They have my money now....

So there's no backing out. I registered for the Go! St. Louis half marathon last night. If it goes well, I may aim to keep on for a full marathon this summer (I'm thinking Charlevoix, MI on June 22... but that's very hypothetical). I think my big mistakes my last time (besides being too overwhelmed with moving/wedding to stick to training), were that I:

1. Bit off more than I could chew. I came off an excellent 10K and went straight on to slay a dragon. I think I wanted something to take my mind off wedding planning and moving, and I grasped at a barely attainable goal.

2. Did not schedule any training races. I made it up to my 12 mile long run, and I should have thrown in a half marathon after that so that I had something to look forward too.

So this time, I'm going for the half marathon first, and will sign up for the marathon as training progresses and I get a better sense of my summer calendar. But FIRST:

New shoes.

This color is a testament to the fact that I will endure anything for 20% off. They are an extremely comfortable pair of Brooks Pure runners, and I absolutely HATE this color. I asked if they came in a less offensive shade, and the very kind sales guy explained that he could sell me these for 20% off since the new colors were all next years models. Obviously, I bought them.

And now, I will politely try to plug our new local running store, the Missouri Running Company. I've always been committed to buying from a local running store. However, I really wavered this time. Amazon Prime is so convenient, and being in a new city is so hard (at least for me). I've had a good (but not great) relationship with the Adams Morgan Fleet Feet in DC. They always try to put me in some super-stabilizer geriatric shoes that are so heavy they clunk against my ankles when I run. Not so at MRC - the sales man reviewed my stride, complimented me, and recommended a few shoes to try. As I tried them out, he continued to review my stride and gave me tips for making small tweaks to improve. It was a truly fantastic and positive experience and I'm so very glad that I pushed out of my comfort zone and gave this place a try. They definitely have a customer in me for as long as we're in STL. 

So I'm off and running - they were great on my 3.5 mile tempo run this afternoon, even though the post-wind chill temp was in the low teens. I'm raising my glass of orange juice to a great, fresh start.

From Unemployed to FUNemployed

I am pleased to announce that this morning I accepted a position as a seasonal sales associate at my interior decoration one-stop-shop, Crate & Barrel. Hurrah! The crowd of people who now know where their holiday gifts are coming from goes wild!

Today, I've been unemployed for exactly one month. This means that it's time to start the funemployment stage of my job search. There comes a time in the job search where focusing all of your energy on applications and cover letters is no longer productive or healthy. I hit that point last Wednesday. So it was time to look for "fun" jobs, like retail, waiting tables etc... to bring in some cash and keep me busy while the search continues.

If you're going to be unemployed, mid-late October is the best time to do it. Pretty much every retail store is pushing out the low hanging fruit of the job market - part-time seasonal sales associates. The pay is not high and the work is not glamorous, but a paycheck is a paycheck, it's a great way to make new friends, the discounts are great, and working sales gets your mind off unemployment while polishing your interview skills.

I'm one of those strange people who actually kind of likes retail. I enjoy talking to people about products I like. I enjoy helping them find what they're looking for. I like being on my feet, moving around and generally feeling productive. So I'm excited. The timing was right and I'm looking forward to having a paycheck again, and finally making some friends of my own in St. Louis.

I've also been interviewing for a few full-time gigs in my field this week, which is exciting. It is scary to have so many irons in the fire, but I'm hoping to keep things balanced and end up in the right place. 

That's Not Very Zen...

We have a little bit of a spider problem in our new home. The Grige insists that it's not really a problem so much as a really aggressive "other bug" solution. So far, I've only seen one or two on the floor of our bedroom, which is okay, but the rest of the house is a freaking spider free-for-all. They're not too nasty - just mid-size, bug-eating, brown guys - and I'm learning to deal with them.

I do wish that Toby Maguire could come hang out with us instead.
Photo: http://www.meltingpotinternational.com/news6.html 

Earlier this week, I was in the bathroom doing my business (like you do) and one came flying out from under the tub like a bat out of hell and kept coming straight at me despite screeching, bath mat kicking, and what can only be described as "leg flailing". I ended up killing it with my bare foot, and thus began the "always wear shoes" rule. I hope you're laughing, because I'm banking on the comedic value of this story being greater than my humiliation at sharing it. The Grige thinks this was the funniest thing that has ever happened.

