The Demise of my Domesticity

I used to be quite domestic. I prided myself in setting a beautiful table, making impressive recipes from scratch, decorating my home… but now? Now, I’ve never once sat at my dining room table, I own one tiny skillet, one tiny 2-quart saucepan and no muffin tins, still haven’t hung pictures in my apartment after moving in 5 months ago, never make my bed, much less use pillow shams, and I honestly cannot remember the time I washed dishes.  Somehow I’ve regressed. Most people eat cereal out of re-used take-out containers, don’t have a single table linen and have refrigerators filled with more beer than food when they’re in college or right after, not when they’re 28.

When I look back on that domesticated life I once had, I’m a tiny bit nostalgic and I think I want to be that way again… some day. 24-year-old me would’ve shaken her finger at 28-year-old me for living like this. But come to think of it, 24-year-old me was wound just a bit too tight and she didn’t know much about having fun.

I don’t know if it’s because I moved out of the South and away from alleged societal pressures to be the perfect housekeeper and hostess or because I’ve finally started living fully. I’m busy now. I don’t have to fill my empty evenings with table linen shopping  or wreath making because my evenings are full. Full of lively, fun activities I really enjoy. Full of good, deep, true friendships. Full of writing and working towards a career I actually dream about.

So, I won’t mourn the demise of my domesticity. I’ll just get super rich and hire a housekeeper to be domestic for me.

Here’s Something Neat

Preface: I try not to talk about weight because it’s a very off-putting topic but it will occasionally sneak in. If you’d like to maintain the illusion that I’m super tiny and cute, please keep scrolling and don’t read this.

I had an interview at Bath & Body Works today (that’s right, a Bachelor’s degree and 5 years of PR experience have potentially qualified me to sell moderately-priced lotion and shower gel gift sets to people who don’t know what to give as gifts) and I had a devil of a time finding something to wear. All of my pants and skirts were at least 2 sizes too big and the only way I can keep them on is to cinch up my belt as tight as it will go in a very Huck Finn fashion. Why are all my clothes too big?

• I do not have a job, therefore, I do not have much money
• Since I do not have much money, I can’t afford more than 2 meals a day
• Since I do not have much money, I can’t afford public transportation so I walk everywhere

While this is fantastic news for my health and waistline, it’s not great news for trying to look professional. My pencil skirt looks like a zippered pencil bag and my tops all billow and bag in a very unflattering fashion. It’s a vicious cycle: I need new clothes that fit properly in order to get a job but I can’t buy new clothes (or have the existing ones tailored) until I have a job that provides me with money. Woe is me!

I realize this is all very silly and petty compared to most of the world’s problems but if I can’t complain on the internet to strangers, where can I complain?

New Chapter

Remember when Susie and I visited Chicago for a few days in August? Well, we didn’t just go for a fun visit. We were scouting out my future city of residence – I’m moving to the Windy City!

Future Hometown

I’ll finish up my work here in Augusta at the end of January and make the big move from suburban single to city coquette. Just kidding… I’ll be just as prudish in Chicago :) There are some very exciting things in store though.

 

 

You can expect obnoxious pictures like this when I'm a City Coquette

 

Why I’m Going

First and foremost, I’m going to take classes at the famed Second City. I’ve always admired and been in awe of funny television writers and decided about a year ago that I wanted to be one*. After some careful research, I found that the Second City (all of its many parts) has a great reputation for producing some of the industry’s finest comedic minds (Amy Sedaris, Stephen Colbert, Paul Dinello, Gilda Radner, Dan Aykroyd, John Belushi, Steve Carrell, Tina Fey, Rachel Dratch, Chris Farley, Tim Meadows, Mike Meyers, Martin Short, Alan Alda, John Candy, Rick Moranis and about a zillion others) and I decided that Chicago was the place for me.

Secondly, I’m going to have some adventure. I’ve lived my entire life (except for college) on the Savannah River. I was born in Savannah, lived 12 years in Effingham County and another 12 in Augusta. It’s time to spread my wings a bit while I’m untethered by a husband or children**

What I’ll Be Doing

I’ll be working a full-time job – this has yet to pan out because job hunting is no fun and I have not been terribly diligent.

