Into the great wide open

Goodbye.

Well. Goodbye until December 3. I'm leaving the Herald today, but since someone can't really take over my love life and blog about it, the blog I consider to be mine. I'll be back December 3, after my first holiday away from home, to rehash all the details of a Tennessee Thanksgiving.  

I'm almost sure I've posted once on the beautiful message in one of my favorite musicals, "Into the Woods," but I feel as if it is only appropriate to reblog it as I leave the Herald today.

As sad as I am to leave, it's not possible to grow if you don't throw some new soil into the pot you were planted in. As scary as new beginnings are, it's always worth it to go into the woods...

From Act II, Finale: Children Will Listen

Into the woods you go again,

you have to every now and then,

into the woods no telling when, 

be ready for the journey.

Into the woods but not too fast,

or what you wish you lose at last,

into the woods but mind the past,

into the woods but mind the future...

The way is dark

the light is dim

but now there's you, me, her, and him

the chances look small

the choices look grim

but everything you learn there will help when you return there

the light is getting dimmer

I think I see a glimmer...

Into the woods you have to go

but that's the way you learn to cope

into the woods to find there's hope

of getting through the journey

Christmas is officially off

I know what's got my hackles up. And it isn't (just) because Seth hasn't even bothered to send me a text wondering why I called three times in the past 12 hours.

I canceled Christmas. 

Well. Not the actual birth of Christ. That one's out of my hands, thank goodness. 

I can't afford to buy milk this month. Which means I certainly can't afford Christmas. Just one of the joys of being young and only a few years out of college in today's world. 

For the record I would like to state that it's not exclusively me that's putting the "Bah humbug!" on repeat this year. It's my old apartment company (Shoreline Real Estate if you want to name the devil) that's taking the cheer out of my egg nog. 

As in making me pay rent through March.

While the ants and the wasps and the uncontrollable heat and the increasingly aggressive homeless people in the neighborhood were a deciding factor in my abrupt move to the 'burbs, that wasn't the chief reason I hauled booty out of downtown.

It was the exorbitant cost of living downtown.

Perhaps my line of thinking for paying $851 a month (not including gas and food) just to live is a bit out of line. I mean, who wouldn't want to live in a single room apartment for that sum of money a month? And even more lucky-- I got to share it with ants! And the occasional wasp. And on really really lucky days, some drunk and disorderly man that would sneak into the building.

That-- is why I moved to the 'burbs.

But my former landlord doesn't understand that. Like a bad ex-boyfriend they instead want to torture me in every way possible. Because of course my already more than tight budget has room to pay two rents for the next four months. 

Anyone got any exorcism techniques I can use to get rid of this mean spirit? 

Trouble in Southern Charmer land

I now understand why men are from Mars and women are from Venus. 

I finished unpacking the apartment last night. Cleaned the cabinets. Organized the fridge. Made an attempt to hang pictures until I realized that the hammer was missing. Did a load of whites. Organized our "important papers" folder. Debated assembling our bookshelf since I killed the other one in the assembly process, but figured I should obey the "Don't touch the bookshelf" mandate set in place before Seth left. 

Desk supplies and books are all that's left to be done, organized into clean piles in the living room. Tonight was meant for a pedicure, manicure, facial and bubble bath. Tomorrow = the Southern Charmer returns!

And then Seth called. 

Seth says: I can't come home until Sunday because the weather is going to be bad around the Great Lakes on Friday, so I can't leave until Saturday. 

Amy hears: I have to spend another night alone listening to the scary noises in the apartment.

I have to try out a new parish by myself on Sunday morning.

The bookshelf isn't going to get assembled until Sunday, so the apartment won't be completely unpacked until Monday morning.

The pictures won't get hung until Monday because Seth has the hammer.

We're not going to have our dinner and a movie cuddlefest on the couch Sunday evening.

Amy says: [In disappointed, but understanding of safety first voice] Oh. Okay.

Seth hears: You think that I'm not leaving tomorrow because I want to spend more time with my friends and now you're mad at me.

Amy thinks: Perhaps if you'd worded your statement, "I'm really sorry but I won't make it home until Sunday now because the weather is going to produce some poor driving conditions on Friday. I know you were really looking forward to spending some time together on Sunday and finishing up the apartment."

