A girl with no home...

Ok , so the title is slightly melodramatic but does sum up what I'm feeling right now.

I was in Syracuse a few weekends ago for a wedding and I had to use a GPS to find my way around. A GPS in my home town! Have I really been gone that long? It's been over 3 years since I've been a resident of NY! 3 years! What has happened to me in 3 years?

So then I lived in Utah and when I moved there I couldn't understand the culture and my skin was always SO DRY!! I drank water all the time and I still felt dried out! And that didn't feel like home, who were these people and why did I decide to move there?? What was an east coast girl doing in the west?

Now I'm in Massachusetts. I had this discussion with a friend last night...I felt like moving to Massachusetts, it's close enough to NY, it's like coming home right? Wrong. This isn't home either. Some days when I walk outside I feel like I'm breathing water. I forgot how oppressive humidity can be! And the way the Massholes drive and their lack of politeness...don't even get me started!

Which leads me to my next big question...where is home and when will I feel like I found my place? I feel like I've been very transient and there is so much in this country to experience, I don't want to pick just one place to live...and how will I know when I've found it? So I've decided to create my own place to live. It's going to have the mountains (and snowboarding) of Utah, the woods of New York, the ocean of Massachusetts, the vineyards of California, a combination of Boston, DC and NYC for cities and maybe something else from the west coast that I don't know exists because I haven't been there yet. And I'm going to be the mayor...who wants to join me?

Yet another thing that would never have happened to me in Utah...

So last night I was planning on staying in, laying low because I didn't really want to participate in Halloween craziness. I just get nervous about going into cities on Halloween, because people feel that putting on a costume gives them a right to do stupid things...and frankly I wanted no part of that.

So I went to the grocery store to buy the ingredients for butternut squash soup instead. Well as I'm wandering around the store looking for Bisquick (not for the soup, for next weekend when Mandi visits), a guy stops me as I'm going down the tea aisle. Here is a rough transcript of the transaction

Random guy: Excuse miss are you looking for something...I don't work here...but I shop here...maybe I can help you (yes, said all in one breath).

Me: Yeah I can't find Bisquick. I mean right now I know I am in the tea aisle, but I'm trying to find the Bisquick aisle.

Random guy: What's Bisquick?

Me: You know pancakes, biscuits...bisquick.

Random guy: Yeeeahh...well I'm sure it's gotta be in these few aisles. So I'm sure you'll find. You're in your 20s right.

Me: Um, yes.

Random guy: Well I'm a little older (author's note...he was probably 45) but I you know am attracted to girl's with a figure. (Author's note: did he just call me fat??) And I'm pretty in shape for a guy my age...and I like women in shape. So maybe sometime we can get some coffee. Do you have a cell phone?

Me: Not on me

Random guy: Well maybe I can just get your number...you know so I can call you.

Me: Gives fake number

He walks away. End scene.

Umm yeah, so it was shortly after that incident that I decided I needed to not be a grandma and join my friends out for some Halloween festivities. Because I was not going to let that be the only eventful occurrence of the day. Because let's face it...when you get picked up in a grocery store but some guy telling you you have curves...I'm not sure it can get much lower than that.

So I went out and had a fantastic time dancing with my peeps.

And I can honestly say I never got picked up in a grocery store in Utah. And also, who doesn't know what Bisquick is!?

Sometimes Kharma Comes Back Around...

When I first moved to the Boston area, I was getting off the T and there were people pushing off as others were pushing on...you know typical public transportation craziness. Well as I was stepping off, this little girl was walking ahead of her mom, she was probably about 3, and her mom was pushing a stroller with a baby in it. The girl was walking in front of the stroller and getting ready to step on the T. As she put her foot up she missed the T and landed in the "gap"...right up to her hip. Well I stooped down, picked her up by her shoulder and put her firmly on the train. Her mom was thanking me profusely but I just said you're welcome and continued on with my day.

Well Tuesday I went to PT and had to shower at the gym. Upon arriving home I realized that I had left all my shower stuff (including my new facewashes) in the shower. I figured they were probably going to get thrown out but I figured I would check in the morning anyways. So I went to the gym and asked the desk guy (yes, that's his official title) if they had a lost and found for shower supplies...he looked at me like I was crazy, but he said that if I wanted to check the showers, I was more than welcome to do so. So I checked the shower, as I expected, nothing. But as I was turning around to leave, on the sink, someone had piled up all the stuff I had left in the shower. All of it.

You never know when kharma is going to come around and help you out...and she totally owed me after the horrible dates I've had as of late...which may or may not show up in future blogs...you never can tell.

And I thought Utah was bad...