I’ll be renting a tiny studio apartment and learning how to maximize my living space in the interior of a Saltine box. Most of my furniture will stay in Augusta in storage but a few basic pieces will come with me. I’m pretty excited about finding new uses for my things and capitalizing on every square inch.

I’ll be taking classes at night. I’m going to start with just one class a week until I get used to the frigid temperatures and city lifestyle then work my way up to two or more. For more about the training center, click here.

I’ll be selling my car. Parking is super expensive so I was anxious to see what the mass transit was like.We were able to walk and ride the train everywhere we needed to go. I hear the bus system is pretty good too.

I’ll be freezing my sorry tail off. As I mentioned above, I’ve never lived anywhere but Georgia so I will be quite unaccustomed to the single digit winter temperatures and chilling winds. Thankfully, my family stuffed my stocking with long johns, coats, gloves, hats, etc to keep me from ending up like this poor fella.

What This Blog Will Become

As of late, this blog has become a barren wasteland where few dare travel. I strongly intend to use it as a way to keep in touch with family, friends and all of you. I’d like to chronicle my journey here and hopefully share some funny stories of a Southern transplant in the Midwest. (It’s going to take A LOT of getting used to those Chicago accents!)

I’m looking forward to getting started with the next, exciting chapter of my life and I hope you’ll indulge me as I make foolish choices and reckless decisions. Who knows? Maybe I will become a city coquette and hook up with hot guys like this.

* You’re probably looking at the verb tense agreement in this post and shuddering to think about the kind of writer I’ll make. Well, thanks a lot, everybody’s a critic. Why do you think I’m going to take classes?

**This is what I’m telling myself so I can hold on to the notion (delusion?) that I might one day have a husband and children.

You poor blog!

I have really been neglecting the blog lately! I just can’t seem to get my act together to write anything of worth. Poor thing is probably starving to death!

If you’re just absolutely craving more of me (and who isn’t? haha) please follow me on Twitter. I’m much more attentive there. If I knew how to put a Twitter button the side of my blog, I’d do it but I am not that tech savvy so here’s a link: http://twitter.com/sashyjane

In the meantime, I’ll leave you with one of my latest VeryVera articles.

Ever since I can remember, all I wanted to be when I grew up was a wife and mother. I assumed I’d be married right out of college and cranking out a baby every other year or so after that. Imagine my horror when I graduated from college without so much as a prospective husband and realized I’d have to provide for myself! I couldn’t see any advantages to being single. It seemed like a punishment rather than an opportunity. However, 4+ years out of college, my perspective is a little clearer. I’m no closer to marriage than I was at graduation but I’m actually happy with my life! My 21 year-old self would be horrified.

It’s taken me a while to get comfortable with the word single. I always assumed it had a negative stigma and connotation, as if there was something wrong with me. I didn’t want to be alone – I needed a roommate, I needed a best friend, I needed my sister to accompany me to events. I’d never think of attending a wedding or eating at a restaurant alone! But not too long ago, I had a bit of an epiphany: being single can be fun!

When you’re single, you can travel on a whim, decorate your house however you’d like and choose when you’d like to socialize and when you’d like to have some time alone. In the past year, I’ve made spur-of-the-moment trips to Trinidad, St. Louis, New York, Nashville, Tampa and I have a few more planned (maybe Chicago or Boston?) in the coming months.

While I’ve learned to be happy in my singledom, that isn’t to say that I don’t long for the company of other people. I’ll invite girlfriends for a dinner party and set the table with the good china, candle sticks, open a bottle of wine and really pull out all the stops. Once a week I’ll eat supper with my widowed grandmother and we’ll watch Dancing with the Stars. I have a great pool of friends, family and loved ones who are just a drive or call away who remind me that singleness doesn’t equal loneliness.

Self Letter

The girls at Bouched Blog asked for a submission of a self-letter written to myself in the past knowing what I know now. I chose to write one to myself in late middle school/early high school. I’ve reposted it here but you can click here to see it with Jena’s kind intro. This was such a fun activity! It was hilarious to think about what a mess I was in those days and even though I’m not exactly put together now, I can see just how much I’ve learned.

