Soldiers homecoming

One of the things I like best about my job as a journalist is the fact that I get to go places and meet people that I would ordinarily never get to if I had another career. I was thinking about this on Tuesday when I went to cover the homecoming of 40-something soldiers who were coming home to Aliceville, Ala. after more than a year in Iraq. I was leaning up against a brick wall trying to hide in what small amount of shade there was, drenched in sweat in the 98 degree heat. I was dehydrated and hungry and starting to feel faint... but then the bus pulled up. Kids, mothers, wives and other family members went up to the bus shrieking and clapping and crying for their soldiers. I had never seen anything like it, and it was at that moment that I forgot about how rediculously hot it was or the fact that I hadn't eaten anything since the day before. All I could do was stand in awe at the shear emotion I was observing. Not every man came back. One man from the unit died a few months before. The men that I witnessed coming off that bus could have had the same thing happen to them, only it didn't. They were lucky. I was strongly against the war in Iraq when this thing started a couple years ago, and still wish that things would have been different. But, they weren't, and they aren't. I did learn something, however, at the Aliceville armory. Its that there are people in this world who are a lot braver and a lot more selfless than I am, and it is because of their willingness to do whatever their country tells them to do- regardless of whether I believe it is right or not- that I have the freedom to do my job and write.

On my knees in a bathroom

I was on my knees scrubbing someone else's soap scum and hair off of a bathtub floor when I thought to myself that this must be how hotel maids feel. I also was wondering how I had gotten myself into the situation again. No, not cleaning someone else's bathroom again, but that motherly role of taking care of someone else. I helped Mr. Goatee move in his apartment tonight, helped him carry loads of clothes, posters and guitars up three flights of stairs, helped him arrange furniture and... yes... clean his bathroom and kitchen. The decorating and furniture arranging part I really didn't mind. It's something I enjoy. But, at the same time I couldn't help but question how I had gotten in the situation again. I don't want a relationship, but it feels so great to be needed, to have some in put on where to hang the picture or where to put the couch. And, the great thing is, Mr. Goatee is ok with it. When I was in the 6-year relationship, I tried to surprise my ex by helping to decorate his apartment by making drapes or letting him borrow furniture and pictures. But, he would get aggravated over it and frustrated. And now, here I am, helping to decorate another guy's apartment. He and I are not in a serious relationship, and yet it is all so familiar and comfortable. That is, until I was on my knees wearing yellow rubber gloves and scrubbing the bathroom tub. It was at that point that I was reminded not to get too deep into anything I'm not ready for.

The Birthday Bruise

Saturday morning, July 23, 9:30 a.m., the first thought in my head was "yeah! it's my birthday!" and then the second thought was "Oh. My. Sixty six more years and I am going to be 90, if I am still alive then." Sunday morning, July 24, 9:40 a.m., the first thought in my head was that my mouth was dry, my head spinning, my arm (which has a red/purple bruise on it from my elbow to my wrist) felt like it had been runover by a truck. I shuttered at the faint memory of falling backwards onto the hard cement floor at one of my favorite bars in a crowd of people. I winced when I remembered being practically carried into my house by Mr. Goatee, and throwing up on him as he tried to hold a trash can. (Geeze. You know a guy has a good character when you can throw up on him and he still calls you the next day.) But, for the most part, what I think I'll remember most, now that the hangover is long gone and the bruise is turning lighter everyday, is who was there on Saturday night and how incredibly lucky I felt. Last year, on that exact date I was sharing an icecream sunday in Edinburgh Scotland with my sister and my cousin Frederik. And yet, I wasn't happy. I knew, deep down, that things needed to change for me. This year, I was surrounded by my sister still, but also my close friends/coworkers... three of whom I had known during the last two years, but the rest whom I had only met during the last six months. But still, I laughed, danced, and embarrassed the hell out of myself. But, as we all sat at Catch 22 Saturday night, Carla Jean sipping on the coffee-flavored cocktail I got her, Lance telling some story about Greece, Dan with a feather boa wrapped around his head and me wearing michael's baseball cap while eating okra that chris had brought me in a bloody mary... I felt happy... and amazingly grateful that things have turned out like they did. I have a group of wonderful friends who I hope will be in my life for a long time. Ok, so my life hasn't exactly turned out the way I had planned it. But, if the next 66 years are going to be anything as good as the last nine months, then I'm looking forward to it, okra and all.