After that, I have been (understandably) a little bit jumpy. I was taking the trash out (filled with the dripping remains of soaked hops and wort - homebrewing is not really winning my heart this week), and a bottle cap rolled out from under it. I screamed bloody murder, jumped a mile and spilled a combination of coffee grounds, nectarine pits and beer soaked brewing remains all over the kitchen floor. So, you know, improvement! At least it wasn't bodily fluids this time, though I did still have to change my pants afterwards - there are few things more disgusting than running shorts drenched in sweat and beer. Luckily, I had just returned from a run and needed to shower anyway.

The front sun room, my yoga mats are in the corner, the Grige's crap is everywhere else

The worst infestation of spiders thus far has been in the front sun-room. This is mostly because it has been neglected, filled with boxes and random musical equipment since we moved in. We are planning to use it as a guest bedroom/reading room once our new couch arrives and we can move the evil futon of decoration death in there. However, that won't be until early November. Filled with the determination-that only unemployment and spending a year in a 500 square foot apartment- could inspire to use every square foot in our apartment, I decided to turn the front sun room into a yoga room.

One of the things the Grige and I agreed not to compromise on as we planned for our new, depleted financial condition was fitness expenses. We're both much happier people when we get our exercise, so a yoga membership for me and gym membership for him were non-negotiable. However, I've been reluctant to actually get started at a studio before I've figured out some income, so I've been writing my own practice in addition to running. Using a kitchen timer and a notebook, I have to say it's going pretty well.

Another sunroom shot, so you can understand the extent of spider dwelling area

So back to the spiders. It's not that it didn't occur to me that I was trying to set up a zen space in a place that was filled with spiders and messy things for them to hide behind. I brought a few pairs of shoes and a roll of paper towels in with me and hoped the scent of my incense would deter them. What I didn't expect is that one with a rotund body the size of my thumb nail would crawl torpidly, like Shelob out of her lair, across my mat while I was in headstand. No shoe or paper towel could save me, frankly, I think that even a sledgehammer would have been unequal to the task.

Luckily, the beast's worst was to stroll across my mat like she owned it while I lost my shit, grabbed a shoe and waited, heart pounding, for her to vacate my mat and meet her doom. Which she did, with much squelching on her part and screaming on mine. Not very zen.

So instead of Shavasana, I killed a box of wine and tried to recover for the rest of the evening. I don't yet know what the lesson here is, only that St. Louis is finding new ways to challenge my sanity every day, and I'm probably going to just go ahead and get that yoga studio membership. 

My Awesome Un-Job

I came to two startling realizations last night:

1. Grad school parties are exactly the same as undergrad parties, only nerdy-er and more selective. But not in a bad way! We went to a CMYK party last night, everyone was very welcoming, fun and dressed colorfully. Maybe it's because the Grige is endearing and did a good job of getting people excited to meet me, but I felt very welcome.

Cool-ass graphic via Tough Little Spider blog

2. I am way more comfortable talking about being unemployed than I ever was talking about my last job. Where are you in your career when you feel more confident and in control talking about how you sit on your couch and blog all day than you feel talking about your very well paid work as a legal recruiter?

I think I felt so much better talking about my plans for unemployment because I have a plan. In my job, I just sort of let things happen to me. My boss was generally in charge of my work flow, and every time I tried to invest and make myself essential to the completion of some facet of our work, I was told to "not worry about it" and just go home on time and that someone else would deal with the nitty gritty.

I'm not saying that wasn't nice. It was! I worked decent hours, didn't spend much time worrying about work and was very well paid. However, at this stage in my career, it really started to get to me to not feel "needed". While I was constantly thanked for my "hard work" and knew that what I did was helpful, I still had little to no control over how my work got done and felt like any one of the thousands of jobless recent grads out there could walk in and do exactly what I was doing.

That is a really good lesson to take into the job hunt with me: I'm not going to do my best work or enjoy my job if I don't feel "needed": Like I offer something important and unique to my work that is useful in the overall function of the company. It also re-affirms my decision to hold out for a job I really want. I don't feel like I'm wasting my time at all on my shorter-term unemployment goals.