Dear Sara Jane, I’ve got a couple of things I’d like to say to you but first I’d like to talk about the boy craziness. Enough already! I know that you think every boy you’ve ever met is a total dream boat and that the two of you would make a splendid couple but sometimes, it’s just not meant to be. For example, stop sulking about Kevin Richardson from the Backstreet Boys getting engaged, it was never going to happen between you two and he won’t be famous in a couple of months anyway. You might want to also chill out on writing your crush’s name on every notebook. It gets embarrassing when you have 15 names crossed out and a new one squeezed in every week or so.

Speaking of boys, getting married isn’t the only good thing in life. When you go off to college, stop checking out the guys around you and crack open a book every now and then. If you spend half as much time thinking about your education and future career as you do thinking about your potential as somebody’s wife, you’ll probably choose a major more suited to your gifts and talents and you’ll probably figure out your career path alot sooner. Besides, not to be a killjoy or anything but you’re not going to meet your husband in college or in the years immediately following. Don’t sit around waiting for Mr. Right to come along before you start living your dreams!

Don’t talk so much. It’s fabulous that you’re opinionated and that you have strong convictions but everybody doesn’t necessarily need to hear them all of the time. You’ll save quite a few friendships and a ton of heartache if you’d count to ten before you speak or write something that could hurt feelings or alienate friends.

It’s probably a good idea to stop wearing clothes that don’t fit properly just because they were on clearance or in style. You don’t look great in long jeans and baggy t-shirts with flip flops. It’s just not cute. Take a little extra time in the dressing room and maybe bring an honest friend with you to TJ Maxx.

One last thing – start a notebook and write down all the funny stories and observations of everyday life. You’ll want to remember and use those memories someday.

Keep reading books!

Sara Jane

 PS. Don’t say yes to that guy when he asks if you want to go to the Christina Aguilera prom. It doesn’t turn out the way you hope! On second thought, that story makes for good future book fodder, go and remember to record every detail.

Tweet Tweet

I am now part of the cool club. I officially joined Twitter yesterday.  So far I’m following Susie, Jules and tons of hilarious famous people. Let me know if you’re part of the cool club too and I’ll follow you.

I”m still trying to figure out all the #@$%&*^ (symbols) and slang and what the heck trending is but so far, I really like it! Now I just need to come up with hilarious things to say and I need to get Conan to follow me.

In which I reach a new low point

I don’t like salespeople. They’re perfectly fine when they’re manning the cash register or straightening the towel displays. But when they call my office, follow me around a store or worst of all, stop by my cubby to “see if I need anything,” I practically break out into hives.  I feel an irrational need to get rid of these people and not hurt their feelings at the same time.

On the phone, I can usually skirt the issue, “I just haven’t had a chance to talk to my supervisor yet, I should get some time later with him next week regarding your product/service. I’ll give you a call* and let you know what he has to say.”  But when they stop by the office, they can see the lies written plainly on my face.  Why can’t I just tell them that we don’t need any promotional pens?

Let me describe my office to you. I am the only person in the office without an actual office and a door. My cubby is situated so that visitors approach me from behind and can block off the only way out. I am at the mercy of all who turn the corner and pin me in. I can’t escape without being seen, I can’t shut my door and if I pretend to be on the phone, the person waiting for me simply pulls up a chair and waits.

 Today, one of the other ladies in the office received her order of carbon copy forms from a local printer who is notorious for getting his feelings hurt and taking it personally when you don’t order from him.  He also loves to chat at great length about his personal life.  Just yesterday, I received a shipment from a larger printer in town and had 8 giant boxes of shiny, new brochures on display in my cubby’s entrance. I was trapped. If Mr. Talksalot looked through my plexiglass window, he’d see me and my 8 boxes and he’d be sure to turn the corner and interrogate me. So I did what any other rational, 25-year-old professional would do: I hid behind the filing cabinet until I heard him leave.

