She hadn’t left her house for 2 weeks because she wasn’t feeling up to it, but she mustered the energy to come over to my aunt’s to see me. She seemed more interested in talking with my cousins’ other grandmother, but that wasn’t all that surprising. Still, before we left day, we were talking about a job opportunity I was waiting to hear back on and she said to me, “Erin, I don’t know where you’re going to live or what kind of job you’re going to have, but I do know this, I know that you and Adam are going to have a very happy life together.”
 

I was floored. My grandmother never said things like that to me. I know she was proud my accomplishments and some part of her must’ve loved me, but she never talked to me like that. Ever. Her feelings about me were usually expressed to me through other people, making me question if she actually ever said or felt any of the sentiments my dad or my aunt would relay to me. All I could say in response was, “Wow, thanks grandma that means a lot to me.”
When Adam and I got ready to leave a half hour later, I looked at him before I started the car and said, “I’m pretty sure my grandmother just said goodbye to me.” He asked why I thought that and when I repeated what she said to me, his response was, “YOUR grandmother said that?!” He’s witnessed enough of my conversations with her to know what a shocker it truly was.
 

Three weeks later, I got the call that she passed away the morning of January 24^th. So, on the morning of the 25^th, I got in my car and drove 6 hours to be with my family in Castro Valley. I was there for one of the hardest weeks I’ve ever had, but not for any of the expected reasons.
 

My grandmother and I had a complicated relationship, that’s the only way I can think of to describe it.
 

I remember being a kid and she would come to visit from the east coast and she’d spend more than half of her time on the patio smoking instead of spending time with us. I resented that. I remember the first time I tried to participate in a grown-up conversation with her. She was talking about “what’s wrong with kids” today when I was a “kid of today”. I tried to share my point of view and she all but laughed at me, telling me I was too young to have any perspective on the issue. Maybe she was right, but thinking back on it I can’t ever imagine myself dismissing a kid like that even though I’m a grown-up now.
 

Over the years, it got to the point that my mom said I should just leave the room when my grandmother upset me so that we could “have a nice visit with her”. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time leaving the room. Even at 29, when she stayed in a house my parents rented for all of us to stay in near the place where my cousin was getting married, I walked out of several rooms. And I even cried a couple of times as a result; angry, bitter tears—the kind you cry when you understand that things will always be just as they are and you’re mature enough to know just how shitty that truly is. She loved pushing my buttons and out of respect, I never pushed back.
 

My brother always said that I took the things she said the wrong way, but in hindsight, could I really have taken everything she said to me in 29 years the wrong way? It seems…unlikely. 
 

My grandmother always wanted me to see things her way and I just couldn’t. She was very conservative and I am far from it. I had to smile when both 9/11 and Bill O’Reilly were mentioned in her eulogy. On the other hand, she was incredibly smart and passionate and a hard worker; these are the things that I hope I got from her by way of my dad.
 

The hardest thing to deal with wasn’t even her death; it was the ubiquitous pain I saw in everyone around me and the knowledge that there was nothing I could do to ease the pain of their loss. My favorite aunt, my dad–seeing two of the strongest, most generous people in my life hurt and exhausted and wrecked was the hardest part.
 

The whole week, I found myself haunted by the knowledge that while I wasn’t close with my grandmother, the day draws closer when I’ll have to say goodbye to my other grandparents, the ones I am close to and have fond memories of. And it made my mom’s current health problems all the more troubling, because if it was me saying goodbye to my mother, it would be unbearable. The very thought is unbearable.
 

At the end of it all, I’m amazed at how in death we become the best possible versions of ourselves. Our foibles become fodder for funny stories and shortcomings become endearing. I hope when my time comes that people remember me for who I actually was, not a sanitized version of the person they wanted me to be.
 

As for my grandmother, I will hold onto what she said the last time I saw her and take the rest of it with a grain of salt.

I’ve lived within your city limits for so long now that as I prepare to move away from you for the first time in my life, I’m flooded with thoughts of all the things I’m going to miss. I’ve driven down your streets the last few days and every passing building, park, and intersection brings back a memory and reminds me that this place is utterly unique, beautiful, and filled with people who, in spite of their idiosyncrasies and passive aggressive tendencies, are in fact *my* people. I am homesick before I’ve even left.

You are the backdrop where all important moments in my life have played out, from losing my innocence to learning to stand on my own and weather every challenge with confidence instead of the anger of a spoiled child. From quiet mornings when the Space Needle would disappear from the skyline entirely in a thick fog to raucous nights on Capitol Hill started innocently with sandwiches at the Honey Hole, I’ve always appreciated your subtle poetry and how you inspire the people who live here without even trying.

Sure, we haven’t always gotten along. I’ve cursed your public transit and how your drivers camp out in the passing lane driving 55. I may have even, on occasion, cursed those gray skies in the dregs of winter when even I, the true native, questioned if the sun would ever reappear. Still, from my living room in Lower Queen Anne as I watched the elevator go up and down and up and down, I’ve watched you woo newcomers with the breathtaking view from atop the Space Needle. If only they knew that view was only one of so many others out there to appreciate…

It was here that I learned to appreciate the nature of true friendship (and friendship that later turned out to be not so true or lasting) over beers and shuffleboard at Big Time Brewery. I learned humility from every uneven sidewalk and moss-covered stair you threw in my path. And you inspired me with more live music than I can even begin to describe, from the old Croc, and dare I say as far back as DV8. You even taught me to play nice with others as I learned to share Death Cab and Modest Mouse and my other favorite indie bands with the rest of the world. You baptized me by fire when I needed it, from live television to parallel parking in a tiny space while someone was waiting behind me. You even taught me how to hold my liquor with Earl’s Long Island Ice Tea.

