Chrissy's Blog

Brian and I all dressed up for the New Year. Stylin!

My New Year’s Eve was fantastic! We went to the Copacabana in Times Square which sounds like a crazy idea, but we were far enough removed from the crowds. Essentially we danced the night away!

I love New Year’s Resolutions, and I am shocked to realize I didn’t really make any last year. I guess I was in a strange place at the time anyway.

I wouldn’t go so far as saying that 2011 sucked, but it was definitely the most difficult year of my life. I recently read a list of questions to help one size up their year. I got really stuck on the question “Are you happier or sadder?” My initial answer was sadder. My year began with job woes, then breakup woes, then where am I going to live woes, then loneliness woes, sprinkle some dating woes, and mid-20s existential nonsense, and it was a rough year. I spent a lot of time crying. Way too much time crying.

But when I fully take stock of where I am now as opposed to where I was a year ago, I think I might actually be happier. I certainly feel as though I am on a better path. I’m finally in a job that feels worthwhile. I am pursuing my dreams with a new gusto. I have amazing friends, and I like my life right now. My trip to Seattle was a dream come true. My birthday was perfect. I’ve had wonderful experiences this year. Crazy, but I think I’m happier!

But still, 2011 can suck it! I am so ready for this new year, and I made TEN resolutions. If you think that’s a lot, check out Woody Guthrie’s list from 1942. I actually stole a couple of his.

1. Write Every Day—– In any form really. A rant in my journal, a blog post, poems, short story. This year I want to commit to making it a part of my daily life.
2. Meditate in the Morning—– I have very little control over the worry and the stress in my mind. I’ve read a lot about meditation, and it can help control thoughts and restore peace. So every day while I’m getting ready, I am going to force myself to have a clear mind.
3. Don’t gossip—– I started doing this a couple of months ago, but I want to completely commit to it. By this I mean saying nothing harmful about anybody… like ever. It’s poisoning to the soul. If it’s something I wouldn’t say to someone’s face, it’s not something I should say at all.
4. Exercise once a week—– Wishful thinking.
5. Cook once a week—– I love cooking for myself, saving money, eating a delicious meal. It’s just that life sometimes gets in the way.
6. Say yes more—– Fear took over my life last year, but I’m done being afraid to take the risks and just live my life. I also made this resolution years ago and had an incredible year doing things I never ever thought I’d have the courage to do. All by just saying yes.
7. Small assignments—– I get so worried about the big picture. This is completely useless. Compared to where I was a year ago, my life is completely different, and my plans are completely different. So it is useless to become overwhelmed by “the plan.” From now on I’m just going to take baby steps towards what I want and not panic when life leads me elsewhere.
8. Be here now—– This relates to the meditating and the small assignments. The past is past, and the future is unpredictable, so I just have to be happy in the moment and find home in the now.
9. Look good—– I often go to work in glasses, jeans, t-shirt, hair in a ponytail. Nothing wrong with that. But when I take the extra 10 minutes in the morning to do my hair, or put on some eyeliner, I feel so much more confident and ready for the day. So, why the hell don’t I do it more often?
10. Love everybody—– Pretty self-explanatory.

Oh, by the way, I LOVE YOU ALL!

A Post Secret favorite

I’ve been meaning to write this since Thanks-
giving, but life got in the way.

The topic of home and family has always been touchy for me. While I would never claim that I had a rough childhood, I had one of upheaval. By the time I was 11, I had lived in five houses, attended five schools K-7, and I found myself in Nevada, far away from everything I knew. (Funny story, when my parents told us we were moving to Nevada, I started to cry and asked them if people spoke English there. I was 9.)

We settled in Reno, but it never felt like home. I never had an attachment to it. Living in Seattle felt like home, but I didn’t even really know what home felt like. It was like my Moby Dick. It was confusing and obtuse, and I ran away from Seattle thinking there was some other home out there for me. One of my biggest regrets in life.

I’ve written endlessly about the search for home, what it means. “I’ve been home, but I’ve never possessed it” is a phrase scrawled throughout my journals, notebooks, poems, short stories. I’ve always mourned my gypsy ways and considered myself “homeless.”

Over Thanksgiving, I had a revelation.

