my money on a new hip. And we CAN afford a house in VT. Just not a great one.

After months of research, I've determined that we can afford a decent house in VT but that it will have a few liabilities. Its just a matter of determining which liabilities we're most comfortable with. Select a minimum of 3 from the list below:

- house is in undisearable location (next to sewage treatment plant)
- house needs immediate repair (you can throw a baseball through the hole in the roof)
- house has not been updated since 1947 (electrical wiring is expected to light structure on fire any minute)
- interior has not been updated since 1960 (how do you spell lenolium?)
- neighbors are not desireable (felons, child molestors, or both)
- house lacks major feature (garage, closets, bathroom)
- previous owner did not take good care in some regard (house reeks of cat pee)
- house is haunted
- house is so far away from Burlington, will require private jet to commute there
- house is only 500 square feet
- house is built in wetlands

We found one that seemed only slightly undesireable last Friday. It needed a new roof immediately ($10K), had not been updated in 40 years, was near a quarry, and had neighbors that left Budwiser cans in the front yard. Four days later they had an offer.

We found another seemingly reasonable house today. It hasn't been updated since 1966 but seems clean. The bathrooms are minute. But the neighbors seem reasonable. Its been on the market for 3 days and we just bought a $500 plane ticket to check it out in 2 days. Hopefully it hasn't sold by then.

There are houses that have been on the market for months. They're so hideous that only a mother could love them. My favorite has fake wood panneling throughout and one of the bathrooms isn't finished (which doesn't stop them from listing it as a 3/2). The master bedroom is so dark I think vampires are hiding in there. And they actually have wagon wheel light fixtures throughout the house. Ironically none of these people ever drop the prices as they are seemingly resolute in their convinction that somebody will get desperate enough to take them up on their prize residence. And who knows- after a few months of $500 redy-eye flights to VT, maybe we will.

Gaping Void

I'm not really one of those angst ridden employees who spends each day chafing under the harness of corporate rediculousness. But this really captures my feelings about my current project.

Places I Will Have Lived

Somehow every 2 years, I end up moving to a new state despite my general intentions to stay where I am. Once I move to VT - I will have lived in all these places!



create your own personalized map of the USA

Movin On Up

A bit calmer now...

We're moving to VT. The timing of this move is a bit sketchy. The Frenchman needs to be there by September 1 which really means he needs to move in mid August which implies we have an apartment with a lease that begins August 1. Although three months seems like a long way away, to me it feels threateningly close.

I would like to revel in the beauty of Vermont, the prospect of crisp falls with color dipped trees, white Christmas, summers on the lake, and new friends. Only I'm stuck on one issue which is slightly less romantic.

Money.

After many sleepless hours, the basic issue is this - I absolutely need to convince the powers that be to allow me to keep my job and work remotely. Period. If this requires selling my soul, selling my firstborn into white slavery, or removal of a limb, so be it.

So now I have three months to figure out how to make this convincing argument. Ideally in a way that doesn't involve begging, crying, or sexual favors.

Fear of abject poverty is very motivating.

However I am getting excited. Vermont is lovely. Its driving distance to many close friends and family. I haven't lived anywhere that had "fall" for years. I like moose. Maybe the most strange/funny/cool part is the whole "we" concept that is now Vermont. We will move. We will buy a house. We will get married and start a family. All of my other moves were just "me."

And already I can say with some certainty that "we" is much more fun.

The Freakout

We've been waiting for weeks to hear if we would get the job offer in Vermont. Talking in hushed tones about what might happen. Slowly convincing ourselves that the offer wouldn't come. Making plans to stay for one more year.

And we got it. Or he got it. The dream job. Tenure track. I know people who have taken years to get a tenure track offer and he got one first shot. First interview. First pick.

And I'm totally freaked out. The theory of quitting and moving across the country is an entirely different beast from the reality. I'm supposed to be working but my heart is pounding too loudly and I can't concentrate over the noise. If I look down I can see my chest moving with the internal hammer. I'm full into the freakout zone.

Sure I want the house and kids. I love the idea of living in the country. There is something pastoral and graceful in the image of being a professors wife. But the reality of quitting my job to move to the country to be a housewife never seemed that real. Until today. All of a sudden I love my job and the security it brings. Financial and emotional. All of a sudden I find the idea of using my MS in Finance to manage household expenses to be an enormously daunting task.

Christ.

I'm sure this feeling of panic will fade in a few days. It needs to. My heart wasn't meant to pound this loud or this long. I feel kind of dizzy. It feels a little like love. Or heartache. Something that doesn't easily fall into the bad or good category. Full on freakout.

The End

I know this subject has been run long and hard. Still I found this excerpt from Anna Quindlen's column in Newsweek (http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/7305204/site/newsweek/page/2/) to be very touching.

Last week my father and I received this short e-mail from my sister, a public-school teacher in San Francisco:

i'm telling you both this now
if i am ever in a 'persistent vegetative state' please let me die
do not have a feeding tube put in me
and in no uncertain terms: do not let the united states government get involved.
xoxo

No public official is going to tell me how to xoxo my sister. No church, no court. The Schiavo case has asked us to look at our own definition of life, not at some formless notion cobbled out of the Bible, medical textbooks and impersonal sentiment. My sister's throaty laugh, her prodigious knowledge of history, her garrulous nature: that's the true picture of her, the one with the light in her eyes. She's counting on me to make certain that image is not replaced by something empty and depleted. She's counting on me to safeguard her dignity and her humanity, which are one and the same.