I keep thinking how I’ve been a fool to take you for granted, the impeccable films at SIFF, amazing bands at Bumbershoot, and inexplicable delight of Archie McPhee’s. If only I knew I would leave someday, I would’ve paid more attention.

You’ve nourished me with Red Mill Burgers and Nasai Teriyaki and the greatest beer selection a girl could ask for. You indulged me with incomparable Yakima wines and Tom Douglas’ coconut cream pie, not to mention many a brunch at Dish and the 5 Spot. You even nourished my soul with late summer evenings at Golden Gardens and Greenlake and potlucks at the Interbay p-patch. You’ve spoiled me with Easy Street Records and KEXP and I don’t know how I could’ve ever been so dense as to take them for granted. A website just isn’t the same, you know?

My first real job, my first apartment—everything important that’s ever happened to me, it all happened here and that is why you will always be an inextricable part of me; the very core of who I am. I’m a Seattle girl, a Husky alum, and someone who will always love this city no matter how much it changes. When people ask me, “So does it really rain in Seattle all the time?” I will tell them yes, because god knows the last thing this town needs is more Californians moving here. It’s my way of showing you I still love you even though I’m far away.

I know I have many more firsts ahead of me and it’s necessary to try new things, but I take with me the best parts of this town, this amazing place where I’ve become the person I’ve always wanted to be.

Your face will change and I know that when I come back and the Gates Foundation is done, not to mention all the nonsense construction in SLU, you will look so different than when I left you. And I’ll look different, too–mostly because Bash at Vain won’t be lending his mad scissor skills to my locks anymore, but I have the highest of hopes that you will grow into the tremendous city I’ve always know you capable of being. I know someday all the progressive ideas will become reality.

It is so hard to leave you, Seattle. You are home to me. You are home to my ex-boyfriends and childhood friends and my family, and I hope you take good care of them while I’m away. And I hope they take really good care of you, too. You deserve it.

So I’m heading for California far sooner than I anticipated. I’m breaking my lease and heading down south to get my new home all set up a whoppin’ 20 days from now. I’m getting the hell out of dodge.

The weirdest part is that I’ve never been unemployed–not since I was 12…seriously. My grandfather once told me that my workaholic tendencies were the result of a Puritan work ethic encoded in my DNA. He may have been onto something there…I had a thriving babysitting business in our subdivision that kept me busier and wealthier than all the lawnmowing boys in the neighborhood combined. I’m not ashamed to say it, I was just *that good*. I parlayed my mad skills into an afterschool job at an in-home daycare and in the summers, I scooped ice cream at Baskin Robbins.  Then I started college and well, as a freshman I started with the organization I work for now. That was 11 years ago…I feel like I’ve grown up there and in spite of feeling root-bound lately, I always thought I’d get to leave on my own terms.  Turns out, not so much.

Last night I watched Mad Men, as I always do on Sunday nights. Here my favorite characters were faced with an impending disaster–the company was about to be sold to a big, evil, corporate douche bag company. And instead of being whiny little bitches or wringing their hands, they took control and said damn the man, stole some clients, and started their own agency. I felt kind of ridiculous that I was so sublimely happy to see these ficticious characters taking the situation by the cajones. I had a dumb girl smile on my face watching Roger and Don reconcile and then seeing the whole gang together again, doing what they do best out of passion for the work. There was something awe-inspiring about watching Don circle the wagons in preparation of sticking it to those who didn’t give them the breathing room to do great work. I remember great work…vaguely. I think the last time I had the breathing room I needed to do great work was August 2008 while my mentor was still leading the organization.

For 3 seasons of Mad Men now, I’ve watched the relationship between Don and Peggy and it has always reminded me of my relationship to my former mentor. I only say former because we haven’t talked in a long time. I would still do anything for him, if only I could. What can a rookie possibly do for a veteran? I’ve worked for only one great leader in my past and he was it. I learned so much from him and I haven’t spoken to him in awhile in spite of a recent recommendation he posted on LinkedIn; instead we just exchange Facebook messages like we were nearly strangers. Well before all this me becoming obsolete nonsense started, I’d been thinking about him a lot lately and last night I cried for the first time in months thinking about how I’ve missed his jokes, his guidance, everything.

I’ll admit, I was embarrassed by how much I cried when he first left. It had felt like the house of cards I’d been building based on his carefully strategized blueprint was swept away in a big gust of wind. The role he played in my career and in my life was and still is irreplicable and yet I feel like if I ever came out and told him all that, I’d disappoint him because I wouldn’t be able to do it without my emotions bubbling over causing me to shed tears like the wimp he taught me not to be. Pokerface, pokerface–that’s what he used to say to me when my heart was huge blinking neon billboard on my sleeve. He wouldn’t want tears; he’d want me to be as composed as he taught me to be. But I can’t be composed with all this chaos right now, so instead there is radio silence (or in my case, TV silence).

I hope someday I have the guts to tell him that he’s my Don Draper.

I’m sure a big part of this phenomenon is that I spend all my time with my lady pals who’ve been my best friends for over a decade now. There’s this comfort, this inherent calm that comes over me knowing that whatever thought or random quirk that surfaces  in the course of our conversation, it will be met with laughter and acceptance instead of furrowed brows and a cocked head–the non-verbal expression that screams “what is wrong with you?” that I might get from someone unfamiliar with this circle of friends and the hilarity that usually ensues when we’re all together. Random chicken noises, catty remarks on poor fashion choices, gushing over some guilty pleasure TV show…it’s all fair game. And for that reason, in this foreign place where everyone fits in because no one does, I’m totally at home.

