Since I haven't found any rainbows or unicorns yet, and since I brought you all to tears the last two Fridays with my sentimental tributes, this week we’re celebrating something a little different. And that is free beer and pizza. In an office.
It’s really been a magical day of indentured servitude. Err, interning. First, I attempted to sneak in unnoticed at 9:35. Of course I tripped over my flip flop—yes, I’m allowed to wear flip flops—and made a big smacking noise on the floor as I walked in, so that failed. But then I looked around and realized something: I am invisible. No one turned from a computer screen. Half of the people weren’t even here yet.
The day just kept getting better. I started two writing assignments—one for Betty Crocker’s website about “quick and easy dinners” and another one for Chick-Fil-A’s company magazine. I have spent a large chunk of my day writing about planning a taco night with your family. I find this hilarious and wonderful. I’m going to tell all of my friends I’m planning to host a taquisa. Bet you don’t know what that is! But I do! It’s a taco party!
Just as I was craving tacos and starting to write a grocery list so I could throw a taquisa for me and the cats tonight, I smelled pizza. Next thing I know, I’m in a conference room looking for the veggie pizzas and talking to some guy about IU. This was also the moment that I realized my eyes were completely bloodshot from my allergies, my hair is in a messy braid, I’m dressed like a pseudo-hippie, and I’m talking about going to a Big Ten school. I might as well have said, "Are you cool, man?"
I scurried out of the conference room and stared down at my plate of pizza all the way back to my desk.
I spent the next several hours diligently working on my masterpiece about tacos and pretending to be invisible. Suddenly, a woman pushing a cooler appears at my desk and offers me a beer.
Well, T-G-I-Fucking-F.
This is so wonderful I’m ignoring the fact that she asked me if I was of age and that the beer she handed me was a Miller Lite. If she had pulled a Stella out of that cooler I probably would have kissed her.
Great start to the weekend!
Showing posts with label friday tribute. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friday tribute. Show all posts
Friday, May 15, 2009
Friday, May 8, 2009
Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda: A Friday Tribute to Appreciating the Now
Today is one of those days where I am giving myself a big mental ass-kicking for quitting my job at IU. A serious ass-kicking. What I wouldn’t do to be Alison Hamm, Content Specialist, right now. Because if I was, I’d be managing an intern—a decently paid intern, at that—instead of actually being the lowly, unpaid intern with no work to do. The sun is shining! It’s Friday! If I’m going to be sitting in an office, I’d love to be actually working on something. BAH. But alas, this is not the case. I have officially been dicking around on the Internet for three and a half solid hours. I don’t even have a Starbucks buddy up here (Work Wife Jen, I need you!).
Okay, so boo hoo me. I’m an intern again, waaah waah waah. I miss being a professional, full-time employee. Yada yada yada.
I guess I just keep waiting for that “ah ha” moment up here in Chicago, when suddenly it all makes sense and I realize that I made the right decision to come up here. You know, when I get hired for that perfect job, and everything turns into rainbows and unicorns.
But then again, maybe we don’t all have those moments—maybe it’s not the case of it being wrong or right. Maybe it just is.
I think that’s the problem when you build something up in your head—Chicago was always part of this fantasy life I had for myself, so when I actually made it a reality, my expectations for what my life was going t
o be like up here were a little ridiculous. I think I envisioned living in a loft downtown and being a famous columnist in six months. (I also think I’ve been watching too much Sex and the City.)
From the time I was 17, before I’d even been to Chicago, I was telling my mom that I wanted to move there after college. Then, right before I started at IU, I came to visit. That sealed the deal for me. I was definitely going to live in Chicago one day. I knew it. I talked about it all through college with my roommates.
Then, graduation day came, and the reality that it was time to become an adult hit. I was lucky enough to land a great job working for Indiana University’s Office of Creative Services, and so my plans changed. Looked like I was staying in Bloomington. But I loved Bloomington, and I loved being close to my family. It made sense.