Instead, Amy says, "Grrrrrr!"

Attempts to call Seth back three times.

Gets no response.

And Amy starts out her morning feeling very much the "Grrrrr!"

ESPN loses my vote of confidence

For all you Marquette alums, or anyone that knows a Marquette alum, this is worth a read.

And for the record, I don't think I'm someone you can just easily forget. Have you heard my dolphin laugh?

Another month down...

Happy anniversary to me!

Happy anniversary to me!

Happy anniversary my dearest most wonderful A---myyyyy!

Happy anniversary to me!

10 months. Excuse my language, but holy crap. 

You know what Wednesday is...

For whatever reason, my mind takes an immense amount of joy in keeping track of all of the naughty things I've eaten over the past week.

Half a large Papa John's pizza.

One very tasty margarita.

Cheese curds and Culver's chocolate shake.

Salad doused in sour cream and other goodness.

Unknown amount of mini Milky Ways.

Five donuts.

Through the indigestion and all, I still managed to knock off another half pound for the week, down a total of 7.5 since it all started October 1. Maybe I have a tapeworm. Cause I really am befuddled as to how I've accomplished that.  

Perhaps it was those gazillions of trips to and from the Happy Honda during the move. Only my still very exhausted body can vouch for that.

Smells like teen spirit

Hi. My name is Amy. And I am positively obsessed with Twilight.

*Hi Amy.*

I don't like teenagers. Particularly that age group from 13-15 where shrieks seem to reach the highest pitch, boys are the end all be all when it comes to conversation, and heaven forbid, dabbling in grandma's blue eye shadow from 1980 is commonplace.

But a certain book series has got me right back to junior high, screeching and obsessing and most embarrassing of all-- swooning. I've never been one for vampire lit, but man oh man, I have been bit.

Seth leaves for Vermont today (prayers for safe travels please!) leaving me to my own devices until Saturday. My to-do list is massive when it comes to unpacking, cleaning and errands, but it is going to take all my willpower not to curl up on our comfy new couch tonight and start rereading my new favorite series before it hits theaters this weekend. 

P.S. Warning! Warning! The Wednesday Weigh In Day forecast is in...and I'm predicting some added poundage. :(

Monday morning: I'm still alive

The move is complete.

The packing nowhere near.

Seth and I successfully made it through gazillions of trips to and from our vehicles climbing over boxes and swearing at blinds without killing each other (or having a fight that lasted over five minutes).

Now if you'll please excuse me. It's time to pass out. 

Condiments: A lesson in relationships

I packed the pepper.

Dear Lord in heaven strike me down for I have sinned.

The gloves are off and the roses are wilted in terms of perfect relationship land. Long gone are the days that Seth and I would spend our time together walking the beaches of Florida or North Carolina, wining and dining our way across the continental United States. Replace that with evenings of chicken nuggets and tater tots and walks from the parking garage to my studio apartment, and you get a glimpse as to where our relationship is at right now. 

As in, reality. 

The rose tinted glasses don't last forever. At least in this relationship they were gently put on the shelf instead of smashed to bits by a fire-breathing dragon. 

Enter the argument about me packing the pepper. 

In my quest to be a helpful person and not make Seth do all the work, I began packing Tuesday night.

I packed my contacts. 

And then one ripped.

I packed my deodorant.

Only to realize that um...I might need that.

Luckily I left out the toilet paper.

While there were plenty of expletives said under my breath this morning as I pondered whether or not I actually wanted my armpits to smell like a man all day, the personal wrath of having to wear my glasses for the rest of the week and attracting who knows what with Seth's Axe deodorant was nothing compared to the temper tantrum that ensued when I packed the pepper.

I don't use condiments. Nothing on my hot dog please. No salt. No pepper. No tabasco sauce for me thank you. (Exception: Putting the special fairy dust on my fries at Red Robin).

So when a box just the size of spice jars landed on my head in a torrential rain of empty boxes in my closet Wednesday evening, I did the only logical thing. 

I packed the spices. Salt. Pepper. All of it.

Only to face the whine of, "You packed the pepper?!" when Seth came home to marvel at my superior packing abilities.

Really. We've come this far in our relationship so we could argue about the fact that I packed the pepper? 