What can you take away from this? If you're having a hard time talking about your job (and in a city like DC, I had to do this A LOT), something probably is wrong, and it may be worth your time to stop what you are doing and figure out what it is. Because even unemployment can have a positive spin. 

Hey Midwest - it's time to hand over the keys.

I've mentioned that I hate driving, it is one of the biggest transitions I'm going to have to adjust to now that we live in Saint Louis. It's not so much that I'm bad at driving, I'm actually a pretty good driver, which is mostly due to my level of caution which is a direct by-product of my terror. I find traveling at speeds greater than 25 miles per hour in a large metal object surrounded by other large metal objects controlled by people who don't always have "safety first" on the brain, absolutely harrowing.

My first night back in St. Louis, our neighbor had a party. She invited us, and apologized in advance for the noise, which was very sweet. We honestly didn't hear a thing, until around 3:00 am when we heard everyone piling into their cars and driving home. I can't say for sure, because I didn't go down and pass out breath tests, but it didn't sound like good decision making.

Metro Opens Doors... The Grige and I met on the metro
Photo: Jeanine Finch

One of the wonderful things about living in DC is that public transportation was both affordable, easily available and goes pretty much anywhere you want to go. Most of the country is not like that, which is a hard realization to come to at an age where a great deal of your social life revolves around "grabbing a cocktail".  

I look back at so many close friends in my hometown and am shocked at how many have already racked up a DUI. I couldn't be more thankful that I had the opportunity to become so terrified of cars that I actually take driving seriously. I also couldn't be happier to have spent my most reckless years safely sloshing around a metro train. Perhaps "safely" is a bit of an overstatement here, but rape and assault rank slightly below death in a fiery car crash on my list of stuff to avoid.

The Grige certainly gets exasperated with me for constantly stressing out about driving, but the thing is, I take it very seriously. I refuse to use GPS while driving, opting to look up my route beforehand and using GPS only as a backup to be used when pulled over. And I would never dream of having a drink before driving somewhere, even just up the street. Obviously, that's a little overboard. One drink is probably not going to impair a fairly regular drinker like myself to the point that I can't safely and legally operate a motor vehicle. But it's kind of like trying to get pregnant - just because I can doesn't mean that I want to. 

This is waiting for me AFTER I pick the Grige up from school tonight

I don't know what the solution is for the really obvious and terrifying drunk driving problem that I'm witnessing en masse out here, away from the amazing public transport on the east coast. Obviously it's unfair that there aren't affordable, convenient and socially acceptable solutions easily available. But it shocks me that all the educated people, who I assume value their lives, out here are just shrugging their shoulders and revving the engine anyway.

It's not that I'm not fun... I am! It's just that I can't understand how anyone can party like this and then drive home. I could barely walk home the night this was taken...

For heaven's sake, midwest. Please, oh please, just spend the night on your friend's sofa, go for a long walk home or call a cab. Pay a broke friend to stay sober and drive, start a drunk shuttle business, anything! You are smart and young and if you are as passionate about the observance of happy hour as I am, you should be motivated enough to find a better solution. 

Never mess with a feminist with a power drill

That means you, exterior brick wall. Watch your mother flipping back.

Yesterday was not great. I started the day with a little run and then directed myself firmly to drive to the bank, because if I don't make myself drive the car, I will continue to be terrified of driving the car. Well, I had to parallel park, and I don't do well under pressure and there were tears, and honking. I did better with the rest of my errands, driving without GPS and enjoying the blessed joy of parking lots as opposed to street parking.

I came home and made my first ever attempt at hanging pictures that required more than a finishing nail.  And then I learned something very valuable about exterior walls: Don't hang anything on them. Ever. Especially if the screw hole you are trying to make is slightly above eye level when you are standing on the nightstand. I am so sore, all the yoga in the world cannot fix the muscles that ache right now.

Evil exterior walls

I went to be a little upset, not least because the Grige was in studio until 3:00 am and I am oh, so very lonely. So I finished reading How to be a Woman by Caitlin Moran, went to sleep, and got up this morning ready for another try. A successful try, if you will...