My fella told me  some years back that that I made more sense to him after he met these amazing ladies I’m blessed to call my friends. “It’s so freaky, you guys…you, you talk the same–mannerisms, all that,”  he said. And once, in a random bar in Ballard, an older guy who was sitting a few seats down from A and me turned to us at one point and said, “You guys have been friends a long time, huh?” to which A responded, “Yeah, actually…we have. Why?” And he said, “Because I can tell by how you laugh together–that’s the laughter of old friends.”

So I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise to me that as a few of us curled up on a big chaise lounge in Highline Park the other night, all huddled up in our coats watching the sun sink behing the outline of buildings that I was sublimely happy. R fell asleep on my shoulder at one point and later we laughed so hard at the adventures of the previous night that tears streamed down my face and my abs actually hurt the next day. It was if my whole body has forgotten what it was like to be this happy. And tonight as I sat curled up on the couch next to my best friend,  I shed a few tears of sress over having just made the decision that regardless of the job situation in OC come Christmas, our house stuff is being moved with or without me, I realized this is exactly where I need to be this week.

All the ambiguity, all the frustration with feeling stalled out and anxious to move forward–this place full of distractions where I inevitably feel an overwhelming sense of calm just by being with the people I love so much, this was exactly what I needed. I love this Empire State of Mind.

I was sitting at my desk thinking about how it was time to transition my to-do list to a new sheet in my notebook. I have a color-coding system, you see–green means it’s done, yellow means I’m waiting for someone else, and pink means, “holy crap, you better get on this right now!” Once there’s a sizeable amount of green on the list, I make a new one so it stays readable. I like to think my lists help me with putting out fires since I can usually predict them and plan to arrive in the nick of time with a fire extinguisher in hand. God bless the pink highlighter.

So I started to execute the ritualistic task of titling the page and moving my sticky tab to a clean sheet. I started to write tasks on my list, but what came out was not what I expected:
 

To Do:
*Stop being fat
*Find a new job
*Move
*Write
*Play my guitar
*Stop being broke

I started laughing…not a chuckle, not a giggle–but hearty, belly laughs even though I was *totally* alone. This moment of brutal honesty and self awareness caught me totally off-guard. It came out of nowhere, but there it was in black and white–the stuff I need to do to get on with my life. For someone so ruled by lists and spreadsheets, I suppose I shouldn’t be all that surprised, but I was.

So here I am, in the midst of a last-minute business trip in central Washington with nothing but my ipod, an overnight bag, and access to Washington’s incomparable wine country to entertain me and I’m still amused by that page in my notebook. No sugar-coating, no pretense—just me being honest with myself about what needs to be done. I haven’t always been fat. I haven’t always neglected my creative outlets. I haven’t always wanted to leave my NW paradise behind for a new, uncharted, and potentially unpleasant territory like Orange County. But that’s where I am now and that’s what needs to happen.

That moment of clarity wasn’t the first to blind sight me this week. The other one was at the Kid Sister and Flosstradamous show on Tuesday at Neumo’s. I haven’t been drinkin’ and dancin’ and misbehavin’ for months now, especially not since I got engaged. I’ve just been busy and distracted. So on this particular Tuesday night as I contemplated an especially heinous work week, I thought blowing off some steam in advance by way of booty-shakin’ was the perfect plan. After some drinks at Linda’s, we moseyed on over to Neumo’s.

As I stood there enjoying my PBR before the set started, a friend of a friend started chatting me up in the bar. He was nice and harmless and he does odd jobs up in Bellingham. He didn’t strike me as the sort of guy who would readily identify with my freakish plots for world domination and yet, as I talked about moving to Orange, and job hunting, and my hottie filmmaker fiancé, I realized that even if I had *really* enjoyed talking to the dude all night and was super intrigued by him, NOTHING was going to come of it. Ever. Period. End of story.

It shocked me that I’ve taken my own level of commitment for granted without really questioning it. It seems so obvious right—my sweetie said, “Will you marry me?” and gave me a ring and I said, “Yes” and therefore none of this is surprising, right? Especially after 7 years, it shouldn’t be. I am, after all, the same girl who waited nearly 3 years for a goddamn ring. I’m still that same girl, right? Um, yeah—but I lived a whole other lifetime before I met him. I was kind of a bad girl once; a nice girl, but a little bad. I met my fiancé because I had too much to drink at a Halloween party in college and made out with a stranger in a closet. That stranger would later ask me to spend the rest of his life with him, but alas—that was life back then. I wouldn’t say that I was promiscuous in the slightest, but I met plenty of random guys at random bars and I dated a fair amount of them, many of which were in this band or that band and what have you….make of that what you will; it was just my type at the time.

I’ve never regretted the life I share with my sweetheart but it hit me for the first time that I have, in fact, truly started a new chapter. I’m seriously out of the dating scene. Forever. I never thought about the fact that gaining a fiancé would equate to losing anything. But there is something lost. My gift of flirtation, my witty conversation laden with double entrendres waiting to be unveiled by a guy clever enough to figure me out….all that is lost. Experiencing the awkwardness of a new relationship is lost and so are my contributions to the dating realm. I’m partnered with the last person I’m ever going to kiss, the last person I’m ever going to sleep with. Holy crap…there’s *no one* else for me. I’m the official wing woman for my clan of dudes and chicks alike…permanently. And I can’t believe I never thought about it until now. Maybe a ring isn’t kryptonite to all dudes, but its pretty close.

