My Life as a Homeless Girl

Today's blog isn't following any writing prompt or writing challenge, its just me. I am sitting in bed in my jammies, listening to Cassadee Pope on Pandora and watching Juno stare at birds from the window. I'm on my 2nd of 5 or so loads of laundry that I have been meaning to catch up on for a week. I am browsing apartment ads on Craigslist, feeling very happy, despite all of the reasons I have to be annoyed and frustrated with the universe right now.

As everyone knows, the property I was managing sold on the 30th of last month. Until the very last minute, the plan for me was to float while we waited for a property to come open that was a good fit for me. About 5 days before the sale closed, I was offered a promotion to 2 small properties in Aloha, which seemed like a good enough idea. It was close to Stacey and Blake, in a new area, and I was told that it needed a strong manager to come in and stabilize it. Perfect. I wanted a project, not a property that maintained its own occupancy or didn't need any work. I want to be challenged. I want my career to grow, I don't want to sit back and rest on my hiney. So knowing only what I was told, I went for it. I am already really frustrated by things there, not because the property is hard, not because it is too ghetto for me to live at, but because it doesn't need much work and maintains occupancy just fine. For those of you who don't work in the biz, it is a cake property which will teach me very little and I will be bored and ready to move on in about 90 days. So I'm annoyed because I feel I was not given the truth. But my company requires 6 months when you take on a new property, so I am seemingly stuck for a bit. I will try to make the most of it, make differences where I can, etc. But overall, I will be bored for the next 6 months and will have to hunt out training opportunities, as they won't likely present themselves to me.

My plan originally was to live on site at whatever property I went to from Van Mall. No can do. This place is not a safe place for me and Juno. It is in a bad pocket of Aloha, near TV Highway, with very nosy busy-body residents, some mold and water issues, and old carpet, appliances, etc. It just isn't right for me. The bad news is, I now have to come up with a different plan. I am temporarily staying at Kitty's dad's house, as he is away on a business trip. But there is another cat here so Juno has been stuck in the bedroom, not able to come out and play or roam. So she's a little stir crazy, and I want my own place. I miss living alone, I miss being able to just do whatever I want with no regard for anyone else. So I started weighing my options and have made the decision that I no longer need to live on site like I did with Van Mall. With my sale bonus from Van Mall, I am able to pay off all of my debt next Friday. I don't have any major crazy debt by any means, but getting everything paid off - Juno's vet bill, my parents, my emergency credit card and my student loan - I will free up a few hundred dollars a month, which means I no longer need a rent discount. Obviously a rent discount is a nice bonus, but truthfully I am at the point where I would rather find a nice place that I like and can stay at for a long time than keep moving every 6 months based on a discount. After several long heart to heart talks with Rachel and Kattie, I have decided that all I am looking for is a place I love for me and Juno. It doesn't have to be in Beaverton, doesn't have to be a Riverstone property, just has to be a place that I can afford comfortably and can live happily. So I'm on the hunt.

I had such a good weekend this weekend, it was so refreshing and a reminder of how good my life is and how lucky I am to have such amazing people in it...

Saturday, Rachel came all the way out to my new property to check it out, walk my units with me, and make lists of all the things I can do to make small changes while I am there. After work, I picked up Stacey and we headed out to Sauvie's Island for Adelle's birthday party. We stood in line with Adelle and her friends for 2 hours to do the haunted corn maize, but it was super fun and pretty scary. Afterwards we all went to Kennedy School for a drink and happy hour food before heading home about 1am.

I got up Sunday pretty early and picked up my new dining room table from a lady in Lake Oswego ($20 on Craigslist, perfect price for me!) and then drove up to Rachel's place. We had spaghetti for lunch and just hung out on the couch for the afternoon before she had to go to her son's baseball game. Then Kattie met me for a sushi date and heart to heart girl talk, and we stopped at Ross before she went home. It was the kind of lazy Sunday with my girlfriends that reminded me that I do want to live in Vancouver, because it feels like home and all my friends are here. Will the commute to Aloha blow? Yes. But will I be happy to be home, in a nice place, near my best friends? Yes.