I was staying with my aunt and uncle in Philadelphia. I spent a lot of time with them growing up, but I hadn’t seen them much since our move out West. The holiday was spent with my aunt’s family who I am not related to and don’t know well. I felt out of place, and I yearned for a home and a large family of my own.

I was sitting in the sunroom with my 9-year-old cousin Frances (who I have come to ADORE) reading, snuggling with their Australian Shepherd Mix, Heidi. I was reading the book “Bird by Bird” by Anne Lamott which is AMAZING. It is a book about dedicating oneself to writing, but also using the lessons of writing to live a better life. I read this quote:

“We don’t have much truth to express unless we have gone into these rooms and closets and woods and abysses that we were told not to go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in– then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment. And that moment is home.”

I wrote in the margin, slowly and methodically, as the light bulb illuminated above my head, “Home is right here. Home is now.”

I realized I am not cursed by a peripatetic existence. I am blessed. I have homes all over. I have family in so many places.

In San Diego, sitting by their backyard firepit with Stephen, Nancy, and Brett sipping champagne on my birthday, listening to the rustle of palm trees, I was home. Sitting at a dark dive bar in Seattle with my oldest friends laughing harder that I ever laugh with anyone else, I was home. Smoking weed and stealing a grill in Boston with my sister, I was home. Watching Husky football with Gian and Brian, calling out to the waitress “A Pucket of BBR, and friendship fries!!” I was home. “Gone With the Wind” marathons with my mother, Chaucer curled up in the crook of my knee. Home. And there, with a snuggly dog, a charming cousin, and Bruce Springsteen posters on the wall, I was home.

I felt it so clearly at that moment.

I am soooooo lucky.

My grandpa passed away today.

Last Monday, the nurses at his retirement home found him in his apartment with a broken hip. After emergency surgery, it was obvious that his heart wasn’t up to the recovery process. My mother called this morning to tell me they had decided to take him off life support. It was clearly the best decision, and I know he would have wanted it. So when my phone rang this evening, and my mom’s picture flashed on the screen, I knew.

It’s not a tragedy. In fact, looking long and hard at it, it’s a blessing, a good thing. My religious views are muddled, but I’d like to think that somewhere his soul is reunited with my Grandma’s. He was tired. This is not a tragedy.

I still feel sad, like I’ve lost a dear friend whose company I always enjoyed. The world feels a little bit less without him in it.

I felt so stir-crazy after my GRE was over. I was all but rocking back and forth in the corner of my room muttering the definition of words like obsequious and numismatics. “Overly submissive and eager to please” and “Coin-collecting” for those of you intrigued. Come Friday, I needed to get out. I had a stitch and bitch planned with a friend who recently learned to knit, but I needed something a bit more. So after hours of stitching, bitching, sharing a bottle of wine she brought back from Npa, and listening to Prairie Home Companion (a.k.a. soundtrack to the best knitting sessions of your life) I headed out to meet up with Gian.

He wanted to do something divey, so I suggested Subway Inn, which is a dirty bar across the street from Bloomingdale’s on the Upper East Side. It’s sketchy sketchy sketchy, and right up my alley.

May I preface this story by saying that I was ENTIRELY sober. I consumed that half bottle of wine over a four hour period and was not drunk.

So Gian and I walk in to the bar. I look over at him to verify that he is in fact looking around and nodding. “This’ll do,” he solemnly stated.

We look around for a booth or a table or bar stools, but not much is available. It’s a rockin’ Friday night after all. We see a table in a dark corner underneath a speaker and decide to park there. It was dark. Gian sits down on his side of the table and starts taking off his coat. I go to sit down. What happens next is a story of SOBER confusion.

I lean to sit, I lean farther, farther. There is no chair there. But things have been set in motion that cannot be changed, and my butt plummets to the ground, as I make a noise something like “Woah, woah, woah, waaaaaaaaah!”

I am now sitting on a dirty bar floor, very confused and scrambling to get up. I slap my hand on the table and slowly pick myself up, no doubt completely red. Gian is trying to not laugh at me. “Where did you go just now?” I grab the chair that is sitting on his side of the table.

“It’s dark. I thought there was a chair. There was NO chair. Oh my God. Oh my God,” I am trying to gain my composure and ignore my pained behind. “Did anyone see me?” I ask him.

