So when I last blogged, I was talking about moving into my apartment. Well I've moved into it, and it's amazing. I had some severe buyers remorse because I fell in love with it so totally and completely and so quickly, after looking at only one other apartment and I wondered if maybe I had jumped the gun. This panic intensified when my dad asked me questions like, "How's the water pressure," and "Is the door easy to unlock?" Uhhhh... I dunno but I had a good "feeling" about it. No. Not what a responsible adult would do. Buuuuut it turned out beautiful and I decked it out with knick-knacks from my travels and invested in a nice liquor cabinet and a couch from Ikea. The view is the main selling point, the thriving metropolis skyline of Dayton unfurls in all its glory before your eyes.
As you can see, it's pretty, like me, and tasteful, very unlike me. But it was missing a bed AND internet access because I couldn't schedule appointments for delivery of both until Saturday. And to compound the problem, I had made plans to meet Matt's family at his sister's wedding in Chicago, so I wouldn't be there. My mom kindly agreed to babysit my place while they delivered the goods (THANKS MOM!) but even so, seven nights is a long time without a bed--and seven days is a long time without cable or being able to blog. Matt brought over his air mattress last Monday, but it deflated in weird places and was hot and rubbery and ultimately sucked only slightly less than sleeping on the floor, in a bathtub, or on an airplane next to a fat man who keeps eyeing your thighs and you're not sure if he's attracted to you sexually or he wants to eat you so you are afraid to drift off...
But when I got back from Chicago tonight, my mom had made my bed (with hospital corners) and my aching shoulders might have involuntarily shuddered in bliss.
So now that I've gotten unnaturally excited about my bed...let's talk about the rest of my week shall I? Ok, those of you who me, know that I have talents, but I also, like most people, have glaring, gaping blind spots--things I'm less than talented at. #1 of all of these things, is change.
As a toddler, I resisted leaving the bathtub so doggedly, that I locked my feet to the sides by simply tensing my legs against the walls of the bathtub. My mom couldn't remove me, nor could my father, so they just resigned to let me stay in until I got bored and/or pruney. Keep that image in mind. My Lennie 'tard strength applied against change of any kind. That's sort of been my attitude adjusting to my new job. Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled to be working for such a great organization and I think I'll love it once I get into the groove of things, but mostly I hate first days and adjustment periods and growing pains. So this past week, I've felt slow and stupid and mainly have been thinking back wistfully to the days when I accomplished something if I ate all my peas. Everyone's very nice at the office, too. So I know it's going to be something I like soon. Ugh, just first days... it's embarrassing not knowing where the coffee is or where to put your purse or whose name is what and who does which job. My life moves fast, I don't like to have to follow a learning curve.
Another thing I'm bad at... being graceful. I didn't realize but apparently I sometimes chew with my mouth open. How disgusting is that? My boyfriend pointed it out to me recently and I was like, "great, just another thing that's repulsive about me." I also snore. Not loudly, but I mean, I do. I constantly trip and drop things on my nice clothes, and I also am INCAPABLE of going into a room without leaving a trail. I'll forget to turn off the lights, spill water on the sink, drop some crumbs. It's like a disease. I would be a terrible ninja.
So Friday, when Matt and I were having dinner as a pit stop on the drive up to Chicago for the wedding, I looked into his eyes, my own eyes shinning with the desire to be accepted and I said, "Baby, do you think your family is going to like me?" He looked down, thoughtfully, almost chuckling, then said, "Well, just don't chew with your mouth open like you're doing now." I was a little embarrassed and hurt, so I proceeded to immediately, as if on cue, spill yogurt on my silk shirt in response, you know, like you do. Matt laughed at me and said, "They're going to love you." But I mean, obviously only because he felt sorry for me. Matt also told me not to talk politics and we came up with the codeword, "giraffe" to use whenever I was drifting toward inappropriateness. I got "giraffe'd" a lot this weekend.
After arriving late Friday, Saturday morning, Matt and I and Matt's grandparents (at whose house we were staying) Matt's brother, Chris, his sister, Liz, and Liz's husband, Kurt all gathered around the table for breakfast. It was the first time, aside from a brief hello the previous night that I had gotten the chance to speak to Matt's grandparents. And what did I do? I flailed my hands wildly while telling a stupid story, like an idiot, and knocked over my plate. The hash browns and sausage and eggs and toast Matt's grandpa had prepared all crashed on me, the chair, and the ground. Great. First. Impression.
And it gets better. Later that day, sitting down with Matt's father for the first time, I went to blow a bubble with my gum and accidentally spit it out on the table. I couldn't make this stuff up.
Yet despite my grace and poise, I really liked Matt's family and they (surprisingly) seemed to like me. The wedding was a blast and I had a great time dancing and chatting with everyone. I was sad to have to leave. Nevertheless, I'm excited to spend the night in my cool apartment, in my own bed, instead of Matt's grandparents balmy house on someone else's mattress, probably sulking over the last stupid, clumsy, thing I did.
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