After I left Vancouver, I drove down to Jeremy's and hung out with him and Jesse while they played darts, then Jeremy and I watched a scary-ish movie. Not as scary as I was hoping for, but definitely some jumpy parts. We stayed up too late, as I always seem to do when I hang out over there, and when I got up this morning, I was glad I didn't have to go to work. I'm glad to be sitting here with Juno, listening to music, looking for a new home, not working.

I'll Have My Cake and Not Eat It...

I completed my first blog challenge! I wrote every day, and whether the topic was one I liked or not, I managed to put words to paper for 31 straight days. The point of the blog challenge was not to write something amazing, but rather to make my brain work on something other than work crap, and to remind myself that I always have time to write...even when I think that I don't.

I am going to continue my daily writing challenge by following a list of 100 Writing Prompts sent to me by my friend Rachael (who is about a month into said 100 writing prompts). Again, some seem silly and some seem fun, and others will likely envoke some deep creative or emotional response for me.

And so, off we go!

Day One: What's the best birthday cake you ever ate?

Well, I hate cake. So there's that.

I am - and have always been - a picky eater. And for whatever reason, cake is one of those foods that I very strangeley did not even like as a kid. As an adult, I find the texture of cake to be what I don't like. I also hate frosting, it is so sugary and sweet, and just so not my thing.

My cousin Karen and I share a birthday, and back when we were younger, we shared family birthday parties at Aunt Barbara's house. She always had a cake with candles in it, and at some point, the family started just putting my candles into the ice cream container, as that was the dessert I'd be eating anyway.

I love ice cream. Love it. Like, can't keep it in the house type love. My favorite is chocolate. Just plain old, Tillamook chocolate ice cream. No fudge, no chips, nothing fancy. I also love vanilla (I am very boring). When we were kids, Grandma Whitmore bought ice cream in a box, instead of in the half gallon rounds they have now. She would always cut me a square of vanilla and a square of chocolate, and I'd eat one bite of each flavor at a time, alternating. I realize this is one of my OCD triggers, yes. But that's how I always ate my ice cream, and that's how I still prefer it. Some vanilla, some chocolate, one bowl. Dee-lish!

Generally at parties, I have no problem declining cake. Baby shower cake, wedding cake, etc...I tend to just be honest about my dislike for all things cake. But last year, when my friend Tia died (on her birthday), a group of us from Old Chicago, where we all used to work together, got together and had a small birthday celebration for Tia. And there was cake. Chocolate with chocolate frosting and sprinkles, and a 32 candle in the center. And I ate a piece. I didn't like it, and it was a tiny piece, but I felt like if we were celebrating the birthday of someone we loved who was unable to be with us, I better eat her birthday cake. That tiny little piece of cake, was the best piece of birthday cake I ever had. Not because it tasted good, but because I was at a table with a group of old friends, sharing stories about how amazing Tia was and how much her life would continue to be celebrated even now that she was gone.

best thing this year

It is hard to believe that 2013 is already nearing the end! It has been a roller coaster of a year for me, but for the first time I feel like I handled everything that came my way with grace and without losing myself. I have had some really good, as well as some pretty shitty, moments so far this year, but I see nothing but good coming my way.

Today's challenge: What is the best thing to happen this year?

The best? Well, I think the best thing to happen this year was turning 30. I know, I was dreading it, and it sounds so old! But I got to take an awesome trip to Arizona and Las Vegas with my girlfriends, and I found out Kitty is pregnant while we were there!

Other great things to happen in 2013:

I got promoted. Twice. Once to a manager position at Village at Van Mall, and once just last week to Cascade Woods/Brackney Estates. So far, this property hasn't felt like much of a promotion, but I am trying to be patient and positive. And I did get a raise, so there's that.

I moved. A whole bunch of times. And am currently embracing homelessness.

I dated someone great. We broke up, but the months we were together we great, and I learned that after Kalib, not all men are ass holes. So good valuable lesson.

I went to my first Timbers game.

I went to Seattle and Tri Cities with my amazing friend Kattie.

I made new friends, who have restored my faith in girls and their ability to not be bitches.

What's in Your Bucket?

When I think of all of the things I want to do before I die, I feel like the list is incredibly long...so hopefully (knock on wood), I live a long time! But as I sat here running through the things I want to do, the places I want to see, where I want my life to go, it occurred to me that in all reality, the only thing on my bucket list is to embrace my life and to do whatever makes me the happiest, in every moment.

