Bringing the cheerful calamity back

If I have any readers left after a nearly three-month hiatus, I apologize for being MIA. I’m not exactly sure why I haven’t been writing. I posted on facebook a while back that I was “too busy being a cheerful calamity to write about being a cheerful calamity,” which was true. But it’s also a lazy excuse because the things that have been happening in the last three months are exactly what I should have been blogging about.

I think I lost inspiration to write sometime last fall and simply got in the habit of not writing. But lucky for you, my loyal followers (if you even exist), I’m hoping to fix that. Let me catch you up to speed.

I wasn’t supposed to work one Monday back in late November — I had the day off. But because there was an event that my editor asked me to cover. And because this was kind of an important event, I made sure to look professional. I knew there would be at least one TV reporter there and, well, newspaper reporters are notoriously schleppy. So, donning my favorite black pencil skirt, heels and a patterned cardigan, I did my best to look at least on par with the other media.

There was nothing noteworthy about the event itself, but the two-minute conversation I had with a stranger afterward has vastly affected my life since. Thank goodness I dressed up that day.

Without going into detail about the specifics of the event (because for the purposes of this blog, they’re inconsequential), a guy I didn’t know approached me and said the following:

“Excuse me, but have we met before?”

What I said: “Um, no… I don’t think so.” What I thought: “Nice try, buddy.”

“No, I’m pretty sure we’ve met before. Do you know (insert name of my college roommate here)?”

Me: “Uh… what?? YES I know her! She was my roommate in college for three years! Wait, how do you know her? And how do you know that I know her?”

Turns out the guy — I’ll call him B — is from Richmond and went to high school with my college roommate/one of my closest gal pals. He’d noticed the UR sticker on my car and, knowing she also went to UR, figured he’d chance it and see if the connection was there. Lucky for him (and me), it was.

We exchanged cards and — perhaps against my better judgment — I emailed him 23 minutes later. Turns out my lesser judgment was the winner in this scenario, because we began an extensive gmail conversation — “just like ‘You’ve Got Mail’! a friend told me later — and by the third email, he’d asked me out.

Two weeks later I found myself in Richmond “to go Christmas shopping” but really, to go on that date with B. And today, about six weeks after that first date, he’s sitting here snowed in with me in Danville for the weekend.

When I had to leave Culpeper last year, I didn’t understand why. Why I’d lost my job, why I had to move — or most of all — why I had to move to Danville (no offense to a lovely city I now have grown quite fond of). But I’d made great friends, I’d won awards for my writing — and ultimately I felt like it was all in vain. I didn’t know why it all happened, but I also knew that I’d figure it out. There was a reason behind the shit, but I just had to be patient and open to the possibility that there was something better for me, beyond the life I had.

I’m not going to be overly dramatic and say that B is the answer to all of my problems, because 1) it’s not true and 2) that would be a simple-minded way to think. But I also know now that meeting him — and in such a serendipitous way — was one of many of the reasons I was supposed to come to Danville when I did.

Another reason I know I was meant to come to Danville (totally unrelated to the previous) is the fact that I have found this niche for myself in political journalism that I never knew existed. I’ve become passionate about Virginia politics and I love covering it more than any other beat I’ve had. I’m not sure I would have discovered that had I not moved here. I still don’t really have any idea what I want to ultimately do with my life, but now I at least feel like I’m moving in a general direction rather than simply wandering.

There’s a quote from the charming aforementioned “You’ve Got Mail,” in which Meg Ryan’s character says:

Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life — well, valuable, but small — and sometimes I wonder: do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave?

That completely describes my thoughts about my life in Culpeper. I was willing to stay there and settle because it was comfortable and easy. I think now, after everything, I much more like the idea of being brave.

I think I need a dog.