It's odd, when the Grige and I first moved in together, I was a little sad that I never really had the chance to live on my own. I had lived with roommates, housemates, in dorms, on pull-out couches, but never truly by myself. It's not really a feasible option in a city like DC, and only ever regretted that opportunity a little bit.  But now, in my first year of marriage, I get my chance. No Grige to hang things, or hang out with me, and I am 100% in charge of dealing with the apartment.

So I fired up the old computer, and downloaded sketchup, took the first few tutorials and drew a mock-up of our kitchen wall. Three hours later I turned four crumbling nail holes into actual hanging pictures in our bedroom and our kitchen wall in to a montage of art that doesn't really work anywhere else. I'll share a better picture once I get one more frame delivered.

Fun Wall!

The thing is, I never expected to be dancing around to The Boss alone in my apartment with a bandana on my head, a beer in my hand and a hammer and a drill hanging off my belt. I thought my chance for this experience had passed my by when the Grige popped a ring on my finger. So yes, things aren't ideal right now. But so far, our marriage is the gift that keeps on giving, just so long as you can sort through the frustration to find them. 

Marriage and the Six Week Pause

The Grige and I lived apart for the first 6 weeks of our marriage, and tomorrow I am finally going to St. Louis, to him, to the life that we’re going to have. For us, living apart absolutely sucked. It was like taking the huge plunge of our wedding, which was filled with joy, and then being forced to hold our collective breath for 6 weeks while we tried to figure out what the marriage would be. Well, it is impossible to figure out what your marriage is going to be while one of you is living on a sleeper sofa with a newborn and a renegade pooping cat while working 15 hour days and the other one is diving into his first semester of graduate school 1000 miles away. And so, we held our breath.

I have learned something, from living with my tiny, brand-new niece for the last few weeks. Breathing for the first time is really scary, and upsetting and best dealt with by being swaddled up in a burrito wrap so you can’t flail around too much. And that is how I feel about moving into our new, married life. I’m terrified.

Ms. Emma, my housemate

Of course, I’m frustrated by all the normal challenges of moving – I have to find a new job, get used to a new city where I have to (gulp) drive a car sometimes, decorate and organize a new house, make new friends, find new running routes, introduce myself to the animals at the new zoo… But that’s not scary; it could potentially even be exciting. What I am afraid of is what our relationship is going to look like after all these changes. It’s not clear how much time the Grige will have for me, and six weeks of video chatting when we are both too exhausted to form full sentences has not made things any clearer.

So I get to sit here and listen to everyone tell me how excited I must be to finally see my husband again and get settled in our married life while I hold my breath and worry. the Grige is already so busy with school that he’s not even sure he can spend the whole evening with me when I arrive on Saturday, and that makes me feel so rejected and alone that I just want to scream, which does not make me feel like the good, supportive wife that I want to be. There aren’t many ways to express those feelings to a busy man over the phone, and I know he’s scared about what it will be like too, and how we’re going to manage our time. He’s also terrified that I’m never going to forgive him for picking up our east coast lives and moving them to the mid-west and then leaving my poor, introverted self alone all the time to figure out our lives – like getting food on the table - while he works his butt off at school.

This is what a perfect DC morning run looks like

Meg Keene has written beautifully about how no one asked us to be martyrs, over at A Practical Wedding and that will be my mantra in our new life. I’m giving up a lot, but think of what I’m gaining! I chose to marry him and I am so very proud of him. But I am sad to leave my job, and my friends, and my city that I love. I’ve spent the last six weeks in this terrible limbo where the end is looming and the vibrant color seems to have drained out of everything, even on perfect DC morning runs and at delicious dinners with best friends. So while I’m scared, I also feel like anything is better than the half-way place where I’m living without the piece that makes it all worth it – the Grige. Perhaps that is the greatest affirmation of our marriage I’ll ever get, and all before it’s even really started.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

Now we are two, even if we had to wait six weeks after our wedding to get all the way here. I’m packing up my bags, my old name, and I’ll land in about 24 hours as EFF: Wife. And maybe we’ll only have an hour or two together before he has to go back to studio, and maybe I’ll cry and yell about that, but I’m hopeful that I can swaddle myself up in our love to keep from breaking anything while I flail around and learn to deal with it.

We Got Married!