The list of places I want to travel to is extensive, and I think the more time that passes, that list grows longer, not shorter. Among my biggest dream destinations are Greece, Germany, Italy, Ireland, Amsterdam, the Galapagos Islands, Peru, Brazil, Panama, Costa Rica...the list just goes on and on. I want to visit as many places as I possibly can. This led me to Google what types of jobs are out there that would require me to travel. The first career choice on the list? Archaeologist. What? I was thinking more like, airline crew, not rock digger-upper.

In any regard, I have never been the type of person to live for work. I work to live. I work to spend my money on vacations. I generally put in far greater than 40 hours per week or have two jobs, whatever necessary to make things happen. I have been considering a part time serving job now that I am at a slow property that will likely bore me to death, but have also thought about doing part time for a hotel again, as the travel perks are so awesome.

Aside from traveling, my bucket list contains a lot of books to read, a few books to write, and a library to be had. Yes, I am so nerdy that having a library in my home is on my bucket list. Think, Beauty and the Beast. A room with shelves of books so high I need one of those ladders on rollers? Yes, please.

And of course, when it comes down to it, the real number one on my bucket list:

I'm Not a Follower

Today's Challenge: What are your 5 favorite blogs to follow?

This is a dumb one, but I do't have a ton of time either, so it fell on the right day.

I don't follow any major blogs, I pretty much just follow my friends who blog on here...

One of my favorites to read is Stu's blog about his primal lifestyle. It is informative and intelligent, but with a lot of wit and humor, so the reading isn't boring...as a lot of diet/lifestyle blogs are. I am really proud of him and think the blog should be read by everyone!

I also follow Rachel and Juli, who are each partaking in this same 30 day blog challenge. I enjoy reading their takes on the topics I have alread written about to see how each of us interpreted the subject differently.

I follow Rachael as well, who is doing another daily blog challenge, which I plan to dive into when this one is done in a couple days. Rachael's blogs are always funny, and I like reading them.

Other than that, I read my cousin Karen's fitness journey blog, which she needs to post in more frequently. It is inspiring to see how far she has come the past couple of years, and she should be so proud of herself!

What Doesn't Kill You (really does) Make You Sronger

Today’s blog challenge: What was a difficult time in your life?

I have to pick just one?

 

 

One of the key things I learned from my therapist was that truly, everything does happen for a reason, and that my experiences in life have been necessary for me to learn the valuable lessons I need to learn. Did I need to be abused by a boyfriend? Of course not. But I walked away with so much knowledge and so much power, that I can accept the experience. Did I need to have a high school friend commit suicide when I was only 16, and another die of brain cancer within 6 months of graduation? God no. But I learned a very important lesson from those losses to always appreciate the people I have close to me. I also didn’t need to lose both of my grandparents in the same year and my aunt the next, nor did I need to experience the unexpected loss of my friend Tia. And having a boyfriend killed in a car crash was not something I would say I needed. But through those losses, I learned that nothing is as important as the relationships in your life, and to not let petty shit get in the way of that.

I bring all of these incidents up not to be depressing or to play any woe-is-me card, but rather to express just how difficult and fragile life truly can be, and to explain that through challenging times, comes a better future.

 

Some of these things I have talked about in previous blogs, so if I’m repeating myself…well, too bad, this is my blog. It really is challenging for me to try and pick out one single most difficult time in my life, because everything happened at a specific time in my life. I could argue that my buddy’s suicide was the worst because I was only 16 and completely ill-equipped to handle tragedy. That said, I could also argue that losing Tia just last year was the worst because I had let myself lose touch with her, so while I was better equipped to handle loss, I was less ready for the regret. The thing about it is, nothing in my life has qualified as the absolute very worst moment in time. It just doesn’t work like that.

After school got out for summer vacation between 10^th and 11^th grade, my friend James killed himself. The first day of summer vacation, specifically. And I handled it as you would expect any teenager to handle something like that – not well at all. I was a wreck all summer long, as were most of my friends. I remember everything about the day I found out; in fact, the best piece of writing I have ever submitted in a class, I wrote in college about the emotion surrounding that day. It is still a vivid memory that I could describe in perfect detail, the way people remember what they were doing on 9-11. My world was, for what was probably the first time as a somewhat sorta adult person, flipped completely upside down.