The problem is, I just can’t really afford one. In case you were unaware, journalists don’t exactly make bank, and I’m barely getting by as is. Not to mention I enjoy the freedom of being able to escape Danville whenever I feel like it. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

A few weeks ago as I was getting ready to go to bed, I heard a noise in my apartment. A light scratching, with some muffled rustling — definitely coming from somewhere inside. It’s pretty pathetic how easily terrified I am at strange noises when I’m alone at night. Perhaps it’s my fascination with ghosts and scary movies, but there is something thrilling about the idea of a scary noise. Maybe that’s why I let myself get so frightened, especially when I know the possibility of actual danger is minuscule.

Even so, I froze in my tracks. I began to tremble (more than normal… I have weirdly shaky hands) and kept quiet, waiting to hear the noise again. And there it was. I grabbed my phone and called my gal pal STB for some advice. What the hell do I do about this noise? There was definitely an animal of some type burrowing in my apartment — seemingly somewhere in the bathroom. She couldn’t really help much but advised me to leave some bait out (to verify whether there was actually a critter) and to shut my bedroom doors tight.

The next morning, I found no evidence of a rodent. That is, until I pulled out a hairbrush from my bathroom drawer and found very clear bite marks, with chunks of the foam handle strewn about the drawer. Gross. At least I knew I wasn’t crazy, though.

The creature — I was assuming a mouse although I had no visual proof — eventually lost interest in my drawer and I lost interest in him as well. Until a few days ago, when I heard him again in a closet. Determined to make contact, I crept into the hallway and hot damn! There he was. Until now I had been imagining some enormous oppossum/rat creature — some disgusting, horrific rodent sharing my apartment. But from what I could tell from the small space between the baseboard and the floor where he hid, my mouse was tiny. And adorable. I kind of wanted to keep him. Something about the idea of another soul, another creature living with me was sort of heartwarming.

Oh, how wrong I was.

Mom and Dad came to stay with me this weekend and Dad brought along a few mouse traps, although it made me a little sad. He set them in the closet were I’d spotted my friend (Ralph, I’d named him. Yes, like Ralph S. Mouse.) and barely an hour or two had gone by before we heard that horrible SNAP. I didn’t want to see him, but I’m a journalist. I need to see proof. Well, Ralph was no tiny mouse; Ralph was effing enormous. So big that the trap was too small and instead of snapping his neck, just painfully trapped him while he squeaked in pain. I was horrified.

Dad took care of it, but just after we’d retired for the evening, whaddya know? SNAP. Another one. This one was bigger, and I could hear him thrashing around in the hallway, the wooden mouse trap smacking the hardwood floor. Dad reluctantly got up and took care of this one, too.

“There’s more,” he said. “I’m sure of it.”

And so we’ve got another two traps set. Hopefully Dad’s still here to take care of those, too.

This is why I need a dog. Not just to scare away pesky rodents with his menacing scent, but because I clearly need a buddy. This is the second household pest I have befriended since moving here (remember Charlotte? yeah, she’s gone too). I actually desperately want a dog — but the thought of further tethering myself to Danville makes me cringe. I realize I can take a dog with me if and when I move somewhere new, but in the interim, having a dog means having more responsibilities.

So until I move somewhere where I’m ready to put down roots, my pests will have to do. Or I could just get out of the house a little more.

Rebuilding my web

Having a birthday in July is great; it’s like celebrating a second New Year’s Day halfway through the year. It gives me a chance to evaluate where I am and where I’m going.

My 23rd year was not my best. Worse things could have happened, yes, but for me, it was rough. So, understandably, I am thrilled to move on to 24. I don’t know why, but I’ve got a good feeling about this year. I don’t think I’ll solve all (if any) of my issues, but something tells me this year is going to take me places – good places. I look back at the distance I’ve traveled from my last birthday, and I only now fully realize that you can never possibly plan or predict what could happen in a year’s time. All you can do is push yourself forward.

THIS is Charlotte. Photo by HKM

I have a new friend in Danville. Sort of. Her name is Charlotte and she lives outside my apartment, in a web in my back doorway that she rebuilds pretty much every day. At first she creeped me out. Now, her diligence and consistency never cease to amaze me when I duck below the nearly invisible strands of her sturdy web as I leave for work every morning. I realize the relationship I have created (in my head) with a spider is not normal. But I only hope that I can be as committed to something someday as Charlotte is to building that dang web every day. Minus the feasting on bugs part.