And it was wonderful. I don't know quite what to say about it yet, except that I'm tired. I want to crawl into a tunnel where there are no people for a very long, long time and then my poor, introverted soul can emerge a beautiful, married butterfly.

This is what it looked like.
Photo: Summer Jean Photography

Unfortunately, I'm currently 1,000 miles from the Husband Grige living in a basement with a delighfully well-behaved new-born baby and a cat whose whole life has been turned upside down. I know how he feels.

Photo: Summer Jean Photography

I'll be back soon with some good wedding re-cap stuff and some fantastically interesting information about navigating name changing, finance combining and bill handling as newlyweds living across the country from one another (surprise! there's a lot of fighting!). But for now, a few teaser photos from our excessively talented photographer, Summer Osborn.

Oh yeah, it rained the entire day. And no, no one cared.
Photo: Summer Jean Photography

Today, Goodbye.

Today is kind of a big, sad day. Our last day in our Adams Morgan apartment together, our last day in D.C. together. I said a long (hot) goodbye to our neighborhood this morning on a 6 mile run. I'm going to miss our location so much! I know all the mileage around there, I love running through the National Zoo and the Rock Creek Park, I love the park and the 7-11 across from our apartment. I love our big, south facing windows that fill the whole apartment with light in the morning while I stretch out. ugh. Sad.

The funny thing is, I never would have guessed all the things that made our apartment so great when we first signed the lease. I knew we liked it the best of all we'd seen, but I didn't know how much I would fall in love with it, or how D.C. would finally feel like My City once we moved in there. Sure, living with only one closet was hard (to say the least), and the cockroach problem was miserable, and our lone tomato really wouldn't grow and the condo board was a B*TCH. But I loved it there.

Our neighborhood.
Photo: Jeanine Finch

It's also the first place the Grige and I ever lived together. Which means it has the memories of lots of fights, lots of firsts, and lots of friends, all of which I am avoiding thinking about because I'm already falling apart just thinking about leaving 600 sq. ft. of wood flooring and bright paint jobs.

I should be getting excited over our new, big apartment, with central air and craftsman fixtures and a yard and MULTIPLE CLOSETS and FREE LAUNDRY. But I can't. I'm completely hung up on the fact that I'll never run home through the Zoo again. Or spend all day laying around in Kalorama park. Or drunkenly order wings at the 7-11 at 3:00 am after karaoke. Sure, I'll be back in a few weeks, but it just won't ever be the same.

Remember When I Said We Could Handle Moving and Marrying in the same Month?

Actually, I don't think I ever wrote that. I knew this would be stressful, but then stuff like the last 48 hours comes flying out of nowhere and knocks us both on our asses.

I talk a lot about how different the Grige and I are. Different personalities, different coping styles, different talents, strengths, communication styles and backgrounds. It makes for a lot of good variety in our life, and generally, I love it. But sometimes I worried that we didn't have enough in common to make for a strong marriage. Because everyone has fears like that, and it's hard to be in love with someone who is oh, so very different from you.

There is one major way that we are exactly the same, and I didn't even realize it until earlier this very summer. We are both kind-hearted, generous people who generally (and somewhat naively) assume that everyone else is nice and sharing and gives people the benefit of the doubt too. You may be surprised to hear that this is not always the case, and sometimes we get yelled at, scolded, bullied - whatever you want to call it - by people who are not quite so nice and innocent as we are. But that's not even the thing we have in common!

Packing... and Cooking Creatively.

The thing we really have in common is the fact that these interactions with people who treat us rudely and accuse us of generally being "up to no good" really de-rail both of us in very physical and personal ways. We are genuinely hurt, to the point of feeling ill, having trouble eating and sleeping, and even breaking out in a rash (that's just me, not the Grige), when people assume we're looking for a fight or trying to undermine their authority and treat us disrespectfully as a result. I know people who can just let things like that roll right off their backs, but the Grige and I are just not those people. Instead, we lie in bed next to each other all night, staring at the ceiling with our minds racing over what we could have done wrong/what we can do to fix it.

To sum up, we don't have a problem with authority or rules, and when we find ourselves in the wrong, we're willing to accept responsibility and correct our actions. We desperately want to follow the rules and we actually, physically need to be validated for doing so. How do we want to be validated? you might ask... Well, we want to be given the benefit of the doubt that we don't go around trying to make life hard for people and that any wrong-doing on our part is an honest mistake that we want to fix.