Outside of the grief that I experienced over the summer and the school year that followed, I learned to be more forthcoming with people. I also experienced something that I didn’t even see at the time but definitely recognize looking back on it. The “popular” circle and the “not so popular” circle began to intersect in our junior year. James was someone who was friends with everyone; he was on the soccer team so he was popular, but he was smart and did well in school, so he fit in with the more responsible students as well. After he died, I think our class showed some blurred lines between cliques, which looking back on it was pretty healthy and mature of a bunch of pain in the ass teenagers. But he was friends with everyone, and we all shared that grief. Shared joy is double joy, shared sorrow is half sorrow…my Aunt Carmen told me that once.

My senior year, I transferred to Milwaukie high school and pretty much lost touch with most of my classmates from La Salle (we didn’t have Facebook or MySpace then, I have caught up with many of them in the last couple years), and after graduation I learned that my friend Zach had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. We were 18…in fact, on the first day of college at CCC, my math teacher was taking roll (they apparently still take roll in college) and called Zach’s name. He was supposed to have been in my class, I hadn’t seen him in a year, and since I last signed his yearbook and promised to keep in touch from my new school, he had gotten a cancer diagnosis and had died.

I attended Zach’s funeral with my friend Michelle, who had been my absolute best friend in high school. I was nervous because I hadn’t seen anyone since June of our junior year, and here we were, reuniting at the worst possible scene. At the service, they showed a slide show full of photos of Zach and his friends, and that’s the only thing I remember, other than afterwards, I had to go into work. I was a hostess at Spaghetti Factory at the time, and they had been unwilling to give me the day off. Heartless bastards. Worst job ever, seriously. Ironically I also remember exactly what I was wearing. Probably because of how nervous I was to see everyone. I think this loss really drilled in to all of us that our social status, our clique, our level of popularity, was so incredibly irrelevant and we needed to get over it. We were out of high school. It didn’t matter. Zach was the definition of your class clown – outspoken, goofy, warm, loved by everyone. He didn’t sit in assigned seats and he never quit talking. From him, and from losing him, I learned that I can be friendly to anyone, whether they play sports or they read, whether they are prom queen or in drama or choir. It didn’t matter anymore, we were just all there, sad, together.

 

 

My experience with Kalib was a whole different kind of lesson. Through the deaths of my friends, I learned that you can let anyone in and give anyone a chance, that your social status according to Hot or Not (remember that awful website?) really didn’t matter. From dating and living with a man who emotionally and physically abused me, I learned that I am a stronger woman than I ever knew.

I don’t need to rehash the whole back story, as anyone reading this has already heard it, but long story short, Kalib and I met at work, started dating right away, moved in together way too soon after I met his daughter way too soon, and then we continued to everything way too soon. When my non-therapy repaired brain looks at the timeline, I think, Jesus you idiot, why didn’t you slow down and go at a regular person pace?! But then I step back and step into my therapy repaired self and remember that those are the things that manipulators make you believe is a good idea. Would I ever move in with someone after 3 months again? No. Would I ever meet someone’s child after only a month or so? No. But then again, would I ever fall for this manipulative bull shit out of someone again? No.

I know that meeting a person’s kid is a very big deal. And I will forever tread very carefully here. Dating someone who has a kid is both growing far more likely since I am old now, and also something that scares me very much. But I try to remember that I now have the tools to be smart about it. If I don’t see myself with a guy forever, I do not need to meet his kid. Period. I unfortunately had to learn this lesson by meeting Rylie and falling in love with her, and then having to walk away from her, knowing that her dad doesn’t treat her well. Leaving Kalib was easy. Well no. Leaving Kalib was easy once I was ready to leave Kalib. We all know it took a long time to be ready. More than once, we’d fight, I’d leave, I’d cry on Stacey’s couch for a few days, I’d go home. But once I was strong enough to make that decision to fucking go, it was easy. I was gone, physically and emotionally separated completely. Leaving Rylie, on the other hand, was very painful and really sad. I knew Kalib wasn’t a good parent, and at the time I didn’t know Sabrena well enough at all to know anything. And outside of what I was leaving her with parent-wise, I had developed a relationship with Rylie over 2+ years, and I loved her. If you look through photos of my relationship with Kalib (and by that, I mean, he has been deleted but the photos of Rylie are still on my mom’s computer), you can see that for those 2 years, it was me and her, not me and him, not him and her. I was her sole emotional provider in our house, Kalib fed her fast food and bought her things, I took care of her. I did her homework, I practiced her reading and her flash cards, I took her to the pumpkin patch, carved pumpkins with her. I did her Christmas shopping, wrapping, bought her birthday gifts, took her school shopping. Kalib was a completely absentee parent on the emotional level. Only responded to negative behaviors, never supported her ideas or told her how smart she was. So for me, leaving her behind without the love and attention she was getting from me, was (and still is) very sad.