I think 24 is a good age. I haven’t hit my quarter-century mark yet, but I’ve also graduated from the “just out of college” phase and established myself as an independent (for the most part) professional. My friends in their late 20s and early 30s are probably rolling their eyes at that – I know, I know. I’m still young. And I’m thankful for that. Last week I was on vacation with my family and made more than a few comments about my current life status, which in my mind is quite up in the air. Meaning, I have absolutely no idea where the hell my life is going. And my mom was very quick to remind me that I need not worry about silly things like that.

“Your life is right on track,” she said. “You are doing exactly what is right for you. People envy where you are right now.” And although it’s easy to forget, she’s right.

A few weeks ago, two friends and I packed up a minivan and headed to Eden, N.C. for a viewing of the new Harry Potter movie at a drive-in. Somehow, I had never been to drive-in theater, ever. We parked and set up camp on the cool grass with blankets, leaning against the rear bumper of the minivan. As the evening light faded and the stars appeared, Harry Potter and his cohorts embarked on their adventures. The movie was fun enough, but it was the drive-in experience that I enjoyed the most. My girlfriends and I snuggled together to stay warm (in July… crazy), snacking on popcorn and fresh cherries, as the temperature dropped a good 15 or so degrees.

There is simply something magical about being outdoors on cool summer nights. The rhythm of the crickets faded into the background of the movie’s score as the smoky scent of grilled burgers wafted across the lawn. Something about the three of us — giggling about how unfortunate it is that the actor playing Draco has not grown more attractive as he ages — sitting on the grass out in rural North Carolina made me feel like a kid again. It was like I was away at summer camp, bonding with two great friends who I really haven’t known very long but can already tell they’ll stick with me for a while.

It’s so easy to look waaaay too far into the future – believe me, I’m guilty of it on a daily basis – and freak yourself out about what you should be doing, what path you should be on, whether you’re on the right one and where it might take you. Frankly, it’s exhausting. Even my daily Google alerts stress me out, making me realizing there is so much more I could be covering at work, if only I had more time.

But we don’t have more time. We have what we have. And at work, it’s 40 hours a week, that’s it. (At least for my job it is; we’re under a no-overtime policy…) The key is to focus on what’s important and not get bogged down with the mundane. I can’t keep stressing out about “shoulda, coulda, woulda.” You simply can’t play that game. You have what you’ve been given and you’ve to go make the most of it. If you don’t like it, fix it.

Since my last post about feeling suffocated in Danville, I’ve made a few changes in my life, determined to regain control. I remember telling The Musician last month that I’d been pretty homesick. Not really homesick for North Carolina, but for good friends. There’s always a period of time when you’re in a new place that you wish for the friends you left behind. I can safely say I don’t feel that way anymore.

"c" items: card, clutch, cigarette (not mine), cell phone, catalog, corona, cold drink

If the beginning of my 24th year is any indication of its remainder, I’m in for a treat. My Danville friends threw me a spectacular C-themed bash (costumes required), which positively overwhelmed me seeing as how I’ve only known them for about three months. Three months that have honestly flown by because I try my best to make the most of the current chapter of my life, whether it’s spent watching movies with the girls, working on stressful stories at work or befriending the bugs in my apartment.

Face it: it’s easy to get worn out, burned out, beaten down from the day-to-day. But keep an eye on that bigger picture. Not for planning purposes, of course – that’s impossible – but for your on sanity and happiness. If something tears down your web, just rebuild it. And know that despite whatever crap you may encounter today, this week, this month, your life is headed in a certain direction.

It’s just up to you which direction that is.

Living up to my own philosophies

“Did you ever think that maybe if you’re not happy it’s because of you?”

-Stephen Kellogg

I’ve been in Danville for a little more than two months. And when people ask me how it’s going, I find myself taking a deep breath and exhaling a wistful, “oh, it’s fiiine.” I really can’t complain. It is fine. I’m not unhappy. But I’m not particularly ecstatic, either.

