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One of my favorite aunts is about to undergo chemotherapy for ovarian cancer. Because I’m halfway across the world, there’s little I can do but send emails or occasionally catch her on Skype. Since I was a little, my Aunt Rita (the youngest of four on my mother’s side) has been the “wild” independent one. She was an international flight attendant, married and divorced young, had an abortion, and led the life of drinking, smoking and dating.
Now in her 50s and facing cancer, she admitted that she—like me—went through a lot of life confident in her independence and single fun. But at this point in her life, she regretted not finding someone, finding to be with her through this time and holding her hand. I protested that she wasn’t alone (my mom is there with her) and I certainly didn’t need a guy to take care of me.
“Of course you don’t, Jane, but take it from this old girl, stay OPEN to the possibility of love. That’s all I’m asking. You don’t want to end up like me.”
The part of me that is tired of being lonely completely agrees with her, but it seems to fight against the idea that I’m doing great on my own. I’ve been on a rampage of hobbies, traveling and hookups but still feel unfulfilled. No matter how hard or light I throw myself into things, I come up on the other side looking for an unknown something. Maybe that’s life? Maybe the unknown is what keeps pushing me forward to live life fully and completely.
After staying in hostels for 3 weeks in Europe, my standard for lodging has dropped. If there’s a bed, working bathroom and air condition, I’m relieved. So when Rachel, my partner in crime in Europe/quarterlife crisis, accepted a job the same day as me, we decided we had to have a last hurrah. Destin was our first thought, but with Fay running its way through Florida, we ditched that idea. Then we found out her dear grandmother had a free night at Beau Rivage in Mississippi (yeah yeah, not the ideal, but free night in a pretty posh place). Decision made!
On the way to Rachel’s, I had the feeling something was wrong with the brakes but forgot about it (I swear, I never learn to listen to the voice in my head). Of course, this haunted me later. On our happy blue sky way to Mississippi, I asked Rachel if she felt the road was slanted and how strange that was. She gave me a “you’re crazy” look and we kept on driving. But life likes to mess with me and a few minutes later, the car started vibrating and down goes my back left tire. I managed to pull over on a wide section of the shoulder and we both got out and stared at the horror of the tire rubber in pieces. As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t change a tire to save my life. I know the general procedure, but not confident enough to do it and feel safe driving. Two minutes later, a cop magically showed up and with no questions asked, changed our tire and we were on our way in 15. Talk about an angel! Didn’t hurt he wasn’t bad looking. I guess I just have horrible luck with road trip snafus. With the burning tire in the trunk, we headed to our destination.
Mrs. Sheila met us at the hotel and showed us our VIP room. It was massive with beautiful beds, large bathroom the size of some of our hostel room and a pretty flat screen. Apparently gambling a lot means a lot of free things and VIP treatment because after a swim in the pretty pool, free amazing buffet (you know, the casino kind where there’s EVERYTHING) and some gambling, we came back to a dimly lit room with music turned on, chocolates on our pillow and turn-down service.
After a relaxing night, we got in the car with the burning tire to find out that Gustav was headed our way. Sigh. Vacation over. After some obligatory joking, we faced the reality. The “good news” is I was moving to Austin this weekend anyway with little stress due to everything being still packed up. The bad news is if there’s an evacuation, the entire city is going to flee on the same day I leave. 5 hours to Houston turns into 15 and as much as I love road trips, sitting in the car at a standstill is not fun. Then came the realization that if I left early, I would also have to prep the house as if a hurricane was coming. Given that my parents are out of the country still and my sister isn’t the most responsible person, I suddenly realized I had to undergo my first evacuation alone (I was in St. Louis during Katrina).
Locating important documents, cleaning the back yard, moving things slightly higher and packing my car ended up sending me into a frozen state; for about three hours, I hid in my room to avoid the 94 degree sun and watched a movie. My neighbors already cornered me and demanded that I knock on their door if we needed anything (Mr. L started cutting our grass when my dad got sick). But it is what it is and part of being an adult is facing the reality of the situation, so I packed the car (fourth time this summer) and somehow managed to get everything done without having another breakdown.
So off I go to my new life tomorrow; I desperately hope I’ll have this life to return to. But like all true New Orleanians, I’m not going to worry until I have to worry. Most likely, it won’t hit or we’ll get some flooding, so until then, I’m going to take a breath and dive into the next chapter! Luck to all those leaving or staying. I’m sad to miss out on those hurricane parties. 
See previous entry for nickname references.*
“Mike, isn’t Jane beautiful? She’s single, you know. Jane, Mike is single. He’s my favorite newphew. You two should…”
“Mom! She’s RIGHT THERE.” yells her 15-year old son, Girly Girl*.
“Well, I’m just sayin’. Don’t you think, Mike?”