Who knew that I’d ever mourn my singledom for real. Well hello, Captain Obvious.

Here goes my track by track assessment of the New Moon Soundtrack:

Meet Me On The Equinox
Death Cab for Cutie

For years now (thanks to The OC), I’ve felt a bittersweet, nostalgic pang when I think of how big Death Cab has gotten in contrast to my fondest memories of seeing them at college shows in Bellingham and at the old Crocodile Cafe.  From Something About Airplanes to The Photo Album, I’ve nursed several broken hearts with Death Cab over the years and while I’m happy this tradition is being ceremoniously passed onto the next generation of their fans by way the New Moon Soundtrack, part of me really hopes that this song might inspire people to reach further back in Death Cab’s catalogue to unearth the truly mope-tastic tunes of Death Cab’s earlier years. That said, this song effortlessly sucks you into the New Moon story with brute force.

Friends
Band of Skulls

I’m not even gonna lie, I’m really hoping there’s a scene of Bella walking in slo mo (not the exaggerated kind; more like the 5 frames slower than regular variety) alongside Edward with the rest of her impossibly hot bloodsucker crew to this song. It’s sexy, it’s awesome, it’s the otherworldly brand of dancey fun you would expect to hear in the brief moments of euphoria Bella gets to enjoy before her world comes crashing down. The music supervisor deserves a raise for making sure this track made the cut. Two enthusiastic thumbs up!

Hearing Damage
Thom Yorke

The man can do no wrong and this fuzzy, moody track is no exception. But will they embrace it’s dark, twisty depressed tones on this soundtrack?  I’m not so sure…my money is on the fact that once you know what song is next, you just might hit the skip button to get to…

Possibility
Lykke Li

Haunting, beautiful and sublimely perfect at capturing the very essence of the New Moon story, this is my favorite song on the soundtrack. The lyrics convey the vulnerability of nursing the open wound of a broken heart without flogging listeners with a literal interpretation of the story. I love how the dreamy lyrics are layered over a delicate, lilting melody with undertones of sadness, numbness, and longing:

“So tell me when you hear my heart stop, you’re the only one that knows. Tell me when you hear my silence, there’s a possibility I wouldn’t know.
So tell me when my silence’s over, you’re the reason why I’m closed. Tell me when you hear me falling, there’s a possibility it wouldn’t show.”

I fell in love with the song and then when I was reading about her decision to contribute a song this soundtrack, I was blown away to find out that Lykke Li and I share an affinity for Baz Luhrman’s Romeo+Juliet soundtrack, one of my all-time favorite scores and soundtracks. I’m definitely going to download more from her.

A White Demon Love Song
The Killers

I heard the opening strains of the intro and said to myself, “Sweet, Interpol is on this record?” And then I realized I was wrong. But that’s not an insult, mind you. Between the piano and the little breakdown that reminds me of The Beatles, this song is amazing. Did they read the book before writing the lyrics? Mentions of”selfish kisses” and “white demon love songs in her dreams…” totally remind me of Bella’s lullaby.

Satellite Heart
Anya Marina

I think when people refer to this soundtrack as “music to get sad to“, they have this song in mind. It’s devastatingly beautiful in its simplicity. Lovely layers of symphonic sounds  ebb and flow through a track that muses on longing and isolation as if pain were poetic. If I had to draw a paralell between this soundtrack and the Romeo+Juliet soundtrack, it would be between this song and Little Star by Stina Nordenstam. But I like this song better and that’s saying a lot.

I Belong to You
Muse

Mue, Muse, Muse–you are catchy, catchy, catchy. And epic, always epic. I love how totally super glam this track is, no wonder you’re Stephenie Meyer’s favorite. You’re my favorite, too. Listening to this song first thing in the morning allows me to cut back on the coffee necessary to get through my day. Can anyone listen to this song without shakin’ their ass? I don’t think so…

Rosyln
Bon Iver & St. Vincent

A heated debate over this song took place in my living room the other night as one of my so-called friends said that he resented St. Vincent’s participation in this soundtrack and was going to boycott St. Vincent as a result. He is one of those judgy record store clerks that I fear buying guilty pleasure records from. So I asked, “Have you *listened* to the soundtrack?” To which my friend gave a resounding “no” and I promptly replied, “Then shut the hell up.” Regardless of what anyone may think of the thousands of Twilight fans spanning the globe, thousands of people will be introduced to the amazing sounds of Bon Iver and St. Vincent via this soundtrack. That fact alone is bad ass. It’s good for the world, it’s good for musicians who deserve more widespread appreciation. So to the judgy record store clerks and indie snots of the world, I say shut the hell up.

But alas I digress–back to my review–this song is dreamy and ethereal and it’s an absolute tie with Lykke Li as my favorite track. Anyone who questions Bon Iver and St. Vincent’s contribution to this soundtrack can suck it, in my humble opinion.

Done All Wrong
Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

Pretty standard as far as BRMC goes, but again–I stand by my assessment that if new audiences are exposed to BRMC as a result of this soundtrack, the world will be a better place. I have to admit that as I listened to this song, I had visions of Edward having his own private meltdowns while he was apart from Bella to the sounds of this song. Come November 20, we’ll see if my theory holds water. I’m envisioning an excess of whiskey and growing out facial hair, but that may be a stretch.