I have shared before all of the positive I have taken away from being in that relationship, but to reiterate, I have learned to be stronger and to listen 100% to my gut. If something feels wrong, it is wrong. I have learned to trust myself on a much deeper level. I have severed ties with people for no reason other than because it felt weird being around them. And I haven’t been wrong. I am more honest about what I want and less likely to settle or compromise on those things. When we bought that house, I got steamrolled. There was nothing about it that I liked. In fact, I hated it. I hate ranch style houses, and I knew that Kalib was too fucking lazy (and unable) to make the repairs that house needed. I was bulldozed into that house much like I was bulldozed through almost 3 years of being with him. And now, I know what I want and I won’t accept less than that. I can appreciate that strength that came out of that relationship, and I continue to grow from the experiences I suffered while being with him.

I should add, I also learned that if ever I am in a fight with a girl, there is a way to pull hair that wins every time.

On the opposite end of the boyfriend spectrum was Zach, the most fun guy on Earth, who I dated just before I met Kalib, and who was killed in a car accident last year. Ironically, the accident happened in Bakersfield, where my cousin Robert was living and working as a news reporter. Robert responded to the accident, but fortunately I had already heard about it before Rob called me to ask if I knew the guy. I remember telling Robert, not only did I know him, I’d been his girlfriend, and that Robert had in fact met him at a family thing a few years prior. Hearing that Zach had died really took a toll on me. I have blogged about our relationship in the past, but I’ve never had as much fun with a guy than I did with him. When I was with him, I was laughing. Always. He was funny, sweet, compassionate, and charismatic. He shared my sense of adventure, my drive to get up and go, to find something awesome to do instead of watching movies or going to dinner. We hiked, camped, went to concerts, played catch in the park. He was an amazing spirit and I still miss him deeply. My relationship with Zach while were together taught me to take things less seriously and to let myself let go. You only live once, why waste it being unhappy? The man had his issues, but no one can say he didn’t show them a great time.

 

Zach & Eric at my Ramona Quimby birthday party

When Zach died, I initially didn’t have much of an emotional response. It came several days later, very suddenly, and it sent me reeling from there. I attended his funeral with some coworkers from Wild Wings, where we’d met, and afterwards the 4 of us got drunk and talked about how much Zach and I loved each other for an entire afternoon at McMenamins. We talked about how Zach would walk me to my car after work and we’d spend 30 minutes just kissing and laughing before I drove off and he went back inside…and how everyone knew what we were doing even though we thought we were so sneaky. We talked about how losing a man like Zach would change each of us, would teach all of us that life is too short to not embrace it head on. I am yet to meet a man with the sense of adventure that Zach had, but that’s what I’m after. And from losing him, I have learned that I won’t settle for anyone who tries to dial me down a notch. I am who I am – free and loud and fun – and I won’t try to put that fire out in myself, nor will I try to squash it out of anyone else. Life’s too short, live it loud and proud.

 

At the park, after playing catch with Emilie

 

At Brenda's wedding

 

At Brenda's wedding

Life is full of make it or break it moments. I am so grateful to have been able to face some truly devastating moments with the skillset to move past them, to learn from them, and to allow myself to grow out of them. Losing a friend, losing a boyfriend, being controlled or abused…even a sad breakup, disconnecting from someone you care about…there will always be difficult times out there. Something will happen that will temporarily break me. But I am strong enough to cope and to learn from these experiences, and I can find the lessons necessary to move forward in a healthy way.

My 21st Birthday at the Brew: me, Renee, Tia, Yimmy and Kim

Colorado hiking with Tia

At the Denver Zoo

Books By Veronica, Yes Please!