Past the glitter stage

On Wednesday night I found myself in a giant auditorium surrounded by a few thousand adolescent girls wearing skimpy shiny hot pink halter tops, sequined belts and metallic purses. Yes, I went to a Kelly Clarkson concert. I thought it was kind of funny, that I was about 10 years older than anyone else in the place who wasn't a parent. I felt even worse for Mr. Goatee, who had bought the tickets and went with me to the concert for my 24th birthday. He, almost 27, was obviously a fish out of water and it was funny to watch him uncomfortably squirm. It was about halfway through the concert though that I started to realize how I too was one of the minority "old" people there. Kelly was singing a song... one of my favorites that I knew every word too.. and the whole crowd was jumping up and down.. and I wanted to, I really did. I let down my inhibitions and started to move my knees. Then, Kelly pointed the microphone out to the audience for us to sing the words... and, it sounded like a children's choir. My knees stopped. Oh crap, I really am too old for this. After the concert on the walk back to the car, I started examining the little girls with their way-too skimpy glittery clothing and wishing I had a sweater for them to cover them up. I thought about how, when I was their age, I would have never have worn anything like that. No, no, back in my day (pre-brittney spears) girls wore t-shirts and jeans, timberland boots and polar fleeces. No glitter. No halter bras. But, I guess I'm passed that stage. I realized that night, that I think, at 24, I'm finally an adult. ACK!

a woman's prerogative

A woman always has the right to change her mind, right? I keep reminding myself that I don't want a serious relationship, I don't want a boyfriend and I want to stay single for a while... for the first time in my adult life. But, I've spent a lot of time with "the goatee guy" lately and I have to admit that he's wearing on me. Maybe I've been wrong. NO, No, my first impression was right. I don't WANT a relationship, but I deeply miss the comforts of having another person there. But, might may change my mind about the goatee guy in the near future. After all, it's a woman's prerogative, right?

On another note, I thought my story assignment tonight for the newspaper was rather ironic. Tonight I covered an SGA debate between the four mayoral candidates in the town where I live.... a little more than four years ago, when I was a sophomore in college the first story I ever did for the student newspaper was covering the same SGA's debate between the mayoral candidates, only now I have a bachelor's and master's degree and am an actual journalist. But, it's same event, just a different election, different candidates, different me. Ah, how things have changed.

the guys

I was at a bachelorette party this weekend, talking with the girls when I started to notice a trend.. when girls talk about their ex's.. it's usually never by his name, only "the ______". Like, for instance, I'll almost never talk about an ex by name. It's always "the walker" or "the german" or "the guy I dated forever". At what point does a guy lose the rights to be called by his name and instead is replace by a vague description? Even if the breakup wasn't nasty, it still seems like, after a while, you detach yourself from him and from his name. Last night I said goodbye to "the pilot"- otherwise known to the world as Nate- for the last time. He has been in Oklahoma for the past three months doing more training on the C-17, a huge carrier plane for the air force. He came back to Mississippi yesterday to pick up his stuff in storage and sign some transfer papers before he moves officially to Seattle, for good. I honestly thought that after he got his assignment to Seattle in February that I would never hear from him again, but, it has been quite the opposite. Surprisingly, he has called or emailed usually about once a week or once every couple weeks.. almost as much as he did when we were together. Maybe it's because he's been lonely in Oklahoma, i don't know. But, I'm glad that I got to spend some time with him last night. I cooked steaks on the grill and then we hung out and watched a DVD. We talked, joked around, but things were different than they were a few months ago. There wasn't that sexual tension or that spark. It was just two old friends hanging out with each other one last time. When he left last night he said goodbye to my dog, Lilly, then we gave each other a casual hug, said to keep in touch and to drive safe. Then, he was gone. For good. One year ago yesterday, Nate came to Tuscaloosa for the first time to have lunch at Dreamland with me. I remember being so nervous.. the first time I had talked to some random person that I had met at the beach. But, he's ended up to be a hugely important person to me, not so much because of the time we spent together but because the decisions he helped me make about my career and my adult life. Last night is what I needed. I needed that one, last goodbye. I needed that clean closure. The feelings weren't there anymore, but I'm still glad he came by. I have no regrets about how my life has turned out, and last night was confirmation of that. Saying goodbye to "the pilot" was my way of saying goodbye to a tumultuous past year, and looking forward to my future.

Charleston epiphany

I wasn't all that impressed with Charleston, not at first at least. I spent most of my afternoon Saturday soaked from shopping on King Street in the rain, and feeling like a wet rat trying to seek shelter is sleek shops that I wasn't good enough to step into. I did find a shoe store that had an entire clearance section of size 12 shoes (!) but my jaw dropped when i saw the label and the price tag.. $550 for a pair of Manolo Blahniks.

I did have fun going to the market afterwards and drinking a few bottles of champaigne with friends and this swanky sushi place, but I just didn't feel like Charleston was all it was hyped up to be.