I guess it’s hard to compare my current situation with my last, which was simply exquisite if only because of the pure novelty of that place. It was my first home, outside of my parents’ and college. It was a place and experience that was new and refreshing, and it was all mine. I made it for myself. So it’s hard for me to fall completely in love with Danville the way I did with Culpeper, because I’ve already done it. It’s sort of like I’m “just not that into” Danville.

photo by Declan McCullagh

For the Fourth of July, I visited my best friend (CB the law student) in New York, where she’s spending the summer. Walking through the hipster-chic streets in the Village and Chelsea, through the quiet beauty in Central Park, through the insane crowds in Midtown, I longed to live in a city. A real city. I did that once, in Spain. I spent four months in Valencia and I did things while living abroad that would terrify me in the United States. Things like traveling completely alone, like relying on an unfamiliar public transit system, like really living without restraints. The smells of New York City streets — that slightly sour, almost dirty smell — made me miss Valencia and my semester there as if it were a best friend I’d lost touch with.

I think that’s what appeals to me so much about Richmond, a city so rich with history and architecture. When I’m downtown, or walking through the Fan — I feel almost like I’m back in Europe, where I felt such exuberance and independence from my own intimidation. New York reminded me of that, and seeing CB navigate her way flawlessly through the metropolitan maze reminded me that I was once so able.

To be blunt, Danville suffocates me a little. To explore, I have to drive aimlessly. Downtown is definitley within walking distance, but most of it is vacant and empty. Driving around the city bores me, and I find myself falling into an inconvenient rut. I get to work late enough that I could accomplish things in the morning if I woke up earlier, but I don’t. I work late enough that I can’t really accomplish anything after work because I’m exausted. I go out of town nearly every weekend and simply don’t make time for myself. Even this blog is getting painfully neglected.

And because of my self-inflicted schedule, I’ve let my once-dutiful workout regimen fall by the wayside. For a while I relied on the “my life fell apart” excuse, but it’s been four months and I’ve outworn it. My life is now back together. For the most part.

I really hate to sound like such a Debbie Downer, because it’s so out of character for me. But I guess we all have our moments, right? Wrong. Maybe that’s an OK excuse for you, but not for me. It seems I’m forgetting one of the pillars of my life philosophy: whatever you’ve got, make the most of it. Like Stephen Kellogg croons, “Did you ever think that maybe if you’re not happy it’s because of you?” In short, quit whining and make some changes. Or at least be thankful for what you’ve got.

Sometimes I cringe at the thought of making the effort to exercise, but the truth is, I miss running. I really do. I miss that exhilarating feeling of accomplishment when I surpassed one, two, three miles. Or when I dropped 5, 10, 15 pounds. That’s a high you can’t find anywhere else. I go on almost-daily walks with my friends, but I need to make time to run again.

And speaking of friends, I have made some seriously awesome ones in Danville who I miss when I’m gone on the weekends. And thankfully, they miss me too. They even told me so. When I mentioned last night that my birthday was next week, I got a resounding, “we know,” from my two girlfriends. I forget how lucky I am that I make friends so quickly.

This is your one chance at life. All you can do is make the most of it. Don’t spend your days wishing you were somewhere — or someone — else. And if you’re not happy, ask yourself why.

Things I’ve learned in Danville

The day I lost my job, I thought my world had imploded. But after two months of soul – and job – searching, I now find myself in a new place with a new job and new experiences to blog about.

No, this is not where I expected to move after Culpeper. I wanted so badly – and still do – to go back to Richmond. And I’m sure I’ll get there someday, but I just took a little detour in the meantime. I’m still trying to figure out “why Danville,” but something tells me it’ll be a while before I get the answer to that question.

Until then, all I can do is accept that this is my home for the next few months – or years – and just be myself. Which means I will completely throw myself into this place, as I did in Culpeper. If I don’t, I’m just wasting my time. Why live your life halfway? Who knows how long I’ll be here, but that doesn’t matter. I’ve settled into my apartment and am beginning to settle into the city as well. Which only means that when I do leave, it will be that much harder.