You know that feeling when you get to the end of a really good book – like one of the best you’ve ever picked up – and you’re sad it is the end? Like, you just can’t imagine picking up another book because you’re so emotionally involved in this one that you feel you would somehow be doing this book a disservice by cheating on it with another book? That feeling, that emotional connection to a really great book, that overwhelming sense of satisfaction when you read the last sentence, is my dream come true. I want to give someone that gratification when they read what I wrote.

 Today’s challenge: What is your dream job?

 I change my mind all the time on what I want to write. Books, blogs, newspaper articles, gossip columns…I get lost in the idea of someone reading something with my name in the byline, and I lose all sense of genre. I just want to be a writer. Preferably a successful one.

 

 

I would love to write children’s books – not baby books, but the easy reader level ones, the ones that help teach a kid to read, the ones that make kids fall in love with reading. Books like Amelia Bedilia, Frog and Toad, Little Bear, those are the books I remember reading to my parents on the couch before bedtime. I was really excited about the possibilities of being a children’s book author, and in a Children’s Book Publishing course at Portland State, my dreams were buried as the professor spent 10 weeks telling us all the reasons it was never. Going. To. Happen. For any of us. None. Not one person in her class would get a book published. What the fuck kind of professor was this lady? The kind who is out to make you all sad, that’s what kind. Her syllabus consisted of all of the reasons why everyone else will get books published, but not you, and we spent one hour, three times per week, being beat with the you’ll-never-succeed stick before we all took our finals and cried on the way out the door.

What I did learn in her class was that unless I could illustrate my own book (I cannot, as I have no artistic abilities whatsoever), then the way it works is, you write your book, you give it to the editor/publisher, and they assign it to an illustrator, who does the artwork for your words…and then you don’t see the book again until it is like, going to press! This information sent my obsessive compulsive, has-to-be-in-control-at-all-times brain whirling. What if the art doesn’t match what I was saying? What if I hate it? What if I write my whole book and an artist ruins it by not envisioning my story like I want it? This would just not do!

Of course, I could just hire someone to do the art and submit the book as a finished product, but I was in college, I didn’t have good ideas like that.

And so, defeated by Professor Sad, I left the class confident that being a children’s book author was not in the cards for me.

But I still want to write. And I love to travel. *Light bulb.* Travel writing! How amazing would my life be if I could go on vacations, write about my vacations, and get paid to do both!? Umm…totally amazing, right? I wanted it. I could taste it. I was already writing my trip to Australia in my head as days passed by sitting in a travel writing class. At this point in life, all I read was travel essays, whole novels about so-and-so’s trip around the world, short stories about being lost in airports or getting lost in a third world country. This genre was all consuming.

I still think, by the way, that I should write a book about our trip to Australia. We had some funny shit happen, I bet people would read it. And they’d laugh. I could include excerpts from emails I sent my mom when Jenny, Nicole and I were stranded in a bus depot or at the airport. “This is the worst Christmas ever, mom. Love Veronica.”

Q: Why don’t you start writing, Veronica?

A: Uhhmmmmm….awkward blank stare.

After devouring travel books for a while, I became obsessed with memoirs. I am still obsessed with memoirs. It is my favorite genre and my favorite section at the bookstore. I sit there, thumbing through titles thinking, what the hell made this person so special that I am about to spend $16.99 to read about her life? It isn’t like a biography of a famous person, I’m not picking up Marilyn Monroe’s life story. These books could have been written by my next door neighbor, and yet here I am, reading about them. I recently read a memoir called The Tender Bar. And it was the life story of a kid whose dad was a drunk and the kid who ended up owning a bar. That was it. That was the story. And yet, I have loaned it to so many people that I no longer know where my copy is. It was that good. What the fuck, I have worked in a bar for 7 years…why is that not in a novel? Oh, right, because I’m lazy.