On Sunday my friend Britt and her fiancee just wanted to stay at home, and I was feeling a little restless. So, I decided to go shopping at the mall, got lost and ended up wandering around the cutest historic neighborhood near downtown Charleston. It was something about the tight rows of 150 year-old houses, their intricate iron gates, giant white columns, plantation shutters and the large magnolias drapped with spanish moss that got to me. I liked that people were running on the sidewalks, scootering through the narrow streets, pushing baby buggies and walking dogs. It was an old neighborhood but one that is very much alive.

I parked my car and started aimlessly walking by the huge houses when I saw it. #5 Lowdnes Street... a White two story house with three dormer windows, black shutters and a door frame that is topped by an antique arched window. My dream house. I've pictured it in my mind for years, and always drew its layout when I was bored in class. I've always had it in my head, but never saw a house in real life that looked so much like it.

Sunday afternoon completely changed my perception of Charleston. After wandering on my own I fell in love with the architcture and the history of the place. I could see myself there. I want to live there. I know I could probably never afford any of the houses in the historic district, but I decided to add Charleston to the top of places where I want to live in my life. (Along with Atlanta, DC, New York and others!)

My Turn?

So far the highlights of my weekend in Charleston have been playing drunken dodgeball with a tennis ball in a park at 2 a.m. with a guy from Oregon who I later found out was born in 1984 (ACK!!!) and then dancing all Saturday night with a 6-foot-eight 30-year-old investment banker from Minnesota (I swear, I don't know what it is with these Northern guys) who I don't know his name... I also couldn't look at him straight in the face because I was afraid I'd start laughing... he looks just like Adam Sandler, only a freakishly giant version.

As soon as I made it back to the apartment where I'm staying, I noticed I got a drunken phone call (yet again) from the pilot who I dated last fall. Kind of strange.. I thought that after our relationship ended in January and after he got transferred to Seattle I'd never hear from him again, only now he calls me more than ever. Strange.

So, my big question of the weekend is, when is it my turn? I am spending the weekend with my bestfriend, her fiancee, his roommate, and his fiancee, both couples are getting married within a month. The guy they've been talking about "fixing" me up with for the past 6 months decided to propose to his girlfriend of all of 30 days! So, besides drunken rendevous with strange northern guys, my weekend has been filled with conversations of wedding dresses, wedding cakes and honeymoons. Normally it wouldn't bother me.

I've been there before. Somewhere hidden in the depths underneath my bed I have a portfolio of wedding clips that I put together back when I was in a 6-year relationship. I planned the perfect wedding for years. Only the perfect relationship didn't quite pan out. But, This weekend, I couldn't help but feel a little jealous and wonder, when will it be my turn? I've been out in this strange dating world for 10 months now, and I'm getting a little sick of it. Yes, I like the excitement and I don't regret my past decisions.

But, there are some things that I do miss.. I miss waking up almost every morning next to the same person, I miss having someone know you better than anyone else.. having someone who probably knows what you are thinking or feeling without having said a word.. I miss having a person to fill in as a date whenever the occasion arises.. I miss the comfort and stability of having someone who "might" be someone I could spend my life with.

Of course, there is the excitement of not knowing who I will end up with and where my life might lead, and I try to convince myself on a regular basis that God has a plan for me, I just can't try to plan my life out for myself. But, it is hard, and for a dependant person, not being in a relationship is hard. But, I know someone is out there. I just have to trust that and focus on being happy on my own, and not worry about my turn. It'll be my turn when the time is right, and that's not right now.

The IKEA idea

I spent EIGHT HOURS in the car yesterday driving from Tuscaloosa to Charleston, where I am spending the weekend with my bestfriend Britt and her fiancee Wes. They are getting married in a month, and so I figured it's a good chance to spend some quality time with Britt before she moves off to Virginia Beach, and a good time to get to know the guy she's going to be spending the rest of her life with!

I normally like long drives by myself, but I was getting really sick of the car ride by the time we got to Atlanta.. then I saw it. A huge blue and yellow billboard that said "IKEA.. grand opening June 28!!!" I practically stopped in the middle of I-20 when I saw the sign. Holy Crap.. it's an IKEA in ATLANTA!

I've had a long torrid love affair with IKEA. It combines three of my passions.. anything Scandinavian (ok, so it's Swedish and not Norwegian, but it's almost as good!), home decorating and buying bargains. Plus, it has a cafeteria with Scandinavian food and a shop where you can buy Norwegian chocolate and salmon! Ah! pure bliss!

I vividly remember my first trip to IKEA. I was 10, and my dad was shopping in Long Beach, CA. We were in the store wandering through the rooms for hours. Dad bought one thing.. a modern style clock with brightly colored arms.