I can already tell I’m beginning to fall for this city and these people, and maybe I’m stupid for letting myself – knowing this is probably temporary. But this is what I do; this is who I am. It’s impossible for me to live half-heartedly. Danville is no Culpeper, and it’s definitely no Richmond. But despite its faults, it’s got a lot of beauty and charm. And unfortunately for me, I have a great ability to look past blemishes and become completely attached to people and places, even when I know I shouldn’t. But I’d rather be happy for the time that I’m here than miserable for the next year, longing to be somewhere else.

mmm cookies

And so here I am, making some awesome friends and seeing where life takes me. Which so far, has been to some interesting places. Last week, for example, I was covering a meeting that our local congressman was at while he was in town. He’s really young (mid-30s I think) and brand new at his job. Afterward, I waited around until everyone left so I could ask him a few questions. I noticed he was holding a Tupperware container of cookies, which had been passed around earlier in the meeting. When I finished my interview, he offered me a cookie.

“No, thanks,” I said.
“Are you sure?” he asked. “They’re really good.”
“No, I’m good.”
“You sure?”
Wow, he wouldn’t let up about the cookies.
“My mom made them,” he said. “I’ll be hurt if you don’t have one.”
“Um, OK,” I said. “If your mom made them, then I’ll take a cookie.”

This is what I love about covering state politics in rural Virginia. Our U.S. representative brought cookies – that his mom made – to a public appearance. And they were delicious.

Last night I went to a “keg in the kountry” party (no, it wasn’t a Kappa social) with some friends. In addition to the fact that our congressman’s mom makes good cookies, here are some things I’ve learned in Danville:

Don't drink and mow.

1.    Roasted marshmallows are AWESOME on top of oreos.
2.    Grape moonshine is actually pretty good. The grapes at the bottom are not. As a general rule, don’t eat the fruit from a moonshine jar.
3.    At a county party, go with the flow. Old drunk men will try to dance with you – it’s OK, they’re harmless. And when they’ve had enough, they’ll drive home on their John Deere tractor.
4.    Make friends with your neighbors. When you come home at 2 a.m., they’ll invite you up to their porch to drink with the other neighbors while one of their daughters has a sleepover after her 5th grade “prom.”

Yeah, I think Danville suits me. So if you find yourself at a crossroads or starting over in a new place, don’t resist the change. If you do, you’ll miss out on some spectacular opportunities for new friends and new memories.

The journey to change a flat

Oh blog, how I’ve neglected you. Although the internet hasn’t forgotten about you… seems that a certain picture of a certain American Idol runner-up in disco drag has kept you alive and well. I mean seriously, how has this blog gotten like 3,000 hits since I last posted? Too bad nothing I actually write gets that much attention. 

But don’t fret, dear readers. I know there’s a few of you left, right? My life has continued to be a cheerful calamity, even if I haven’t been writing about it.

I’d been at my new job exactly one week and was on the way to an assignment 20 miles north of town. It had started to rain, but not too hard. Just that annoying in-between misty kind of rain that doesn’t drench you but is enough to ruin your hair. Singing along mindlessly to the radio, I was thinking about how I really had not prepared much for this assignment. I was going to an annual memorial service for the eight local law enforcement officers who had fallen in the line of duty over the last 80 years, but didn’t really know much more than that.

About five miles from town, I felt my car start to shake. I was going about 65 mph, and at first thought perhaps the highway was just bumpy or something. What? Sometimes that happens… But the road was pretty flat and the shaking continued. I braked slightly, which did nothing.  Something was definitely wrong with the car. I flicked on my hazards and slowed, letting traffic pass me before making my way into the right lane and pulling off the highway. None of my engine lights was on, but as I turned off the ignition I realized the problem. The car now sat at a slight tilt to the right. A flat tire. Damn it.

Acknowledging my lack of experience with changing a flat, I called AAA and then my boss. What I didn’t realize was he had been planning on using my story for the next day’s centerpiece on the front page. So me not being able to make the memorial service = bad news. I could hear the desperation in his voice and said I’d go anyway to catch up with the sheriff after the service. I could throw something together.