My hiding place

With my back to the filing cabinet and knees to my chest, I waited like Anne Frank until I heard him wrap up his story about his mother’s gout and finally leave.  The entire time I was under there, (my best guess is 4 hours although it was realistically more like 4 minutes) I kept thinking, “This is ridiculous! What if somebody comes back here to leave a note on your desk and sees you?! You are too old to be behaving this way! What is the matter with you?”

When I heard the front door of the office finally click shut, I crawled out of my hiding place, shoes in hand, and took my seat in front of my computer once more. Unbelievable. Surely other rational, 25-year-0ld professionals don’t hide under their desks. Maybe one day I’ll grow up.

*That’s a phone call I never make.

The Little Old Lady from Pasadena

Come Wednesday, I’ll be the proud renter of the hottest form of (temporarily)  handicapped transportation.  The Knee Walker.

That’s right.  This is happening.

Before you know it, I’ll be scooting around, wind in my hair, hands free to do whatever I wish.  No more sticking a can of ginger ale in my waistband and hopping back to my chair.  No more carrying my clothes over my shoulder or in my teeth while I crutch from the closet to a chair.  I’ll be able to cart things around in the little basket, my hands and underarms won’t be as sore, and I’ll be able to get from point A to point B without stopping for a rest. I’m going to be scootin in style with my new shiny blue Swivel Knee Walker.

Just look how cool this guy looks:

In addition to my new wheels, Grandmama – who was appalled by my bare toes in the chilly weather – knitted me a bootie to fit over my cast.  I assumed it would be in some muted, neutral color that would go with anything. Instead, I’m as All-American as apple pie, baseball,  bald eagles and midget wrestling.

I was going absolutely stir-crazy in the house this weekend.  It was gorgeous outside but I was stuck in the recliner reading elementary school novels because the house was being roofed and I didn’t want to take the chance of being hit by falling debris.  Thankfully, Mama decided to take me out for some fresh air and light retail therapy on Sunday.

Feeling like the little boy from The Secret Garden, I went on my first public outting (excluding doctor’s appointments, church and work) to Joanne’s.  I’ve decided to make my Christmas cards this year and I needed some supplies.  Thankfully, Joanne’s supplies its customers with two handicapped transportation options.  I could choose the standard push yourself around wheelchair or the electric scooter complete with shopping cart.  Needless to say, it was no contest.

Thankfully, Mama did not wet her pants from laughing at me on the motorized scooter and thankfully, I didn’t take out any small children or slow walkers.  It was touch and go with a box of cinnamon-scented pine cones though.

As I scooted around the store, handling the curves like a pro, I noticed that people were incredibly friendly and helpful to me while in the scooter.  I’m sure there’ve been hundreds of sociological experiements devoted to that notion but it was kind of interesting to see first-hand.

Adjusting

It hasn’t even been a week since the car accident but life has drastically changed.  For the time being, I’m living with my parents, showering in a plastic folding chair, carrying cans of ginger ale in my waistband and depending entirely on the kindness of friends and family members for transportation and meals.

Normally I would never go out in public without my make up on and a half-way decent outfit. However, last night I left the house, thanks to my friend Sarah, looking like I’d just been picked up from the group home. I still haven’t figured out how I’m going to get to and from work each day and I have no idea what I’m going to wear when I do go back. I’ve gotten a little better at my crutches but after a pain pill, I’m still pretty wobbly.

I had a CT scan this morning to determine whether or not I’ll need surgery to fix my heel bone.  The scan itself was no sweat but getting inside the outpatient center and up to the second floor was a different story. The woman (I don’ t know if she was a nurse or CT tech or what) who administered the scan told me that there’s a waterproof cast on the market called Gore-Tex.  I sure wish I’d known that on Tuesday! Maybe when I visit the Orthopedist on Tuesday, he’ll swap my cast out for one of those.  Suiting up with rubber bands, a Bed, Bath & Beyond bag and a Hefty bag every time I’d like to shower is getting old.

I’d like to apologize for the lack of interesting posts.  Maybe once the pain subsides and I stop taking my meds, I’ll be a little more lucid and able to post about pretty or fun things.

When I said I wanted winter boots…

This isn’t what I had in mind.