When he moved out to California my freshman year in college, going to IKEA became one of the highlights of the trip. My sister and I would go through the store with huge shopping carts.. we could get almost anything we wanted, as long as we could get it back to Alabama. (the closest IKEA until now has been in Chicago!) Usually, dad would end up sending back boxes of goodies that we had picked up and couldn't stuff back into our suitcases. We always promise to just bring an empty suitcase with us the next time we come out for IKEA, but we never do.

I was on a subway in Oslo in 2000 when I spotted a mother and daughter who had several bags from IKEA. I had just moved there for 6 months and I got so excited to see something familiar.. something I loved. I jumped up, ran up to them and asked them where there was an IKEA. I think I kind of scared them.. partly because of my enthusiasm and partly because Norwegians are VERY reserved people and avoid talking to strangers. Six months later, I found myself shipping back a rug, a chandlier, a duvet, frying pan, coffee pot and mosquito net.. all from several IKEA trips.

So I was driving down I-20 when my heart skipped a beat. AN IKEA. WITHIN 3 HOURS FROM HOME. I wanted to stop right then to go.. but I knew Britt would shit a brick if we stopped again. So, my dilemma is this.. Should I leave to go back to Tuscaloosa Sunday night so that I can avoid the wrath of Hurricane Dennis? Or, should I leave Charleston at 5 a.m., stop at IKEA on the way home and hopefully get to Tuscaloosa after Dennis hits? (The hurricane is supposed to hit Tuscaloosa at 6 a.m. Monday.) Or, my third option is to wait until I have plenty of money and make a special trip. We shall see... all I know is that when it comes to IKEA, there's little that can hold me back, even a hurricane.

It looks like crap

So I'm sitting on my couch right now taking a break from my weekend project of painting the back bedroom and bathroom hallway. My arms, legs and hands are for the most part spotted with the milk chocolate colored paint.. if it were more purple hued then it would look like I had been beaten. I'll have to remember to scrub it off before I go to a fourth-of-july cookout tonight!

I love the smell of wet paint. Maybe because it reminds me of my childhood.. that time at my dad's house when my sister and I painted the white bathroom walls teal with feather dusters.. or in ninth grade when my then-bestfriend Rachel and I worked for two months to peel off her wallpaper and slather her walls with a bright purple. Maybe i just love the smell because it is the smell of inspiration. Of a fresh start. Of something new. It's making a mark on something, making something beautiful, or at least different. A little piece of yourself. I've tried to count the number of rooms I've painted in my life. To this point, it's around 17.

The latest paint project is something I've been wanting to do for a long time. I hate white walls in a bedroom. I feel like they just scream out for some color, for some personality. In my old apartment the walls used to be bright yellow, the bathroom was lime green, and my bedroom was light blue. In my new house, the dining room is red, bedroom is periwinkle, and bathroom is yellow. What can I say, I love color. But, brown is a departure for me. I don't do neutrals. But, about two years ago I was flipping through a pottery barn catalog when I saw a picture of a chocolate-brown room with white and black accessories. I loved it and have had it in the back of my mind ever since. I can't say I've totally adjusted to the new color. When my friend Michael was helping me paint yesterday, He painted the first stroke against the wall. My first reaction was shock. "It looks like crap," I said. He acted hurt, asking what he did wrong. I laughed. "No, it really looks like crap. The color is the same color as crap."

So much for trying neutrals. I think next time I'll paint something different, something I haven't painted before... Problem is, I can't think of any color that I haven't already used.

The beginning

I woke up this morning thinking that 363 days ago my life changed for good. Kind of wierd, how one moment can change everything. I think there are probably very few instances in life where you can point how major life changes. Usually they are expected and a natural part of growing up- going to the first day of school, graduating from high school, moving into your first apartment, getting your first job. For me, the July 4, 2004 was one of those moments, although I never realized it at the time. It was just another holiday, another weekend visiting my bestfriend at the beach. We watched the fireworks, ate shrimp and crablegs at a table on the dockside in Destin, drank too many beminis and danced for hours. Then I saw him. A tall guy weaving his way through the crowd. I looked at him. He looked at me. We smiled. 11 months, 29 days, and 11 hours later, I'm a completely different person, and largely because of him. Before that instance, I was on a comfortable, expected path, a six year relationship that seemed perfect for marriage, but somehow I knew something wasn't right. I never expected anything to happen between me and the guy at the beach, and it didn't, not at least for a long time after I had ended the marathon relationship. Things were great with Mr. July, for a while. He helped me learn to live life on my own, to be independent, and helped me make important decisions about my job and what I want in life. Of course, Mr. July didn't last 365 days. But, he's still around, always a phone call away, always ready to listen about my adventures. He doesn't know how much he's affected me. People come in and out of your life, and I guess you never really grasp how much they've done until they are gone.