Mike laughs and agrees heartily.
Awkward.
But I’m used to Mrs. C and her blunt comments, especially with the love lives of her family. I stick my hand out and shake his hand and smile.
“He’s the one cousin I’ve yet to meet in this huge family.”
Mr. Bruised Ego laughs, “You know Mike never says anything he doesn’t mean. He has no filter.”
Mrs. C turns to Pen* and attempts to set him up with the much younger sister of Mike; she makes one of her children go grab the extended family photo to show him how pretty she is. We look at each other and place bets on who’s going to marry into the family first.
We’re at an old-fashioned family crab boil to celebrate a few birthdays of the C family. Mr. Bruised Ego’s entire extended family shows up and most remember my stint with them for Thanksgiving a few years ago and paintball with the guy cousins. We spend a fun night teaching Pen to dissemble and eat crab. He almost turns vegetarian at the amount of work and the “look” in the crabs’ eyes when killing them.
The night goes on and Mrs. C, with even more alcohol in her, wonders out loud (very loudly, among our group of friends), why Mr. Bruised Ego and I never dated. Awkward. I shrug my shoulders. It’s something he and I never talk about; it was a casual thing in the past that only happened when we were in the same city and we’ve both moved far beyond that. But Mrs. C doesn’t know that (or anyone there, really) and continues on about how her 11-year old daughter, the author of these nicknames, wants us to get married so we’ll have beautiful Asian-Italian babies.
I raise my eyes at the younger girl, who has apparently gotten very attached to me, and remind her that Mr. Bruised Ego has a very serious girlfriend. She smiles and shrugs her shoulders and her mom continues to chatter on.
“She likes you very much. You better visit us when Mr. Bruised Ego goes to California. He’s talked about you since college. Our family really likes Asian girls and he always brings beautiful ones home.”
By this time, I’m dying in laughter and Pen is grinning in delight because I’ve got two ins into the family now and he’s determined to win this bet.
Little does anyone know, there’s a subtle quiet chemistry between me and Pen. He’s my type: loves baseball, hard worker, public school teacher, Peace Corps, good-looking and smart. I swear there’s some attraction there; it’s in the glances, the standing close, the smiles. A the end of the night, Pen’s hug was a good one: Not those awkward, body-not-touching, pat-on-the back hugs, but full body, tight squeeze kind. During a conversation about architecture about a promise to prove to me something, he commented we should exchange contact info. Then again, it’s probably in my head and just general sticking together in a room full of one family. But in typical Jane Moneypenny life story way, he leaves on an early flight to NY tomorrow morning and that’s that.
And so I go home without any confirmation, but a new very good-looking friend. Like I need another one of those!
“And your new nickname will be … Scorpion.”
Mr. Bruised Ego’s little sister grinned widely at me as she announced it to her family at dinner. The 6 other people looked confused by the nickname, but she was onto her next victim, dubbing her Mr. Bruised Ego as “Pretty Pretty Princess” and her two other brothers as “Girly Girl” and “Odd.” Pretty Pretty Princess’ friend visiting from NY was granted “Pen” due to her mistaking his last name as “Penicillin.” Ah, the mind of a 11-year old girl. I think I’m her newest favorite person.
I grew up with a small family: my parents, my younger sister and me. All our extended family lived out of the country, so there were never massive family reunions or dinners or parties at holidays. I was lucky to grow up with a large crowd of kids my age from the close knit group of friends my parents made, but it was never really the same. Tonight, I experienced first hand what it’s like to have a big immediate family.
After spending a day baking in the hot sweltering sun (first day of no massive thunderstorms in weeks!) in the Quarter with Pen and Mr. Bruised Ego, we sat down to dinner with the latter’s family. Having spent Thanksgiving with his huge extended Italian family in the past, I was no stranger to their dynamic, but when you’re sitting at a table with 4 bickering siblings, 2 parents, 2 dogs and an out-of-town guest, it’s an experience.
Because I’m not close to my sister, it’s fascinating to watch other siblings interact, especially when they’re so much alike. Mr. Bruised Ego’s youngest brother, at the tender age of 15, is a spitting image physically of the oldest (Mr. Bruised Ego) with the hormones and girl-loving ways of 23-year older brother. But how the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree! His arrogance and inflated sense of self at such a young age has caused worry for his two older brothers and both have tried unsuccesfully to intervene. They blame it on their male cousins, but in the end, the kid’s surrounded by a lot of older men who are all a bit hormonal and love women.
Having not grown up around cousins and brothers and older sisters, I wonder how differently I would have turned out if I had. Would I be more confident or more insecure? Watching his little sister as a tiny version of a command leader of troops that has a flair for the dramatic makes me laugh. At her age, I was incredibly shy and barely spoke unless I was around good friends, but I guess when you’re the only girl and the youngest in a family of boys, you have to make yourself known. Good luck to her future boyfriends; she’s definitely not going to take any crap from any boy!