So I auditioned for a community concert band last night.  That sounds like it would be really low-key...it was probably the hardest audition of my life.  I had to know things that I hadn't thought about since high school.  And then at the end of the audition he said, "well you can sit in with us tonight and see if you are a good fit.  We just had a horn player quit over the weekend and we haven't put out the cast call yet for a new one...and we don't want to deprive other qualified horn players of any opportunities."  Really!?  Cause the last time I checked you were a community concert band...and usually,  where I come from community concert bands are happy to get who they can get...especially us french horn players ( I mean come on...honestly, it's not like I'm one of a million trumpets...not to mention...this girl...I have emptied my spit valve on Carnegie Hall's stage...I'm just saying!)

So I played with the ensemble during rehearsal that evening and it dawned on me.  Massachusetts is a very closed community too.  And all this time I thought Utahns were the only ones that could be closed off and discriminatory and that once I got back to America, all would be normal.  But no...last night I attempted to bust into the community concert band forum in Massachusetts, land of my great-great-great-great grandfather served beer to Paul Revere, and I wasn't from around these parts....nope here I was this outspoken girl from Utah...or was it NY...and NY would be far worse...cause maybe she's one of them Yankee lovers....

Plus no one told me that the state of Massachusetts has more french horn players per capita than any other place in the country....or maybe it just feels that way because 5...count it 5 community bands/symphonies in my local area turned me down without me even auditioning!! Just thanks for your interest, we are all filled up with horn players.  I play french horn!  It's not common!  Just let me play!

Anyways, I think I'm in...unless they find someone more qualified...so I better start practicing, so I can stay on the team! 

On a side note I have started PTing with the military peeps...again.  So yes, I was out at the capture site of Paul Revere this morning at 7:30 in 35 degree weather, getting ready to start my 3 mile-ish run.  For those of you that know me...think about that for a second...and then please travel back in time, let's say the year 1999 and tell my gym teacher to shut up about my broken leg and my exercised induced asthma and give me an A in gym class...because clearly gym class means squat in the real world and it really brought down my gpa.  

The state of Massachusetts baffles me...

I haven't updated in a few weeks because I have been rather busy.  However this story was one I wanted to blog about a few months ago, but didn't have time. 

So when I first moved to Massachusetts I figured that I might as well make myself a legal resident....you know...probably good to be legal and all.  So I went to the Massachusetts RMV to register my car and switch my license.  After the huge fiasco of getting a signed letter from my insurance company (because an insurance card clearly was not good enough), the RMV then took me for broke on taxes and gave me Massachusetts plates.  I then went to the other side of the counter to take another number to wait to switch my license over.  

When I finally got called up to talk to the woman, she asked if I had proof of residence.  I had the little postcard that the USPS sends that verifies that you have indeed changed your address.  I physically had to have my key, open my mailbox and take out this card.  So yes, I live there.  Well apparently according to the Massachusetts RMV, that isn't good enough.  You need something like a copy of your lease, or a utility bill or something.  Well I was dumbfounded that they wouldn't take a piece of paper from the postal service and I was dreading driving all the way home, only to have to drive all the way back when she asked if I registered my car.  Well yes, I did register my car...but it took NO PROOF OF RESIDENCE to do so.  So I gladly handed over my registration as my proof of residence (even though I used no proof to get it) and I switched my license over.  

This once again reinforces how stupid state governments are and how I will avoid the RMV at costs in the future...thank god for online renewals.  

Why I need to give up running...

So in my attempt to stick with my trainer(an ex academy football player)'s plan of getting me in shape, I have been going to the gym 5 days a week for the past few weeks now.  Let me state again how much I really hate running.  I thought I would run outside today though, because 1. it's safer for me apparently and 2. it was warm and sunny and I know the wrath of New England winter is about to come crashing down on my life.  

In order to get to the outdoor track you have to walk by the bowling alley which has no less than 5 men outside smoking at any time.  I'm pretty sure that having your gym patrons be subjected to cancer before they go run their lungs out is a pretty bad idea, but apparently the AF doesn't care.  

Well Ms Asthma was already congested by the time I got to the track because somehow every time I am subjected to the cancer sticks my lungs go on strike and work so sluggishly I'm pretty sure my brain gets high from lack of oxygen.  The downside of that is that I cough more than an emphysema patient.  