Monsters
Hurricane Bells
 
Goddamn this song is catchy as hell. I was unfamiliar with Hurricane Bells save for this song, but I dug it. I couldn’t figure out how in the hell I hadn’t heard of them before, until I discovered that oh yes–it’s a Longwave cast-off. And I LOVE Longwave, always have and always will. Not too much exposition is required for a song like this with nice hooks, a kick ass guitar solo, and accesssibility that sets the stage nicely for…

The Violet Hour
Sea Wolf

With the deep depression that Bella falls into over the course of the New Moon story, it’s hard to see where this playful diddy falls into the story, but I have secrets hopes that maybe this might be a celebratory “shes’s coming out of her fog” track that lays the foundation for her relationship with Jacob Black. Pay attention freshmen, if you have secret designs to become a college radio DJ, songs like this will be your bread and butter. It’s just that good (thanks to Phil Ek–the quintessential producer who brought us the likes of Band of Horses, The Shins, and Fleet Foxes).

Shooting the Moon
Ok Go

A little boring and pedestrian, but then the breakdown that makes the whole track worthwhile. Not the stand-out track of the album, but pleasing enough…

Slow Life
Grizzly Bear (with Victoria Legrand)

This songs makes me want to close my eyes and sway. I love how this collaboration balances dreamy lyrical balance with innovative instrumentation. I won’t pretend I’m capable of sussing out all the elements of the layered sounds, I just want to put on my headphones and drift away for 4 minutes and 21 seconds of bliss.
 
Editors
No Sound But the Wind

Too heavy handed in comparison to the rest of the soundtrack. I’m not a fan of this track…it’s just much too much. That said, perhaps it’s really appropriate for the scene it’s used in. I shall reserve judgment until November 20. I fully intend to explore the Editors catalogue in more detail.

New Moon (The Meadow)
Alexandre Desplat

I’m not even remotely qualified to evaluate a musical score like this one, but I will say that I love it’s delicate progressions. It is inescapably pretty and really captures both the darkness and the innocence that we see in the New Moon story.

Solar Midnite
Lupe Fiasco

It’s taken 4 days and this song is finally kind of growing on me. I couldn’t figure out how this song fit into the soundtrack until I start thinking about Jacob Black’s character as he morphs from being perpetually friend zoned into a wolfy hunk. This song oozes testosteroney bravado and I’m reasonably certain that when I sit down to watch the movie it will fit perfectly into the storyline. My money is on a nice, wide shot of the werewolf pack being all shirtless and what not.
The Magic Numbers & Amadou & Mariam

All I Believe In

I’m not a fan of this song. I’m going to leave it at that. It’ll be fascinating to see where in the storyline they place this track.

God bless the production designer

Last week my mind was consumed with job hunting, with missing my fiancé, and with work-related dilemmas that show no sign of being resolved anytime soon. I’ve been…scattered, stalled out, frustrated and impatient—all of my most charming attributes blended into a sour margarita of annoyance with a bitter, salty rim. Fabulous.
 
Don’t get me wrong, there are lots of things crossed off the “stuff I’ve been putting off” list I made last week and I’m happy about that; lots of progress was made. I was surprised I wasn’t more hindered by the fact that I’m reasonably certain I gave myself food poisoning last Friday by eating leftover Tuna Helper from my own fridge. Yes, Tuna Helper–seriously. My avoidance of grocery shopping had dire consequences; a whole new low for my poor, neglected kitchen (and digestive system). Clearly last week’s “I need to take better care of myself” epiphany came a bit late. And clearly–a word to the wise–Tuna Helper doesn’t keep for even a mere 2 days. 
 
Feeling awful led me to order up an OnDemand movie. My selection? Twilight. I’d seen it once before, but that was after a night out with my best friend and we only half paid attention to the movie. It bears mentioning that she and I don’t have a great track record with late-night movie watching. When she was in town a year or so ago we stayed up late talking and drinking wine and then we both fell asleep sitting up while watching Reality Bites. I have no doubt it’s situations like these that led one of her old boyfriends to refer to us as “hetero life partners”; we’re destined to be old-lady friends. I welcome wrinkles and purple hair if it means I’ll be knitting on a porch somewhere in a housecoat and curlers next to her as we offer shamelessly honest commentary on each other’s good ol’ days and drink martinis at utterly inappropriate hours of the day. But alas I digress…
 
Watching Twilight this time, in my weakened Tuna Helper-infused state, I saw something different in it, and not just because the dreamy Robert Pattinson totally brightened an otherwise icky day (but he did–meeeeyow!). I finally grasped the appeal, the reason that millions of teenage girls *and* their moms, not to mention the countless other people like me who stumbled upon it unintentionally, are so utterly enraptured by the story. It’s not that the books are especially well-written, but the story is so engaging and so universal; it speaks to what we imagine love could be, what we dream about it being before we have life experience that will inevitably poke holes in the plausibility of it all. And whether your boyfriend is a vampire or not, it captures the rush of being in love with someone so much that they’re like oxygen to you. For as terrifying as it is to share something in common with the hordes of shrieking 14 year-olds of the world, getting immersed in Twilight this week was an incrediby welcomed escape from all the things weighing on me lately. 