Even more recently, I bought a memoir called “My Year with Eleanor.” It was about a girl, my age, who was intrigued by the quote, Do something every day that scares you, and decided to tackle it as a 365 day challenge. First of all, I would totally do this challenge. One year, 365 fears, one tackled each day. Where do I sign up?! Second, what a brilliant idea! Third, writing about it was an even more brilliant idea! This was one of the best books I have ever read, and it was written by some girl who was like 2 years older than me, who randomly based her life on a quote she liked. My. Hero. And yet, this girl could literally be me. Maybe I should write my memoir based on my 30 day blog challenge…

 

 

At different points in my adult life, I have considered writing for magazines or the paper, and despite thinking it would be super fun (for a minute) to be the next Dear Abby, my passion lies in books. I want to be an author, not a journalist. I still don’t know if I mean writing children’s books or novels, travel essays or short stories, or maybe even a memoir. But I do know that if I don’t get off my ass, this dream will die with me.

Officially accepting book topics. Ready, go...

 

 

Can I Take That House Off Your Hands?

Today's challenge topic: What would you do if you you won the lottery?

Much like most people, I would use my winnings (assuming they are large) to pay off all of my debt, buy some things I want, like a new car and a fancy blender, and I would most definitely take some much-needed time off work. But in the instance that I was to come upon a large sum of money, there are a couple of key things I would absolutely do...

Travel. As you've read in prior blogs, I want to go places, see things, do things. I don't want to spend the rest of my life in Oregon. I would find someone to split my traveling fund with and I'd hit the road. Or the airport. Or probably both. Money being no object, I would take a long trip through Europe, stopping each and every country you could think of, doing all the touristy things and staying in fancy hotels instead of the bug-ridden hostels Jenny and I are accustomed to. I'd drive cross country in my new car, stopping to visit family and friends, and also seeing the dorky Americana I've never seen, like Yellowstone, the Redwoods, Crater Lake, Mount Rushmore, and Niagra Falls. I'd be on vacation for a long time if I was to win the lottery.

And when I came home from my trek around the globe, I'd take a wad of cash and walk right up to Grandma Whitmore's house - the one on Monroe. I'd offer cash to whoever was living there because I am in love with that house. It isn't on the best road, so maybe if it was possible, I'd relocate the whole house, but that's just a total pipe dream. I love the house not only because of my memories in it, but because I find it beautiful.

When we were little kids, the whole main floor had this awful red carpet in it. I didn't know any different, but looking at photos now its like, Grandma what were you thinking with that hideous (and scratchy on your knees, by the way) carpeting? There were built ins in the living room on either side of the fireplace, with a huge mirror above the fireplace where you could watch yourself "perform" on the big piano in the living room. The basement was terrifying, the laundry chute was so fun, the closets were amazing, and the bathroom was tiny. In Diane's bedroom was the best part of the entire house: a built in desk. I will never not want a built in desk, I loved it. I love built ins; I think they are the best part of any old house, and part of the reason I want an old house.

Just a couple of years ago, the could who had bought the house from Grandma Whitmore put the house on the market. I called Grandma and asked her to go look at it with me; she told the couple I wasn't able to buy it but really wanted to see what they had done inside. I was so grateul when they invited us over to take a look. I picked Grandma up one morning and we headed over. I was really glad to see that most of the house had been left as it had been - down to the pencil sharpener at the bottom of the basement steps. All of the original little details were there, which I was thrilled to see. They had bumped the kitchen out onto the covered patio to add a little breakfast nook, and they'd turned Grandma's bedroom into a family/tv room (that part I didn't like). But everything else was just as I remembered it. What really made me fall in love with the house all over again was the flooring - they had torn out the red carpet and underneath was beautiful, original wood floors. So pretty!

Going to walk through her old house was a really good moment for me to share with Grandma Whitmore away from the chaos of where she lives now. My dad's family has continued to fall to drama and with that has come a big gap between myself and the majority of them. I am not emotionally sound enough to hang out in the midst of it all without stating my opinions, but my opinions aren't really welcome, so its hard to sit in the midst of it all. So having that time where I could get Grandma out of the house and all to myself for an hour was really great.

 

Can I Stop Collecting Collisions??

The closest I come to having a collection is that I currently own 4 blenders - one for my office, one mini one for smoothies to go, one for home, and one that I just bought at a yard sale for Stacey. I by no means intend to collect blenders, I just have to have one on me at all times because I eat blended breakfast and lunch on a daily basis, so while I am wandering instead of living in one space, that means many blenders. As soon as I am settled into my next apartment and my next office, one blender will become stationary in my office, one in my kitchen. And the to-go one will get placed in a cabinet. And I just have to give the one to Stacey. So, its not like I pick up old blenders and add them to my hoard. Blenders just seem to happen to me.