Apparently so. Stay tuned for Monday. Goodness only knows what other relationship reality busters will ensue when the actual moving occurs...

Another week down, another pound dropped for a total of -7 since October 1.

Only another 12 to go to reach the famed (yet healthy) senior prom weight.

And only the obstacle of Thanksgiving and Christmas in between...

Home for the Holidays

Let's talk Care Bears.

Or My Little Pony. Or Barbies. Something along that order please. Something that will make me forget that it's been a good year or two since I crossed the "Welcome to Adulthood" finish line.

It used to be a simple order. Either book a flight or a train or load up the car, and when the holidays hit, be Minnesota bound. There was never any question of whether or not I'd be home for Christmas...or Thanksgiving...or Easter, or what have you. Of course I would. That's where I belonged.

Suddenly I'm pulled in two directions. Tennessee AND Minnesota.

So begins life of deciding what family gets what holiday in the household of Amy & Seth.

For us it was rather simple. My brother already has his Christmas schedule in place. Align with his and we're good to go! Check and check! Tennessee for Thanksgiving and Minnesota for Christmas! 

And then came the Facebook message from a good high school friend, asking if I'd be home for Thanksgiving.

"No...how about Christmas?" I responded.

And then it hit us. Not only were we destined to never be in the same state for Thanksgiving and Christmas again, something much worse had happened-- we had grown up. Long gone were the movie nights and play practices and speech meets. We were grown women. With in-laws and potential future in-laws shakin' up our plans. Gone by the wayside the circle of trust that has kept our high school relationships intact. 

Now I'm too busy trying to break into Seth's family's circle of trust. 

Arrest me, I'm guilty

The temperature outside drops. The heat in my apartment skyrockets to never before seen readings despite all the valves on my radiators being off. I sweat. And I sweat.

And then I cringe. Every morning getting ready for work, the cringe comes.

A lot of things in my early morning ritual are easy to blame on the excess heat in my over-winterized apartment. Such as...

Don't want to get out of bed = too warm and comfy.

Need an extra five minutes because I have to take a break from the sauna that is my apartment between the hot shower and blow dry.

Find it impossible to get dressed completely until I've got t-minus two seconds to walk out the door in fear I will die from heat exhaustion.

Check, check and check. All very reasonable excuses as to why I need a full hour and five minutes to get ready in the morning.

But one thing keeps me cringing every morning. Because I know I can't blame it on the heat.

My socks.

One of my greatest pet peeves in life is the dress/dark pants -- white socks -- dress shoes combo. Even if the pants are long enough to cover the offending socks so that nobody knows except the sock wearer.

There is a reason God invented dark socks and dress socks. 

This past week, I have been the greatest offender there is. 

It could be the fact that my box of socks is buried in the back of the closet, somewhere under the rubble that is my closet preparing to be in transit this Friday, and that the only thing I've been able to find is white socks lest I go on some Indiana Jones-like adventure every morning.

It could be the fact that my feet just aren't feeling the high heels these days, they want the loafers.

It could be the tiny hope that someone would call, 'What Not to Wear' on me and I'd get a whole new fancy schmancy wardrobe, merely based on the fact that I was offensive in my use of socks.

Or it could just be that I'm lazy. But I really don't want to think that at 23 I've peaked in terms of how much energy I'm willing to put in my fashion efforts. Let's just call it a laid-back day and hope that in the great move to Oak Creek Friday my non-white socks will be unearthed.

Otherwise I officially give y'all permission to "What Not to Wear" me. 

It's a bittersweet symphony...

I've been fighting for the past few months. And fighting quite hard.

Fighting to move back to Minnesota. Fighting to break into a career path that really probably wasn't meant to be at this time. Lighting vigil candles and saying novenas and venting my frustrations with Seth. Blaming the economy. 

I finally gave up. If you think it's exhausting fighting with people on earth, try fighting with God.

I told him my plans. He laughed. And revealed his plans. And they look pretty darn good. 

November 25 will be my last day with the Catholic Herald. I'll be taking an assistant editor position with another publication in the Milwaukee area. I'm excited. And I'm sad. I mean come on, who wouldn't be sad?