What I didn’t expect was that seeing the movie at last (was I the last one in America? possibly) would spark a desire to intellectually dissect this pop culture phenomenon. I invested a whoppin’ $5.98 at Half Price Books in the interest of “cultural examination”  and to evaluate how the book to screenplay adaptation worked out–or so I told myself. I had no clue that I would burn through the book at an alarming rate and that as I read the words describing the intense moments of Bella and Edward’s sparking romance all fraught with impassioned complications that I would have flashes of boys from my adolescence who made my heart stop when they walked in the room. I didn’t expect for it to remind me of the weighty decisions about when and how I wanted to lose my virginity and to whom. I didn’t expect that as I read, I would be so completely reminded of Jane Austen’s writing and that Stephenie Meyer would actually come out and give a nod to one of my all-time favorite writers right there on the page. Holy crap! Was there actually a shred of substance behind what I assumed would be young adult fiction drivel? Flashes of being referred to as a Twi-hard made me cringe. No, no…this was a purely scientific exploration. I am not 14, goddamnit. Then again, I read Shakespeare and Austen and Dickens and Entertainment Weekly, so maybe this was all inevitable.

Meyer totally captured the essence of being a teenage girl in love, the heady recklessness that makes the entire world slips away when the object of your affection leaves the room. I saw how Bella’s awkwardness and loner tendencies were endearing and relatable. I saw how Edward’s character embodied the unattainable perfection we want to believe exists when we’re young and inexperienced in love, how that even as raging hormones make you want to tear your clothes off for the boy of your dreams, the allure of being able to sleep in his arms actually sounds more appealing than sex sometimes. And I loved that Jacob’s character embodied what real guys are like–flawed and jealous, but loyal and lovable all the same.

I had to know where the story was going and how it would end, so as my roommate and I rolled up to Third Place Books on Monday night so that I could buy New Moon and Eclipse, I had a sense of urgency to read the whole series. I tried to laugh it off, though K knows what a nerd I am and thus didn’t seem remotely surprised by this turn of events. Still, I felt like I should closet my new guilty pleasure in public. How would I explain this fixation of mine to my PBS-watching, NPR-obsessed friends who read really *good* books all the time?

I walked to the cash wrap and was suddenly hit over the head with a subconscious reminder of why there are certain books and albums I buy on Amazon instead. I just can’t handle having to look the clerk in the eye, like a teenager buying their first condoms or feminine products at Walgreen’s (remember the world before self check-out lines? not pretty). That feeling has washed over me many a time, especially at Easy Street Records where I know the too-cool-for-words hipsters behind the counter sit in silent judgement of my purchase. And I know that’s what they’re doing because in my college radio days, that’s exactly what my friends and I would do.

With books in hand, it took everything in me not to look the clerk in the eye. I knew if I saw even a hint of amusement at my selection, so much as a raised eyebrow and I would’ve shrieked in my 3-octaves-higher-than-usual voice, ”DON’T JUDGE ME! I’m having a hard time and this helps, okay??!” before launching into a 10 minute diatribe about the abysmal state of the California job market and it’s recent impact on both my personal and professional life. Thankfully, the dude was nice. No silent judgment alarms went off. No big whoop.

I spent 4 days immersing myself in the Twiverse while questioning my sanity for listening to the soundtrack on repeat as a coping mechanism to get through my workdays. I thought I’d wait until Breaking Dawn came out in paperback as I discussed with my old-lady-friend-to-be on the phone that day, but when I left the office after 8:30 p.m. on Thursday on a day punctuated with more drama and nonsense that I can tolerate, I realized I needed a fix real bad. I had to go pick up a copy of Breaking Dawn and I couldn’t run the risk of the Ballard Fred Meyer not having it in stock. So I went downtown and paid more for 9 minutes of parking than I did to buy the first book. Given that I’ve taken to calling the series literary heroin to friends and colleagues, the irony didn’t escape me. When I got there, I saw an empty shelf where the book should’ve been and I had to ask a B&N clerk for help to track it down, I couldn’t help but hear the phrase,“hey kid, the first one’s free” echoing in the back of my mind. We wound our way through the aisles and I noticed then that I’d missed the endcap display plastered with a lovely bit of signage that read “undying love” dedicated solely to Twilight. I guess the B&N marketing team either hasn’t read the books or decided that “undying addiction” was inappropriate or too literal for their target demographic.

So here I am in the wee hours of the morning, after blazing through 2,344 pages more than I’ve read in awhile, listening to an unfathomabe amount of rain dumping from the heavens layered over the sound of the New Moon soundtrack (review to follow) and I can’t stop thinking about the fact that for all the craptacular books that get published every year, at least one of them should be mine.

For last 5 years, I’ve dumped every bit of energy I have into my work. My writing, my music, and my creative outlets have been evaporating before my very eyes and I’m only just now seeing it. I don’t know if I have it in me to create a pop culture phenomenon of epic proportions, but I know I have at least one good story in me. So I’m taking a new perspective on this job hunt–maybe I will look into something less demanding so that I still have something left in me when I get home to put on paper.

In the meantime, I’m steering clear of Tuna Helper and will pick up Twilight on DVD tomorrow. After all, it wouldn’t be very scientific of me to not watch all the features on the 2-disc special DVD set, now would it?

• I’m engaged—yeah!!! And the ring is perfect, more than perfect. We wound up tracking down that very first ring I tried on and fell in love with months and months ago; the one designed by an independent jeweler in our hometown. I love it! We got engaged close to where the Twilight story was set in the book (but not shot for the movie, to be precise).  Click for the whole spiel.
  

  Ferry ride home just after we got engaged

• My cutie of a fiancé and I packed up the Celica and drove down to California just over a month ago. The car is 20 years old has over 300K miles on it, which is why my mom says the car runs on voodoo. After a mostly uneventful ride down to Orange, I’m inclined to think she’s right. That car is magic!