Capped the night with a fabulous jazz set by Charmaine Neville (sister of the Neville brothers) at Snug Harbor and it relaxed my chaotic mind and emotions as of late. So many decisions to make in the very very near future and I have absolutely no clue what the right one is. What happens when your future falls into your lap 5 years early, in a city you just aren’t ready for?
(Also, Pen’s not too bad looking…)
I forgot how hot New Orleans is in the summer. In the words of some guidebook I was thumbing through, the city is “steamy.” As equally hot as it gets in St. Louis, New Orleans doesn’t offer me the same shelter of a 9-5 free air-conditioned haven or my small apartment that circulates air just right. My childhood bedroom in the corner of the house gets very little and with an entire house to cool down and money tight, I’ve taken to standing in front of the fan half-naked.
Sometimes I wonder why I came home. Don’t get me wrong; I love New Orleans, but I also love it most during Christmas when all my friends are home and we haven’t seen each other in a year and life is filled with plans and parties and what I wished my social life was in St. Louis. I knew when I made the choice to come home that the possibility of getting restless existed, but I never thought it would be so soon.
Family-wise, things have been really rough. With my dad out of the country getting R&R and treatment, it’s been just my mom and sister handling everything here. She would never say it, but I think my mom is happy I’m hope for these few months just to help out with every day stresses. Financially, I can’t stop worrying. While I’m undergoing this quarterlife crisis, my dad has apparently decided to have a mid-life one. Finances are already tight, but he seems to have lost sight of that and spending money that we don’t have to the absolute frustrations of my poor mother. Watching her struggle every day with everything going on reminds me I made the right choice to come home.
My parents have always had a typical loving marriage, filled with funny bickering and usual fights, but the second cancer entered the picture, everything changed. How could it not? She can only argue so much with him in fear of disturbing his health, so the three of us are on the other side of the world trying to figure out how to fix the house and pay the bills. If anything, I’ve discovered that my sister and I have more in common than I realized (we’re not close at ALL). I’ve watched her take apart my childhood bed with just a wrench and fix things that my dad used to do for us. A friend that was over helping me paint commented, “Wow, you and your sister are both really good with power tools.” Part of that only added to my fueling anger at him for not being here, but the other half was proud of us for doing so much on our own.
So as messy and chaotic and unknown as my future is, it’s nothing compared to what my mother’s going through. And as strong as she is, she married in an time that the wife is dependent on the husband. She constantly worries I’m lonely being single, but she’s slowly starting to grasp that being independent has made me capable of doing things she was never able to. Their 28th anniversary is in a few weeks; my mom is flying overseas to be with him and hopefully smack him into sense. Funny thing is growing up, he’s always been the one to remember the anniversary and buy flowers. To this day, she still forgets. I know he’s happy where he is; he has his family around him that he doesn’t get to see a lot since we moved to the States, but I know my mom is at her wits end.
I haven’t breathed a word to any of my friends about this; not to say they wouldn’t understand, but something feels strange to bring it up. Whether they know or not hasn’t changed the fact they’ve been quietly there for me, often paying for little things when we’re out. For the first time, I’m the one without the job when I was always been the only one working and living on my own. Europe was incredibly good for my life; I no longer sleep past 10 even when I got to bed late. And while I never had that “aha!” moment (although E said she heard A-ha’s “Take On Me” in the department song and is counting it), I did realize that as much as I love order in my life, I really crave adventure.
But where do I find adventure and order and still fix everything that is going out of control?
I have a spending problem.
No, it’s not the normal kind of shopaholics, layaways or rich people. It’s some bizarre continual guilt about spending money or buying things. Ever since I was a child, I was always worried about money and I’m not sure why. I grew up in a typical middle-class family, was lucky enough to attend private schools and went to a great college. I never asked my parents for things and they always told me to stop worrying since it was their job to think about the finances. I don’t consider myself cheap (if anything, I spend more money on my friends than myself), but have always been frugal.
When I first started working after college, it took awhile to adjust to a higher income and the idea that quality is more important. In the last year, however, the guilt has increased. It nags and nags me and I have no idea how to quiet it down. Maybe it’s because I’m quitting a well-paying job with benefits for the heck of it and to go “discover myself” and explore this much-needed break. Maybe it’s guilt of having no income when I’m the only one supporting my family (let it be noted, I am no way bitter or angry or feel it a burden). My parents fully support my decision to make this giant change; in fact, they were the ones that encouraged me to relax and take some time out to travel. Guilt, guilt, guilt.