Let’s back up for a moment, shall we? I told Grandmama earlier in the week that I’d like to take her out to Papa Dan’s grave to swap out the silk flowers for a more fall appropriate arrangement.  Mama decided to come along too.  After we replaced and arranged the flowers, we drove to the cemetary where my great-grandmother is buried to check on her flowers. They still looked pretty good so with a 2 for 1 coupon in hand (Grandmama never goes anywhere without a coupon) we headed toward Moe’s for lunch.

There wasn’t a whole lot of traffic out and it was only 11:30 so we were debating on whether we should run any more errands before eating.  As we traveled up Highland Avenue and approached the intersection at Damascus Road, an industrial white van -who clearly did not see us- made a left turn in front of us.  I knew it was going to happen. There was no stopping it.  I jammed my foot on the brake as hard as I could but to no avail. Our passenger side front ends collided with the most force I’ve ever experienced in my life (and I’ve been around the block a few times when it comes to wrecks.)

Airbags deployed, the windshield cracked, the front end was smashed, my glasses and headband were knocked off of my face.  I’m pretty sure I screamed a cuss word in front of my sweet 85 year old grandmother.  In short, it was awful. As soon as we came to a stop, Mama and I both checked on Grandmama who was in the front passenger seat.  She was clutching her face in hands and moaning.  I immediately started boohooing at that sight.  Thankfully Mama got out of the backseat and ran to pry open Grandmama’s door.  I opened my door and tried to get out.  What’s wrong? Why can’t I move? Holy Crap! My foot hurts bad.

Where’s the other driver? Why isn’t anybody stopping to help us?! Mama handed me her touchscreen phone to call 911 while she tended to Grandmama. I couldn’t figure it out so I dug around and found my phone to make the call.  The firemen showed up in a matter of seconds. By this time, a few bystanders had collected to see if we were alright.  The police showed up next and finally the ambulances arrived.  Grandmama and I both needed to be taken in.  Since we were involved in a front end collision, we had to have neck braces and backboards.  After what seemed like an eternity, we were loaded up in the ambulances and taken to University Hospital.

By this time, I was in so much pain I couldn’t stand it.  I was hurting and I was so upset that poor Grandmama was so upset.  Once we arrived at the hospital, the nurse came in and took my vital signs and then the doctor came in to remove me from the backboard.  After what seemed like an eternity (but was probably only 20-30 minutes, a nurse returned with a shot for the pain.  I needed x-rays on my foot and ankle.

Mama traveled back and forth between my room and Grandmama’s.  She said Grandmama was getting hand x-rays because her thumb was black and blue and they wanted to make sure nothing had been broken in her chest when the airbag deployed. Her x-rays came back clean and the nurses cleaned the abrasions on her face and wrapped her hand with an Ace bandage.

I wasn’t so lucky.  The doctor came in to report that I have a broken heel bone on my right (driving) foot.  He said it’s a strong bone so it takes a huge amount of force to break it and it’s an injury they usually see in men who have fallen off of ladders.  I was wrapped in approximately 100 feet of padding and told to call on Monday for an appointment with the Orthopedist.  This type of injury takes a minimum of 6 weeks to heel heal.

On the way home, the pain was intolerable. Daddy got my prescriptions filled and Mama played nursemaid to both me and Grandmama.

I’m feeling much better today- the pain meds are really helping and I have an appointment for tomorrow to hopefully get a more permanent cast.

This is most inconvenient and I keep thinking of all the things I won’t be able to do- take a shower without sitting in a chair, go dancing in Nashville this weekend,  go shopping the day after Thanksgiving, go upstairs to my bedroom,wear cute heels,  drive or take Tater for much needed walks.  However, through my complaining, I see blessings.  I am so grateful that I was me who was driving and who got hurt and not Grandmama.  I was also fully prepared to spend a great deal of money on cowgirl boots this weekend.  Now I can save that money and afford to buy a few more Christmas presents.

 

Wow…. I didn’t realize how long this was. Kudos if you’ve reached this far.  I’ll be pretty immobile for a while so hopefully I’ll have more time to stalk the internet and blog about the pretty things I find.  How was your Halloween? ;)