“Just those people at the bar,” he points to the bartender and a group of women laughing hysterically at me. I pull my fur hood over my head and lower my forehead to the table.

“I am so embarrassed I want to die.”

Moving on to Saturday! Brian and I had a lovely day. Brunch in the West Village and fantasy shopping in SoHo (pretending we can afford things we absolutely can’t.) We met up with Gian to watch the Husky Football Game and then took him on more fantasy shopping. We ended up in a shoe store where I tried on these ridiculous shoes.

They are all the rage in New York right now, but I am way too tall to wear them. They made me as tall as Brian who is 6’2″. I had a couple of awkward stumbles in them at first, then I started doing laps in them, pretending to catch a cab. The salesperson was nice enough to give me a matching bag to make the scenario more realistic. Everyone laughed at me which is fine, because I was in on the joke this time. Or maybe that salesman was hoping to up his commission.

Not this time, buddy. This girl is a starving writer who can’t afford Ho-shoes.

Okay, Interweb, I have to get something off my chest. This is a secret that I have kept my entire life. I have NEVER told anyone this. Are you feeling special yet?

It was so top-secret that I actually kind of convinced myself that it wasn’t true. But it is, and I’m not afraid to say it.

I, Chrissy, like…………MATH!!

I have been gung-ho the last week studying for the GRE which I took this afternoon. (My Chrissy-brain hurt now.) In studying, I mainly focused on the verbal reasoning preparation, seeing as I am applying for an MFA and math skills are absolutely not necessary. But I had dropped precious dollars on that GRE prep book, and I figured I may as well look over some of the “Quantitative Reasoning” questions.

It was frustrating at first. I found myself consistently throwing my pen up in the air saying things like “Confound it all!” and “This is so rebarbative!” I was practicing my vocab.

I haven’t taken a math class since I was 17, and I simply couldn’t remember how to find the circumference of a circle or what the formula for permutations was.

Like any good Type A girl, I started making lists of formulas and practicing the ones that I was rusty at. Before I knew it, I was having a blast solving all those problems. I felt so proud of myself.

Perhaps this secret is a two-parter. Because not only do I like math, I’m actually ALSO good at it. I’ve spent my childhood academic career pretending to hate math and finding it difficult. Truth is, there is something reassuring about being presented with a problem and having a straightforward way of solving it.

The other night I could feel an anxiety attack coming on as I was trying to fall asleep. My mind was racing, my heart pounding, I couldn’t breathe, tears were bracing themselves behind my eyes. I shot out of bed and started pacing, melting down. I saw my GRE book in the corner, picked it up and did a set of math problems. The emotions and fears that were overwhelming me slowly subsided as I lost myself in algebra and geometry. It’s almost as if I shut down the right side of my brain for a while. Like a computer overheating, I turned it off, let my left brain take over until I was calm enough to deal.

So there it is. I don’t know why I was so ashamed my whole life. Perhaps I didn’t want to be considered a nerd. But come on, I was as big a nerd as they come growing up. I remember being in Trigonometry in high school and sitting next to a gorgeous upperclassman who would ask me for help in class. I would eagerly oblige, but throw in a lot of “but I’m not sure” and “who knows if that’s right, though, this stuff is so confusing!” Twirl my hair, pretend to be a dumb girl. So silly. And now? I’ve come to embrace my inherent nerdiness. As an adult, I’d much rather be a nerd than cool. Maybe it made me feel less deserving of the title of writer that I’ve been holding so close to my heart for years. Writers shouldn’t like math!

This one does!

Recently at work, we’ve had a lot of clients (old and new) pay with checks that subsequently bounce. One particular client lives ABOVE us and owes us around $6000 of which we’ve seen none. We saved your stupid cat, just pay your bill, gooberface.

Management decided that the best way to curb this problem was to require anyone paying with a check to also serve up either a driver’s license or a credit card that we could keep on file. They posted a big sign about it and told us absolutely no exceptions. This is a wonderful idea in theory, but it’s easy to enact this sort of regulation when they are not the ones who will end up face to face with our…er….um…..entitled clientele. The front desk buttoned down the hatch and prepared for the shit storm.