Yet still I was unhappy. My friends had all moved on, and I was still in Bloomington. I was tired of Bloomington! I was supposed to be in Chicago! I was restless. I had to get out. I was missing out on something bigger. Every time I’d go up to Chicago for a weekend to visit friends, I’d think, this is where I’m supposed to be.
And because—aside from a semester in London—I’d never lived more than two hours away from home, I took for granted how great that is. And also because I’d gotten hired for every job I’d ever applied to, I arrogantly thought, no big deal if I quit my job. I’ll find a better one in Chicago.
So here I am. Living in Chicago isn’t exactly what I thought it would be—I got a well-deserved kick in the ass when I realized there are about a million other ambitious young writers and editors out there—but it’s still exciting. I can’t regret leaving Bloomington, because then I’d always regret not following my dream to live in this city.
But some Friday evenings, I’d give anything to be able to hop in my little Neon and make the hour and 40 minute drive from Bloomington to Knightstown. I’d gotten so used to that drive on 37 over the last six years that I would make the trip basically on auto-pilot. The best part of that trip was turning on to Mill Road and pulling in the driveway of my childhood home, where my dad would always
meet me out on the back porch and grab my bag for me. After I’d make my immediate bathroom run—an hour and a half is too short of a drive to make a pit stop, and too long for me not to guzzle an entire bottle of water—I’d meet my dad in the kitchen, and he’d say, “Ready for a beer?”
There’s something about sitting in my dad’s kitchen, drinking a Heineken with him and telling him what went on that week, that always made me happy I was in Bloomington. It was the best way to spend a Friday night, geeky as that might seem. And even better if some of the other family came by to eat dinner with us. It was home.
Of course, althoug
h I definitely appreciated those moments at the time, I appreciate and miss them even more now. (Kind of like appreciating having health insurance and a salary.) But I’ve realized something: I can either wallow in all the things I miss from home, or I can appreciate all the great things about being in this city. Like my friends. Like Kuma’s Corner. Like my adventures on the blue line. Myopic Books. Hipsters galore. The list goes on. And I might bitch about waiting tables, but without that experience I wouldn’t have met some really great people. I’ve met some pretty awful ones, too, but that’s just material for my book.
And I’ll get that great job eventually. Maybe there won’t be any rainbows or unicorns, but I’ll sure as hell be more appreciative this time around.
Besides, I can still hop in my little Neon and drive to Knightstown to have a beer with my pops. The drive is just a little longer now.
Okay, so boo hoo me. I’m an intern again, waaah waah waah. I miss being a professional, full-time employee. Yada yada yada.
I guess I just keep waiting for that “ah ha” moment up here in Chicago, when suddenly it all makes sense and I realize that I made the right decision to come up here. You know, when I get hired for that perfect job, and everything turns into rainbows and unicorns.
But then again, maybe we don’t all have those moments—maybe it’s not the case of it being wrong or right. Maybe it just is.
I think that’s the problem when you build something up in your head—Chicago was always part of this fantasy life I had for myself, so when I actually made it a reality, my expectations for what my life was going t
o be like up here were a little ridiculous. I think I envisioned living in a loft downtown and being a famous columnist in six months. (I also think I’ve been watching too much Sex and the City.)From the time I was 17, before I’d even been to Chicago, I was telling my mom that I wanted to move there after college. Then, right before I started at IU, I came to visit. That sealed the deal for me. I was definitely going to live in Chicago one day. I knew it. I talked about it all through college with my roommates.
Then, graduation day came, and the reality that it was time to become an adult hit. I was lucky enough to land a great job working for Indiana University’s Office of Creative Services, and so my plans changed. Looked like I was staying in Bloomington. But I loved Bloomington, and I loved being close to my family. It made sense.
Yet still I was unhappy. My friends had all moved on, and I was still in Bloomington. I was tired of Bloomington! I was supposed to be in Chicago! I was restless. I had to get out. I was missing out on something bigger. Every time I’d go up to Chicago for a weekend to visit friends, I’d think, this is where I’m supposed to be.
And because—aside from a semester in London—I’d never lived more than two hours away from home, I took for granted how great that is. And also because I’d gotten hired for every job I’d ever applied to, I arrogantly thought, no big deal if I quit my job. I’ll find a better one in Chicago.