Today's Challenge: What do you collect?

 

 

Let's be honest...I move a lot and spend far too much time being homeless to have a collection of anything. If it doesn't fit in a suitcase, I probably don't need it.

I have a few sentimental items from my grandparents or from when I was a kid, but they all fit in a small toy box, and other than that, I don't really tend to hang on to things. When my clothes are too big or too small, I don't pretend that they'll ever fit again, I just toss them. I don't keep shoes that are uncomfortable or don't go with anything or that I never wear. Clutter gives me anxiety, and people with collections that start out innocently enough tend to be the ones who end up on Hoarding: Buried Alive. Which, while being one of my favorite shows, always makes me get up and donate something to Goodwill. I don't like things all over the place. I love books, but I don't like the look of a big, full bookcase, so I hide my books in cloth bins in one of those IKEA cube shelf things. I do the same with movies.

Actually, now that I think about it...perhaps I collect IKEA cube shelf things. I have several - one in my closet for shoes, scarves, and wallets (I don't hang on to purses very often, but I do have a small bin of wallets and clutches), one that will go in the guest bedroom for toys and games, and a third that I use as a TV stand (because then I can hide my DVDs in cubes). I could probably use an IKEA cube shelf in every closet of my house, and it would make me feel like an organized, clutter-free, happy person. I like to be organized. I like lists. I have a filing box for all that paperwork that you're supposed to keep til you die, and it is organized alphabetically as well as by year, and I purge it on occassion as needed. I don't like chaos, I think everything has a place, and that place is where it should be.

This may be why I have no desire to live with a man or a child, ever. They just make messes. And then they clean it up wrong.

I know what you're all thinking...speaking of messes, Veronica, look at your car! And it is 100% true, my car is a mess. Disaster zone really. It is always messy and always has been. I've always had a very messy car. Its like the one place that doesn't fit in my freaky-organized brain. My bathroom is often messy, but it is still organized into bins and baskets; I just don't give myself enough time in the morning to put anything back into the bins and baskets. My kitchen cabinets are organized, my bedroom closet is organized by sleeve length, color, and frequency of wear...yes, seriously. I organize movies by how often I watch them, shoes by how often I wear them, books on the shelf by both height and genre. I have issues. I am a compulsive organizer. But my car? Nah, my car is just a dumping ground for anything without a category. Oh this doesn't have a sensible spot in my apartment, I will just leave it in the car. One day I will probably get in a car wreck (because, as we all know, I collect those, too) and get decapitated by something that flies out of the back seat.

Did I just decide that of all things to collect, I collect car accidents?? Crap!

Mmmm, Smells Like Grandma's Kitchen

As everyone who knows me is well aware, I hate cooking. I suck at it. I don't like it, I hate making a mess in my kitchen, and I just don't even like food. So why work so hard to have it?

My blog challenge for Saturday is to post my favorite recipe.

You may think that I'd have a hard time writing about a recipe when most things I cook require a crock pot or no cooking at all. But really, it is quite simple. My favorite thing to make is something I don't even like to eat: Grandma Stacey's ginger snap cookies.

Yes you read that correctly. I hate ginger snaps. And Grandma's are expecially snappy, which makes me hate them even more. I don't like cookies that make your face twist, nor do I like cookies that are crunchy. I like soft cookies, like chocolate chip or sugar cookies. But whenever I am missing my grandparents, I bake ginger snaps. They smell like the house on Kelvin Street. Baking them makes me remember being little and sitting on the kitchen heat vent with grandma, in my jammies, laughing with her. When I miss her, I bake, and always in my jammies. I turn on music, turn up the heat in my apartment, and remember how much fun she was.

Grandma's ginger snap recipe is not a secret; she followed Betty Crocker's recipe. But her ginger snaps do have a secret ingredient: extra, extra ginger. The real recipe calls for something like 2 teapoons of ginger for a batch. Grandma's recipe adds 4 tablespoons to that! So much snap!

I think we all do some strange things when we are missing someone who is no longer with us. I bake cookies that I truly hate. And then I give them away, because I won't eat them. It works out though, because my friends like the cookies, I don't get the calories, and I am able to satisfy the need to think about my grandparents.