We deal with difficult people day in and day out, it is just part of the job. I’ve developed a lot of techniques to manage the rising temperature of my blood. I apologize a lot for things I have no control over. I say I’m going to go speak to someone about it, step out into the back area, fume for a minute, come back out and tell them that circumstances cannot be changed. I’m a pro at keeping my cool in front of these people, but today I just couldn’t. I’m a bit stressed. I’m a bit tired of working so hard and being underpaid. Somedays, I just don’t care if they fire me. Today was that day.

I told this woman her balance, and she pulled out her checkbook. I took a couple of deep breaths, preparing for what was to come. “Maybe she won’t mind?” I reassured myself.

“So with that check, we just need a driver’s license or a credit card on file?”
“Is this some sort of joke?”
“It’s a new policy. We are asking all of our clients to do this.”
“I’ve been paying with checks for years. You think I’m trying to stiff you? YOU think I have no money?!”
“We are happy to accept the check. We are just asking everyone to have an ID on file as well.”
“Well…I…..NEVER! You cannot be serious?!?!?!”
“We just started doing this in the last couple of weeks.”
“I have been coming here for TA-WENTY years, and I knew Paul for SIIIIIX before that. Does that mean nothing to you? My loyalty as a customer?!?!”
“Well, I’ve worked here under a year. How the hell am I supposed to know how long you’ve been coming here?” Uh oh, Wilson (yeah, I call myself Wilson in my head during inner monologue) you are losing your cool. Hold on. Don’t….lose….it. “I haven’t even been alive as long as you’ve supposedly known them.” Not the answer the old hag was looking for.
“I am a dedicated customer, and you have the nerve to insult me. How am I supposed to feel about this deep insult? Do you understand how this feeeeels? What would you have done? What would YOU do in this situation?”

I was past the point of no return. This woman hated me. I was fuming at the absolute ridiculousness of the whole thing. This is the point in the story where if I was recounting to my friends I would have told them my response. My friends’ eyes would widen, “Noooooo, you said that!” I’d shrug my head sheepishly and say, “Nah, I apologized…. but I wanted to say it.” Not this time, Wilson. I actually said it this time.

“You know what. I probably would have just handed my ID over and saved myself five minutes instead of making such a fuss.” I said it in the most calm voice you can possible imagine, because damnit, that is what I would have done.

The woman huffed and puffed and stormed her way out with her frou-frou dog.

I felt AMAZING. Having acquired a bit of a New York attitude is not such a bad thing.

Okay. I’m doing it. I’m applying to MFA programs. I’m not 100% sure that this is the best thing for me, but the percentage is pretty high up there. I have been so unwilling to commit to anything, because I want it to be a sure thing. But nothing ever really can be. The truth is once I graduated from college, I took a year off to live life outside of school since that had been my whole life. I ended up broke, exhausted, and moving back to Nevada to live with my parents.

My plan was always to go back to school, most likely for an MFA, but I got so sidetracked, so swept up in worry and logic. So I put it off, ignored it, looked into teaching programs, studied for the LSAT, tried to get into publishing, office management, and it never made me happy.

The last couple of months it still haunted me, maybe it is the best thing for me. Finally, about a week ago, I put my resolve to the test and decided that I just have to do it. Now I have two months. Two months to take the GRE. Two months to write personal statements, letters of intent, fiction writing samples. Honestly, I don’t know how it is all going to get done.

What I do know is that on Tuesday, I left work early, I cancelled my plans to go out, I took out my contacts, curled up with my laptop and set to work. It felt amazing. I felt energized, excited, ready. Worst case scenario. I don’t get in anywhere, and I go from there. Best case scenario. I get into a great school that pays me to write and explore a literary life for a couple of years in a new place.

What am I even doing writing on here right now? I have so much to do!!

P.S. Anyone that wants to read drafts of my writing samples and be a harsh critic, feel free to let me know! I’d looove the feedback.

Something has slowly crept over me the last couple of weeks. I couldn’t put my finger on what exactly it was, but I knew it was unpleasant and was standing very clearly between myself and happiness. Was I sad? No. I’ve felt sad before, and I knew that honestly there is nothing to be sad about right now. Was I angry? A little, but not enough to be controlling my life or enveloping me in this fog. I tried so hard to put words to it. Lost? Unfulfilled? Bored? Eventually the word “scared” came to the surface, and I realized that is exactly what I am. Scared, terrified, shaking in my trusty cowgirl boots. I feel like the miniature poodles that come into our office and just shake. We offer them treats, coo at them, pet them, but their big glossy eyes look back at us, and they can’t stop shaking.