Many of us feel the way she does. Once the feeding tube was removed, polls showed that the majority of Americans believed Terri Schiavo should be allowed to die. That's probably because they've been there. They are the true judges and lawmakers and priests. They've been at the bedside, watching someone they love in agony as cancer nipped at the spine, as the chest rose and fell with the cruel mimicry of the respirator, as the music of personality dwindled to a single note and then fell silent. They know life when they see it, and they know it when it is gone.

Call of the Wild

Night came on and a full moon rose high over the trees, lighting the land until it lay in ghostly day. And the strain of the primitive remained alive and active. Faithfulness and devotion, things born of roof and fire were his, yet he retained his wildness and wiliness, and from the depths of the forest a call still sounded.

Anticipation

Tick tick tick....2 more weeks to go.

We went to VT last week so The Frenchman could do his song and dance to impress the faculty at UVM as to what a great addition he would make to the team. Tappity tap tap.

I am both stressed, terrified, and hopeful. Am I ready to uproot my life and move to VT? Well why the hell not - I've been moving every 3 years since graduation. Although the plan was never to adopt this gypsy lifestyle, it just worked out that way.

Man plans, God laughs.

Haiku - Part 1 (from Joe)

In memory of Noman - put to sleep Feb 2005.





A handsome devil
I'm inbred to perfection
Why am I skittish?

Running forever
outside is my new inside
paws covered in mud

Going for car ride
That needle intimidates
stop tossing dirt on me

I buried my bone
suddenly have limp carcass
now I am the bone

Hiding in bathtub
displays spastic devotion
The noises scare me

Swimming in mud lake
Scratching Scratching Scratching pause
Scratching scratch again

Going back to car
Leave you to find where I've gone
Fear me when I yelp

Feeling Bad One day
Perhaps time for some new pills
These aren't Scooby Snacks!

That Guy

My cubemate across the cube-hall is "that guy." The guy who copies our boss on every email he sends me so that there is a record of our interaction. The guy who sends me email despite the fact that I sit here, literally 5 feet away from him, all day long. He is that guy who comments on my commings and goings ("Getting in early today?" or "Heading home eh??") as though he was keeping a physical log of my work hours. And sadly, might be doing just that.

Worst Party Ever

So for six months, The Frenchman and I have avoided horrendous work related social functions. We finally succombed Friday night as a young group of attractive French couples from work suggested a seemingly inocuous dinner party. I was slightly apprehensive but as we approached the condo and heard laughter eminating from the open windows, my hopes rose a bit. Then we walked in.

The entire group clammed up like a bunch of teenagers when the teacher enters the room. They all stood in unison to face the door as the American intruder (me) entered French territory. They all politely introduced themselves and we were hastily shuffled to a seat and offered some strange alchololic smoothie.

Turns out, about half of them were only slightly comfortable with the English language. The rest of them decided to avoid the awkwardness and spent the rest of the evening in silence. So The Frencheman, the few English speakers, and I proceeded to make awkward party chit chat for the next hour or so.

Dinner itself offered some reprieve as the French speakers all congregated at one end where they could politely continue on in French without offending the interloper. Thus I was at the end with a bunch of French PhDs who were vociferously debating the benefits of lab tests over complex computer models while I stiffled a yawn about every 5 minutes, all the while desperately pretending to be interested. I would have amused myself with alcohol except that there was a single bottle of wine for the entire table of 9 so it seemed rude to refill my small plastic glass. We had brought a nice plant as a housewarming gift. Should have brought wine.

I had hoped to be home by 9:30 but the endless rounds of food never ceased to come from the kitchen. First dinner. Then the cheese plate. Then ice cream and chocolate cake. Then cookies. All would have been lovely had each new plate of food not created a barrier to our polite departure.

But things didn't really get fun until one of the younger party members switched gears from work to "What is wrong with Amercians and their rediculous (insert -> healthcare, minimum wage, foreign policy, etc.)." Or my all time favorite, "How could you people re-elect Bush?"

All of a sudden I was a spokesperson for all America and all French side conversations stopped while I defended various aspects of American life. I had to stifle my knee-jerk response (if-you-don't-like-it-go-home) and kept a big smile plastered on my face with all of the realism of a beauty pagent winner. I frantically searched for data points vaguely remembered from the last time I read The Economist at the gym to defend our capitalists-centric healthcare system while I tried to dispell them of the notion that if you aren't insured and you show up at the hospital with a gunshot wound that they will simply send you home with a bandaid. And then send you a bill for $500 for said bandaid.

Eventually there was enough of a lull in conversation that The Frenchman was able to throw me a lifejacket and we graciously made our way to the door. At this point most everybody was ready to go although we clearly were the first to depart and nobody else had left the building by the time we pulled away. So it had that definite feeling of a group of people who paused just long enough to chat about the people who had just left. Or so my paranoid self seemed to think.

Dorian Grey

A long time ago an older friend of mine (who was then older than I am now) told me that at a certain point, your self image freezes and no matter how much older you get, in your head you still think of yourself as that person. I thought it was a strange point to make, as I stood there thinking that he was OLD (he was probably 37 at the time). Only now I am looking at my soon-to-expire passport photo and realizing that I don't really look like that person anymore. Nothing major, subtle changes, small lines when I smile, a thinness around my face. And I see that my older friend was right. In my head, I am still the girl in the passport photo.

My roomate is almost 10 years older than I am and he all but insists on dating women at least 5 years younger than I am. He seems oblivious to the fact that when you're 25 years old, 40 is ancient. I don't care how cool a car you drive, or what designer stores you shop in. So clear is his mental image that he is seemingly incapable of adjusting to the fact that no amount of situps will make it real.

But anyway....maybe I am just a little sad that next week I actually will look like my passport photo, and not just in my head.