It’s driving me insane to have these constant feeling in my chest. It completely clashes against my love of adventure and trying new things. Guilt about dropping a load of money for a Europe ticket (even though it’s a life dream and I know it’s worth it), for a awesome backpack, for all the moving fees, for new tires on my car and now, new clothes.
I was part of a friend’s garage sale today and while going through everything, I managed to pack up 60% of my clothing. To most, this is a shocking thing for a girl to do, but I’m not lying when I say, even with that 60%, all my clothes could probably fit into 2 large suitcases. I only own about 10 pairs of shoes (half of these are probably flip flops/tennis shoes) and even fewer purses. For the longest time, I thought this was normal! But then I saw my friend’s pile at the garage sale and I was blown away. She was selling about 30 pairs of shoes and that barely made a dent in her collection that she was keeping. Same with purses and clothing. I must have missed out on some key gene for accessories. Or it was 12 years of Catholic school uniforms that has left me with the habit of a small wardrobe (personally, I love uniforms, but it did take awhile to get used to wearing “weekend clothes” daily when I got to college). Name brands mean nothing to me (unless it’s computer/tech equipment) and the most compliments I get about jewelry/clothing are usually things I’ve picked up at Target.
Don’t get me wrong, I like nice things. I’ll willingly spend money on things I know will go into use often (yes, I’ll still feel guilty). Skydiving would really be a thrill. I would love a new digital camera for Europe, but my current one works fine; I would love that new Apple MacBook, but my old school Powerbook is still ticking along. I’ll use things until their timely death, even a favorite tshirt with a hole. So the fact that I willingly gave away most of my clothes to the garage sale and Salvation Army (I only made $17, sadly) is a good sign I’m growing up. But the guilt! I had clothes that I still fit, but no longer wore and now I have a shrunken wardrobe and a much needed shopping trip. Guilt, guilt, guilt.
Maybe it’s Catholic guilt, even though eating dessert has nothing to do with religion. I had severe survivors’ guilt after Katrina; most of my friends lost everything and our house still stood with minimal flooding. Maybe the reason isn’t important. I don’t know. I’m too exhausted constantly worrying. Even my financial advisor said the fact I started saving at such a young age meant I would be fine by the time I retire. I have married friends that have yet to set up a savings account, but it’s fruitless to compare myself to others or say “Well, at least you don’t…”
Blah.
I’ve noticed a lot of people have significant others that their group of friends hate. I’m not talking about a general dislike, but actual hatred for this person that has infiltrated their friend’s life and changed the entire dynamics of not only the group, but their friend’s behavior and life. The girl is usually deemed a bitch and the guy an asshole.
In the cases of general dislike, no one can say much. Two of my closest friends, in fact, have been dating the same guys for years and I’m not a fan of either. But I can’t speak up due to the sole fact that they’re happy and the guys treat them well. My personal dislike really holds no power. Yet, should we congratulate these boyfriends (or girlfriends) for treating your friend well and making them happy when this is the way it’s supposed to be?
Then there are the those situations where it really comes down to pure hatred that is actually justified. The person in question makes everyone miserable with his/her personality, is possessive, jealous, insecure and everything that is someone’s nightmare for your friend. What happens now? Who speaks up? If your friends hate one of the most important people in your life, do you end things? Then again, if I had a boyfriend that everyone adored but I was ready to end things with, I would end it because I need to do what’s best for me (see the Friends episode when Monica wants to end things but everyone loves her boyfriend). Can this situation be applied to the opposite if I really believe that this person is what’s best for me?
Even though I’m not dating anyone right now, I worry about it for the future. And for those friends that are dating people I really just can’t stand. I guess there really isn’t a clear solution to the dilemma.
On a slightly different topic change, I just found out a good friend from high school is pregnant. She’s been married a little less than a year and in the middle of med school, but if her message is any indication, they’re clearly excited (the multiple “!!!” was a big clue). Also, last week, a childhood friend sent a snail mail to announce her second child (her first one was unplanned but she was already engaged and on her way to marriage bliss). And this is only the tip of the iceberg. Numerous friends/acquatinances of my age have already popped out kids and are setting up their little house in the ‘burbs with the dog and the big backyard.
The situation only baffles me in that I can’t even get a date, nevertheless be thinking of raising a family. Granted, I could probably get pregnant faster than I could get a date, but I digress. The rest of my friends are in serious relationships or engaged or happily married. The good thing is I don’t feel rushed; I feel like I’m doing everything right on time.
On another note, I discovered Vampire Weekend on SNL last weekend and got my hands on the album and I gotta say, I’m in love with the ENTIRE thing. Usually it’s an occasional song, but Vampire Weekend has an unique fun sound that really works for any mood. Give it a listen; it’s my current obsession and is perfect for welcoming spring.