Photo: Jeanine Finch

So right now, we're not sleeping much and are generally very distressed about a problem with the condo board in our building (which, by the way, refuses to speak with us directly, even though we are NEIGHBORS, making it very hard for concerns to be addressed for either party) and our moving plans. The passive-aggressive nasty-ness and dictatorial manner have beaten both of us into sniveling, sleepless little heaps of pity while we try to deal with an ever-growing pile of wedding stuff.

Montello Condo Board! If you guys are reading this - we really want to follow your (stupid and kind of crazy) rules! Just stop yelling at us already! We are only asking questions!

Some people might say that we should just hunker down, get through the move, pay whatever psycho fines we're assessed and NEVER EVER RENT IN A CONDO BUILDING EVER EVER EVER. Generally, I agree with them. Don't do it. I know the unit is beautiful, and competitively priced, but just don't, okay? No one likes being a second class citizen, especially in their own home. And, you can live there when you are ready to buy.

However, that's not the moral of the story here. The moral of the story is that even though things are very very dark and sucky and stressful right now, I'm kind of glad this is all happening. Because it is infinitely comforting to me to know that the man I'm going to marry shares my deep, ingrained, desire to do the right thing, and to treat people (and be treated) fairly and honestly. And to know that those things are so important to him that he's up all night with knots in his stomach and eyes on the ceiling right next to me? It's priceless.

May your wedding planning be filled with slightly less stressful and upsetting reminders of why you are marrying your partner.

A Bug of Uncertain Size and Intentions

I hate moving. Everybody hates moving. One of the things I hate most about moving is the fact that all the stuff shuffling sometimes awakens creatures better left undisturbed, in places like "under the bed" and "behind the couch". This morning, about 5 minutes before my alarm went off,  I heard a bang and the Grige let out a barbaric yawp the like of which I have never heard from him. I assumed he was injured and immediately leaped up to rescue him!

"Stay over there!" He shouted. "Don't even look."

Filled with terror, I asked if he was bleeding that badly, wondering how this could have happened while simply getting dressed in the morning. "No, it's a huge bug. Just stay over there and don't look."

He tackles food like he tackles bugs.
Photo: Megan Shiley

He did not have to tell me twice! I stayed curled up in the far corner of the bed and watched him thump around on the floor looking around for this "giant bug" which he apparently didn't kill with his first strike. Not. Scary. At. All. He also kept making these alarmed and frightened noises that were even scarier. I've never seen the Grige loose his cool before. Bears in Yosemite? No problem. Snake in the Water? What are you worried about? Giant, man-eating cockroach in the kitchen? Quit your whining, you silly woman. But this bug, that he would not let me even look at, was reducing him to whimpers and yells while he whacked at it with his bare hands and feet. Serious man points were awarded.

I am Mighty Grige! I fear NOTHING! Except the bug under our bed!
Photo: Me

He finally must have killed it, because he looked up at me with mixed fear and disgust and said "I got it, just don't look yet." After cleaning it up with a massive handfull of papertowels and carrying it to the kitchen (apparently, it was a matter too great for the mere bedroom waste basket), he allowed me to get out of bed and said he needed a hug and a back scratch. I obliged, and asked him how big it was.

" You don't want to know. I'll tell you after we are all moved out. I can't wait to get out of here."

Whaaaaaa? He wouldn't even confirm if it was larger or smaller than a mouse. My imagination is running WILD. This creature has probably been living under our bed for 2 years, feeding on dust mites and wrapping paper, waiting for me to disturb it's hibernation by packing up the Grige's side of the bed last week. I wonder what other horrors await us under there?

I suppose there is always the option of getting my mean face on and dealing with it, but why?
Photo: EE's personal collection

Needless to say, the Grige is now officially in charge of all "under the bed" packing. I'm not even sure if I can sleep in there tonight. I'm also instituting a very strict "no bare feet in the bedroom" policy while we're packing up. I will be armed with closed toes shoes from the moment I cross the threshold moving forward. Flip-flops need not apply.

So, how was your Monday morning?