In the meantime, I'll still be here. Hanging around somehow. I mean come on, I just drudged Seth through 4 hours of looking for the perfect bed in a bag yesterday. There are tales to tell! You think I'd leave just yet? 

A note from the other side

As I've spent a week indulging in excess amounts of CNN, jumping from one carnivorous meal to another and as a general rule hopping and skipping in the beautiful weather of Milwaukee, MyFaith feature Katie has been adjusting to life in the cloistered order of the Poor Clares in Kokomo, Ind. 

Her mom has been passing along email updates whenever she can, which, is not very often considering the limited amount of contact the sisters have with the outside world. This, is a direct message from Katie:

Hello everyone,

Surprise! (Yes, I had to look that word up in the dictionary to make sure it was spelled right ... no spell check in the monastery :-)

Mother Abbess told me to write to you as a little unexpected treat. I hope you are all doing okay.. I am praying for you guys a lot. I am doing FABULOUSLY. All the sisters are super nice and I'm getting along with them great. Sister Chiara (novice mistress) and I have become fast friends and we're having a really good time together. I've learned a TON so far. I can't believe I have hardly been here a week! I've been working hard, but so far all the jobs have been kinda fun. I think my favorite "charge" was earlier in the week when I got to use a jet-spray hose to clean all the window screens. I looked like a freak, though... I had on my jumper (in which I look pretty stinking cute, by the way...), a "hanky" on my head (think: Aunt Jemima), huge sunglasses over my glasses, and my polka dot rain boots. Good times:-0

Anyway, I want to tell you all that I love you, that I'm praying for you, and that I'm having a blast. The next time you will hear from me will be via my Christmas letter or after my Mom visits on Dec. 28th. Oke doke, it's time for Vespers, so I must go now...

In Christ,
Katie

Weigh-in day!

Another week down, 1.5 pounds with it. 

And beautiful weather to boot. Happy hump day!

Oh p.s.-- WE GOT THE APARTMENT! :)

Voting. It's kind of like a really good first kiss. Magical. Eye-opening. Has the possibility to change your life. 

And the possibility to ruin it too. Although hopefully for only four years. 

A wise man named my boyfriend (and I'm sure others before him) say that voting is your admission the theme park of complaining about the president and other elected officials for the next four years. You didn't vote? Can't complain. You opted to have no say in the matter.  

Although it wasn't my first presidential election kiss (I got that in 2004), it's my first presidential election kiss where I'm really hoping he calls back tomorrow.  

Go! Go! Go!

It's election day.

So why are you hanging out here?!

Get out and VOTE! 

Sunday night = educational television night

Waiting for the right guy... meanwhile have a great time with all the wrong ones!

It's been on my refrigerator since my junior year at Marquette. I found it in the Target dollar section. It seemed to be the perfect mantra for any young woman on the search for Mr. Right. Of course I hadn't found him yet. That didn't keep me from getting involved with a few frogs though. 

My jaw is dropped and my mind is attempting to wrap itself around what's on my tv right now-- a special on purity balls on TLC. 

Purity = fabulous. Hands down. Of course you want to be pure, I mean hello, isn't it in the Bible or something?

That's not what's got me thinking I may have downed too many glasses of wine this evening and am not hearing right. It's the whole notion of dating for these young girls. As in non-existent. No first kiss until wedding day. No romantic dinners for two. No hand holding. No boyfriends. Just a husband.

Whoa. 

I may gripe about my past boyfriends and non-relationship relationships in life, but I am incredibly grateful to these men that have shaped my life, for the love and joy that they have brought into it, and for the heartbreak as well. They've made me stronger. Made me happier. They've shown me what it is that I want in life and inspired me as well. Seth and I have come to a greater appreciation of each other because of what we've experienced in our relationships in the past. I have nothing but thanks for my exes. It is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. No matter how much it hurts.

Not for these girls though. And I can't even begin to imagine that. 

The most offending part of it all is their accusation that just because you date a couple of guys growing up, you have a horrible relationship with your father. I love my father. We have a wonderful relationship. He is my first Prince Charming and one of my best friends, always have, and always will be. Just because I've had a few boyfriends in my 23 years of life isn't reason to think my father and I have a flawed relationship. On the contrary. 

For the past 23 years I've been in search of someone as wonderful as my dad. In search of a relationship just as wonderful.