So here I am. Living in Chicago isn’t exactly what I thought it would be—I got a well-deserved kick in the ass when I realized there are about a million other ambitious young writers and editors out there—but it’s still exciting. I can’t regret leaving Bloomington, because then I’d always regret not following my dream to live in this city.
But some Friday evenings, I’d give anything to be able to hop in my little Neon and make the hour and 40 minute drive from Bloomington to Knightstown. I’d gotten so used to that drive on 37 over the last six years that I would make the trip basically on auto-pilot. The best part of that trip was turning on to Mill Road and pulling in the driveway of my childhood home, where my dad would always
meet me out on the back porch and grab my bag for me. After I’d make my immediate bathroom run—an hour and a half is too short of a drive to make a pit stop, and too long for me not to guzzle an entire bottle of water—I’d meet my dad in the kitchen, and he’d say, “Ready for a beer?”There’s something about sitting in my dad’s kitchen, drinking a Heineken with him and telling him what went on that week, that always made me happy I was in Bloomington. It was the best way to spend a Friday night, geeky as that might seem. And even better if some of the other family came by to eat dinner with us. It was home.
Of course, althoug
h I definitely appreciated those moments at the time, I appreciate and miss them even more now. (Kind of like appreciating having health insurance and a salary.) But I’ve realized something: I can either wallow in all the things I miss from home, or I can appreciate all the great things about being in this city. Like my friends. Like Kuma’s Corner. Like my adventures on the blue line. Myopic Books. Hipsters galore. The list goes on. And I might bitch about waiting tables, but without that experience I wouldn’t have met some really great people. I’ve met some pretty awful ones, too, but that’s just material for my book.
And I’ll get that great job eventually. Maybe there won’t be any rainbows or unicorns, but I’ll sure as hell be more appreciative this time around.
Besides, I can still hop in my little Neon and drive to Knightstown to have a beer with my pops. The drive is just a little longer now.
Friday, May 1, 2009
OH, D! A Friday tribute
In 2 short days, Diana Koo (aka, "d") has become not only the top commenter on my blog, but she has also officially contributed possibly the best comment ever to be seen on any blog, anywhere. And that is this:
y Pop Tart--that we were kindred spirits. AKA, both fucking crazy. Still, I would never have survived freshman year at IU without my nightly dinners with D at Wright Food Court, where I scared her by eating fish sandwiches and finishing my meal in 5 minutes, and she astounded me by how slowly one human being can eat a meal. Soon we discovered the glorious wonders of the "C" store and the Big Ten special from Pizza Express, and I discovered that the Freshman 15 wasn't really a myth.On a more serious note, I also would never have survived losing my mother my first semester of college if it were not for Diana. She's going to call me a creep, but I still have the note she gave me the morning I left to go to the hospital the day my mom died. Neither of us understood what was about to happen, but we both knew it was bad. And she had more compassion for me and my family than some people I'd known my entire life did. That's just the kind of person she is. It's certainly not easy to lose your mom right when you start college, but did you ever think about what it's like to be two months into college and be sharing a bunk bed with a girl whose mom just died? Especially when that girl doesn't talk about it, seems "normal," then on the weekend gets blackout drunk and starts weeping in your lap? Yeah.
An example of what she had to deal with (circa soph year, University Commons):
Basically what I'm saying here, in case you didn't get it, is that we call her D-Money for a reason. Because she is money.
So, my first Friday tribute goes to Diana. (I haven't yet decided if there will be any future Friday tributes, just FYI.) DIANA KOO, I LOVE YOU! kiss kiss, meow meow.
*DISCLAIMER* the above photos are from
sophomore year of college. Please keep that in mind. Thank you. Please take the time to view this photo, which more accurately portrays the foxy mommas that we truly are. And by we I mean D. Hot momma. :-)
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Ok... I think I am officially your dumb friend! why is everyone typing in correct grammar and using all these big words? anyway... your writing reminds me of Marian Keyes, have you ever read. go read it. its funny.