• I spent a week in CA during the ickiest heat wave they’ve had in while and still, in spite of sweating profusely and spending an inordinate amount of time tracking down decent, yet cheap furniture on Craigslist for my honey to use *in the meantime*–I still actually want to live there. I even bought a welcome mat . 

• I learned that driving in Southern California really isn’t all that different from driving in Seattle. I just had to remove all logic, my sense of mortality, and regard for speed limits. I’m totally investing in better insurance before moving down there permanently.

• Although I’m looking for work, my roommate says I’ve “not yet become one with the job hunting process.” And she’s right. I mean, who in the hell wants to become “one with the process” when it involves competing for jobs among those with 3 times the amount of experience as you who also have unlimited hours in the day to devote to writing cover letters and resumés? Not me, thank you very much!

• I can’t join my honey in CA until I find work and thus, it’s really frustrating to have the heinous economy standing between me and the things I want most right now: a new job, moving to CA, and of course—getting a dog once I’m settled in. All I want in the world is to be there right now. 
  

  Can't wait until this is what I see when I come home every night

• I got word that I made it through the first application round for a state job, but it’s going to be another 2 weeks before I know if I got an interview or not. I spent somewhere between 40 and 50 hours on the essay portion of the application, so you might say I’m an *eensy* bit invested in getting an interview for this job.

All of that said I was inspired the other night by a song I heard playing during Private Practice. I rarely watch that show, but I heard “Song for the Waiting” by Aron Wright while I was channel surfing through. If you tweet about it or sign up on his email list, you can get a free download, which I highly recommend. Or you can get it on ITunes, which is what I did.

The lyrics were almost freakishly appropriate for my situation and really spoke volumes to me about how I need to approach the next few weeks. Here’s a taste:

There’s no straight road
tonight to take me home,
to lay me in my lover’s bed.
There’s no good way
tonight to make me okay,
no words to calm my rainy head.

It’s not the road,
it’s not the miles of being alone
that tells my heart she should be aching.
The danger’s in, the danger’s in, the danger’s in the waiting.

I see my life, well-rehearsed and it bores my mind—
like a show I’ve seen a thousand times before.
I see my life in reverse and it scares me inside
I see you’re the reason I should be giving more 

When I first heard it, I thought the words were “the change is in the waiting”, but “the danger’s in the waiting” works too. Either way it felt like one of those little messages from the universe that since I was actually paying attention for once, is really great advice.

I’ve been pretty hung up on the things that are out of my control in the last month. I keep reading these articles about the economy, about how 700 people or more will apply for one job and about how the unemployment rate is actually worse than we know because it doesn’t include discouraged workers who’ve given up job hunting altogether. I can’t blame them and I’ve only been at it for a couple of months. All of that stuff just underscores how totally craptacular this situation is. It’s hard not to feel gloomy about the state of things when for as much as I miss my guy and as much as I’m ready to move onto the next phase of my life by moving away from the NW for the first time in my life, there are SO many people far worse off than I am. I still have a paycheck coming in and yes, I’m struggling with money but it’s not hopeless. There are people with kids and homes who are barely getting by, if at all.  Who am I to complain?

Seeing as I initially heard “the change is in the waiting” I’ve decided to take this as my cue to use this “in the meantime” to really focus on taking care of myself—eating better, refocusing on my writing, and getting to the gym regularly. Those are things that I CAN control in spite of the economy holding me back. And those are all things that will help put me in a more positive frame of mind so that when it does come time for an interview, I’ll be ready for it in every sense.

“The danger’s in the waiting”—well that works too, with the state of the world, I can’t just sit around waiting for things to happen. I have to make things happen for myself, even if it’s not the things I’m most concerned about right now. So I made a list of all the little things I’ve been putting off, the stuff that weighs on even if it’s not a big deal. So far, I’ve checked 4 things off the list.

Off I go to check even more of them off the list! And totally download that song, it’s a good one. Seriously.

The first weekend we stayed in town, but for the second Cuddle Extravaganza Weekend—a week before he was leaving town, we decided to go to the Olympic Peninsula, the eerie, lush rainforest that’s been a favorite weekend getaway of ours for years. We were near the place Twilight was set; a misty paradise with millions of trees and shades of green—a place we relished long before Hollywood committed its beauty to film and made it the backdrop for Edward and Bella’s star-crossed love affair.

View from the top of the Rainshow Trail

We camped out at Heart of the Hills and had planned to go to Hurricane Ridge, but a rockslide blocked the road and we had to change our plan. And it was probably for the best; I was pretty maimed from wearing inappropriate footwear on a day hike the previous afternoon. He really wanted to do the whole hike and I’m totally out of shape, but I went along with it. I *may* have been pretty pissed at him for guilt-tripping me into doing the whole thing when it was more than I could handle. I *may* have pitched a fit three quarters of the way through the hike. I *may* have channeled my bitterness into coining it the Mahoney Death March Hike. Not a great start to the weekend, but alas I digress…

The second day we had breakfast in Port Angeles at a great little diner and then went Deer Park; another nearby recreation area in the Olympic National Park. We went up to this trail called the Rainshadow Trail which has the most amazing view of the Olympics, Port Angeles, everything…so profoundly beautiful.

The video camera was a constant companion over the course of the weekend since he still had to gather footage for a biographical video due the first week of class. As we were hiking up the hill, he with the camera case and our picnic backpack, and me with the tri-pod slung over my shoulder, I was joking with him that I felt like I was going on a shoot for work. He was kind of cagey about it and said, “Well, it shouldn’t feel like work—it’s Cuddle Extravaganza Weekend!” The tone in his voice was the first clue that something was up.