As I waited nearly two hours for the mechanic to arrive, blue lights flashed behind me. I smirked thinking about how I normally feel when cops are behind me – which isn’t often, thank you very much. I’ve actually never gotten a ticket, although I’m sure I’ve now jinxed myself. 

“Flat tire,” I yelled out the window over the 18-wheelers whizzing by as The Captain approached my car. 

“And you can’t change it yourself?” he teased.

“No…” I said sheepishly. “Triple-A is on the way.”

I can do a lot of things for myself, but changing a tire simply isn’t one of them. Is that so wrong? We chatted briefly and The Captain offered to help with the tire. But I knew the mechanic would be there soon. He asked if he could do anything else; I could tell he felt bad leaving me on the side of the road alone.

“There is one thing, actually,” I said.

I explained that I had just moved here to write for the paper and was on the way to cover the memorial service. I wondered if he could tell me about it.

Turns out this captain who happened to pass me on the side of the road was the former partner of a fallen deputy. The community started holding the annual service after that deputy’s death.

“I don’t need to go to the memorial service,” he told me. “I memorialize him every day out here doing my job.”

When the mechanic finally arrived an hour later, I watched as he loosened the nuts on my wheel (I know some of you are trying to make “that’s what she said” jokes. stop.), taking mental notes for the next time this happens. But when it came time to pull the wheel off, it wouldn’t budge. He kicked at it and pulled at it and greased it up (again, stop), but nothing happened. After trying for what seemed like a half an hour and almost ready to give up, he finally yanked the wheel off with the help of a giant metal hook on a chain he had in the back of his truck. So in my defense – even if I’d known how to change a flat, I never would have been able to get the wheel off without help.

I finally made it to town on my spare and got my story, which ran on the front page. But I don’t think I’ll ever forget the story The Captain told me about his partner that I didn’t run.

A new beginning

Surprisingly, I’m doing pretty well considering I just uprooted my life and moved to a completely foreign place. And although it was tough to say goodbye to Culpeper, I didn’t cry as much as I expected. Maybe my mom was right – I certainly cried enough in March. Maybe I’m just done crying for a while. I’d say when you get to the point that you wake up with chapped, peeling skin under your eyes (I didn’t know that was possible) from days of endless tears, you’ve had your fair share of crying for the year.

I must say I had the most fabulous sendoff my last week in Culpeper. The Musician, The Drummer and their band played a set dedicated to me at open mic night, which included “I Will Survive,” “Say It Ain’t So” and “Shine,” an original. And later, just The Musician played a song I actually wrote, which he set to music. It was incredible to hear my words sung aloud by another person – especially by someone who knew and understood the thoughts behind the words. If he ever gets around to recording it for his demo CD, I’ll figure out how to post it.

In my year and a half there, I made a lot of friends. I also lost a few, but can happily say I’ve reconnected with all but one. That one I don’t expect to reconcile with anytime soon – if ever – and I don’t need to. I think some people aren’t meant to stay in your life, and when your time with them ends, it ends, and there is no reason to maintain a relationship except for nostalgia. Sometimes I think about him, and I think, “I don’t even know who that person is anymore.” I stumble upon old pictures and it’s like he’s just someone I briefly knew once. I think I’m finally getting close to being able to close the door on that part of my life. And I mean that in a good, healthy way.

But it’s funny how leaving can also bring other people back together. Leaving can make you realize how ridiculous past indiscretions were. You realize that whatever it was that happened is dwarfed by the fact that you just want to tell your friend – who at one time was one of your closest – how much she meant to you, and how much it sucked that you had a falling out. And you wonder how everything else might have changed if things had turned out differently. But you can’t play that game.

Leaving – and moving somewhere new – also makes you realize how much you truly care about those you’re leaving. My sendoff left me feeling so completely and utterly loved that my heart ached. Ached from the love and from how much I already miss them.

But here I am, a new person in a new place with a new job and a new life. The cheerful calamity lives on.

Read more here.