So I started running and my shorts started to ride up.  Now ladies, back me up on this...why does Nike, Addidas and every other sport short manufacturer have to make ladies shorts so short?  Why can't they just be long like men's shorts?  Anyways, my shorts were starting to ride up, so I started hiking them down like the teenage kid that wants to show off his boxers.  My t-shirt was totally long enough so that wasn't really an issue...at first.  Somewhere around the mile marker I got totally sick of hiking the shorts down every 10 steps, so I tugged really hard at the hem and they fell longer.  Then I reached around to my back to see if my t-shirt was still long enough (mind you I'm doing all of this at a run)...and it wasn't.  Now side note, thank goodness I have enough common sense to not being wearing anything skimpy to the office and thank goodness I remember that advice that our mother gave all of us about car accidents and underwear.  But still here I am running around a track with my bloomers hanging out.  I was a decent distance away from all the AF guys doing PT in the middle of the field, so I was pretty sure they didn't see anything...but then I looked behind me and I saw a very attractive male running a few yards behind me.  I quickly righted the shorts wrong and didn't make eye contact with him the entire rest of the time I was running...oh yeah and my face turned 5 shades of red.  

So I finished my mile and a half and walked off the track to stretch.  As I'm stretching my calves near the parking lot and black SUV pulls up.  In it is the very good looking man that was running behind me.  He rolls down the window and says, "Thank you.  I was pacing off you the whole way.  You were a great pacer."  I was absolutely mortified so I did the only thing I could think to do in that situation (since I'm not a great flirt), I just introduced myself, said I would pace anytime and walked away.  Quickly, with my shorts definitely pulled up.   

I am never again buying picture frames that don't already have the brackets installed...

One of the challenges of being a single girl living on your own is everyday household tasks.  Most of the time I can wield a screwdriver or a hammer quite successfully (stop laughing parents), but being alone in Utah for 3 years can do that to a woman.  

Upon moving to the Boston area I decided to start decorating my apartment, which was something I had never successfully done in Utah, as it never quite felt like home.  I purchased a ton of picture frames from AC Moore (where's my discount Katie?) and was on a nesting binge.  

The problem I soon discovered was that these picture frames did not have the brackets already installed on the back.  You had to nail them in yourself.  I wasn't sure what kind of hammer that required, but since I already had a standard hammer, that's what I used.  The other issue is that I am trying to grow my nails out for a wedding I am going to be in, because I am getting them manicured.  So there I was with a huge standard hammer, tiny tiny metals nails and my obnoxiously longer than I would normally wear them fingernails.  Products for disaster.

And it was frustrating...every second of it.  I couldn't get the nail to stand up unless I was practically hammering on my thumbnail.  It was obnoxious, somewhat painful and bad for the nailpolish I had put on the night before.  

I had finally finished 3 out of 4 frames and decided to call it a night.  Now it was just the task of seeing if the pictures would actually hang on the wall.  As I was placing them on my demo nail I heard a knock at my door.  I normally would have pretended I wasn't home, but since I had been hammering and the TV was on, I figured that wasn't possible.  I also figured that it was the people downstairs ready to yell at me for the noise.  

I carefully opened the door to find my neighbor looking worried.  He asked if I was alright and I apologized profusely for the banging and told him I was done for the night.  He said he wasn't there to complain at all, but rather to see if I was in trouble.  He said that the banging was so furious he was afraid that I might have been bound up and trying to bang for help.  When I told him I was just trying to put some picture brackets on a picture frame, he looked at me like I had 3 heads.  Clearly he has not tried to wield a hammer against a little nail with fingernails before.  I apologized again, assured him I was ok and thanked him for being so concerned.  

When I closed the door I realized I should have introduced myself better and thanked him more profusely for being concerned.  But I was so shocked that he wasn't there to yell at me I was taken aback.  Which lead me to question what kind of society do we live in where people worry about other people being bound up?  

Not to mention I was pretty angry at those nails...oh yeah and at job stress...I think I was taking both out on that picture frame.  Maybe I should hammer quieter next time. 

And that's when George Stephanopoulos made me bite it on the treadmill....

So the gym at Hanscom has treadmills that face a wall lined with tvs.  I hate running with the fire of a thousand suns, but I know its a necessary evil, so I do it.  Today I was running on the treadmill watching some ESPN, because something about watching football players run into the endzone makes me feel more inspired to keep running, when out of the corner of my eye I happen to see Georgie on the next TV over.  I thought to myself, hm I wonder what George has to say today and then I broke the cardinal rule of treadmill running (ok I don't really know if its the cardinal rule, but I just made it that), I turned my head 45 degrees to see that tv.  No joke, it was 45 degrees.  And being the person full of grace that I am, I lost my balance and almost totally went down.  I used to laugh at that stop button, thinking that only idiots fall off treadmills but today my hand hit it by accident as I was starting to bite the rubber.  And the treadmill came to a dead stop immediately so I couldn't even pretend that I almost didn't fall.  Mortified I tried to start the treadmill back up, but it made me wait until it reset.  It finally started back up and I continued running with gusto and trying to make my face look like it was red from running.

That story right there pretty much sums up my first 6 weeks in Boston.