He set up the camera up and was shooting the whole 360-view from up on a little hill above where I was just standing and enjoying the view. I was hoping this would be the place he’d                                                                                                     propose, but I was just enjoying the view.

After awhile, he came down to where I was standing and got one knee. He said, “It doesn’t get any better than this, I want to be with you always. Will you marry me?” It was hilarious that after 7 years, he actually seemed nervous. He actually forgot to take the ring box out of the outer box…it was hilarious. I said, “Umm…I’m going to have to think about it.” He looked at me like I was nuts, “You have to think about it?!” And then I told him I was just messing with him and yes, of course I’ll marry him.

After all the hugs and kisses, he said, “I better go turn the camera off.” I totally didn’t realize he’d left it on and framed the shot so we’d have the whole thing on film.  Too cute! I haven’t watched it, but I’m super happy that he did that.

I don’t know if it was because of how stressed things had been before and how perfect it felt to be outside and to relax at last, but the whole weekend felt so surreal, like a waking dream. We even saw some wildlife on the way back down the trail.

A little friend we met on the way back down the trail...

I think the best part is that I get to call him my fiancé—it just feels right, so much better than boyfriend or partner. And I get to buy bridal magazines and think about what the wedding will be like, even though we’re not going to get married until he’s done with school. I had put all of that stuff out of my head for so long that it feels like such an indulgence to think about it now. I have 3 years to indulge myself and that makes me really happy. We’ll be celebrating our 10 year anniversary by getting married! How rare is that?

Shockingly accurate visual representation of why I'm not "emotionally prepared" for job hunting.

And then I saw it, the job posting to end all job postings. It is beyond perfect for me—the veritable Mr. Darcy of jobs; a non-profit leadership position in marketing & communications located within a reasonable commuting distance to our new house—and it’s with an organization whose video on YouTube literally made me cry because I was so touched by the idea of working for them. This is, of course, a prime example of how sometimes the universe takes all the pretty stories and rationalizations you’ve been telling yourself and laughs maniacally whilst tossing your plans and pretty stories out the window onto the unforgiving pavement below. All I can do is smile and laugh as I watch the meager few plans I allowed myself to have during this heinously transitional period shatter into a million pieces below. Plans, schmlans, right? Maybe destiny has a better plan for me. It reminds me of that Julia Sweeney movie from years ago, God Said, Ha!

When I first set eyes on this glorious piece of Craigslist-generated job posting beauty, I got all starry eyed, dreamy and tingly in that special place–that “special” place being the ambitious part of my psyche that’s ready for the next challenge.

Finding a promising job post is totally like dating. I feel like I’ve met Brad Pitt in a dive bar, except that not only is he smokin’ hot, but he also has Bill Gates income, John Stewart’s wit, and Obama’s idealism all rolled into a perfect package. It’s enough to make a girl swoon like *real bad* and instantly start plotting an exit strategy for how to leave her cheap beer-swilling, stained t-shirt wearing, unemployed slob of a current position in the dust. And all of this infatuation sprung from the least likely place to find job lust–the dive bar that is Craigslist. Now, my current gig is actually *really* not that bad at all, I’ve just outgrown it. I love my current job, the people I work with are family and the job itself is mostly fabulous. All that said, I *really* want to see if things work out with Brad/Bill/John/Barack.

Ever since I sent in my cover letter, resume and writing portfolio that I slaved over for hours one end, I’ve become more and more smitten as I’ve researched the organization online. I’ve “liked” their Facebook posts, I’ve read their annual report, read press about them…all that. I’ve been in la-la land and only half paying attention to things that genuinely matter the last few days. There are literally a hundred other things that I could be thinking about right now–an endless list of things I have to get done at work before leaving town, not to mention laundry, packing, clearing out a room for my friend who’s moving in–all that. And yet, I keep thinking about getting that call.

I feel like I’m in my early 20s again and have just “connected” with someone I met at a bar, given him my number and now I’ve launched into the torturous purgatory of waiting for the coveted phone call to book a first date. Between obsessively checking my email and incessantly feeling the phantom vibration of my cell phone, it’s amazing I’ve made time to do much else–and not for a lack of things to do! Still, I can’t stop myself from planning what I’ll wear and what I’ll say on our hypothetical first date/interview.

What I really need to focus on is that in a mere 36 hours, we leave town for a trip that promises to be the Bataan death march of road trips—over 20 hours of driving from Seattle, WA to Orange, CA without air-conditioning in a packed to the gills 1990 Toyota Celica. My mom actually believes this car is kept running by voodoo because there is literally *no* earthly explanation as to why it still runs. I’ll be jammed into the passenger seat with room for nothing more than a Michael Pollan book, a Lucky Magazine, my ipod, and perhaps a coffeemaker on my lap for fear of the carafe breaking as a result of my partners’ notoriously haphazard method of packing. Oh yes, it’s going to be a *swell* trip.

If you have any good juju to spare, please send a bit of it toward my job hunting cause (or even towards keeping my sweetie’s car running for the next 1,172 miles—I’m not picky when it comes to good juju).

If they don’t call, it’s like I’ll resort to boiling bunnies in retaliation or anything, but if a whole week goes by without hearing anything at all from them, it’s going to take some serious self-restraint not to email them a note with a subject line that reads, “I will not be ignored!!”

I really hope they don’t ignore me. I hope Brad/Bill/John/Barack calls. We haven’t even had our first date, but I know we’d totally have cute kids together.