The obvious follow-up question to this realization is what am I afraid of. Everything! To be completely honest, EVERYTHING! From getting sick off of food that’s been in my fridge too long to never being more than a receptionist to dying alone to being kidnapped, raped, and killed. I’m afraid of it all. It brings me some relief to have a name and an understanding of what has been bothering me, but it doesn’t bring much.

What exactly do you do when everything in your life feels overwhelming and insurmountable? I’m terrified that I’ll never be a real writer, that I’ll never write a quality novel, that I’ll succumb to a job that’s nothing more than a paycheck. On the other hand, I’m terrified I’ll be poor my whole life, that I’ll never have health insurance, that I’ll be 40, broke, and still making ends meet. I’m afraid that I’ll never find a place that feels like home, that I’ll never feel settled. I’m afraid if I take the leap of faith and go back to Seattle, it won’t make me feel better. I’m afraid I’ll get trapped into a life/career/relationship in New York, and I’ll become one of these jaded, stuffy people that don’t relate to a world outside the boroughs.

I’m confused as to how this happened to me. Two years ago I was a happy, confident, ambitious, excited 23-year-old. Was it the place? Was it the relationship? Was it the rough cross-country move? Was it taking on the first soul-sucking jobs of my life and realizing that some people do that their entire lives?

I want peace of mind, and I want to have some light shed on the path ahead of me. I want to just be one of those people who feel contented at the end of their day, who can relax and watch a movie without the worry and the fear sitting on their shoulders, whispering terrifying scenarios of what might happen tomorrow, in a week, in a month, in 40 years. I want to breathe easily and fall asleep quickly at night.

Source: Here.

July was a really rough month at the Veterinary Office. Everyone who works there becomes really familiar and in a way, really close to a number of clients. Most clients come in about twice a year for vaccine updates and general check-ups. This is great! It means that their dogs are happy and healthy. The clients that we become close to are the ones whose dogs have something horribly wrong with them. These dogs have to frequently come in for blood tests, check-ups, emergency care, surgeries, and overnight observation stays.

Some of these clients…we hate. They are demanding, bitter, and a lot of them are actually the ones killing their dogs by overfeeding them or by not following the veterinarian’s recommendations. But there are a good number who we love, who we comfort in the waiting room, and they in turn bring us cookies at their next appointment. We become attached to their dogs as we get to know their personalities and begin to closely associate said personalities with the often lovely personalities of their owner’s.

Like I said, July was a rough month. A number of our favorite pets were put down. Cicero, Tiger, Jack, and Ben Ben to name a few. The most difficult loss of the summer has easily been Weston, a lovely Jack Russel Terrier who succumbed to renal disease. His owner’s are this feisty Iranian/Brazilian lesbian couple who have charming accents and finish one anothers’ sentences.  They would come in a couple of times a week, and the entire staff would bend over backwards to accommodate them. When they would call, we recognized their voices and when they had appointments they would bring us all Brazilian chocolates. While Weston was getting special injections in the back, the front desk staff would chat with them, and they became like family.

Their dog was like a child to them, and it was devastating to hear that he had been put to sleep. The main vet actually went to their apartment to put the dog down at home. This doctor NEVER does house-calls but for them it was a give in. After this, like so many things in life, the Iranian/Brazilian couple disappeared from our lives, finding it too painful to be in a vet office.

Yesterday, they popped by on a whim. Still in grief, they wanted to take whoever was available out for drinks at the Irish pub around the corner. Another receptionist, a tech, and I accompanied them for beers while we talked about Weston. They told us hilarious stories of him being studded out in Brazil, and we told them stories of the horrible clients we deal with and how much we really do miss them. It was an awesome night of remembering Weston and enjoying the company of clients who somehow have become friends.

A lot of days I find myself sitting at my desk wishing that I didn’t work in customer service, that I was doing something more with my life, that my degree wasn’t some useless piece of paper gathering dust in my parent’s house. But some days I love my job and feel genuinely happy with the work that me and the practice do. I could not be more grateful for that.