Playing House

During college, I only lived on-campus for half a semester. That was at the Norman campus of the University of Oklahoma (the school I eventually graduated from via their satellite campus in Tulsa). I don't think I missed much of the dorm life though because I had tastes of the co-ed thing during the times when I would muster up enough money to move out of my parents' house for a little while in the following years. My residence status during the college years was a bit meandering, as I moved in and out of my parents' home to various places around here, with a couple different roommates.

I lived in a drafty old house in Salina for a few months with the girl who is now my best friend. Emphasis on now. Though we had some great times in that scary little house, we learned the hard lesson that She + Me + Living In Close Quarters = HATE & DISGUST. It happens sometimes. It's one of those friendships that poses the question, "how can I miss you if you never leave?"

I wholeheartedly admit that the fault was at least half mine in that very dramatic co-habitation abandonment. I had the water and electric shut off before I ever told her I was leaving. Kinda harsh, I know. But in my defense, I was a very immature 20 when it happened. Back then, I was highly prone to making big, theatrical moves. It was my style.

In that house, we threw our share of parties, and I dated my share of unsavories. We were broke all the time, and one night I holed up in my chilly bedroom and smoked two packs of Winston full flavor cigarettes because I thought it might help relieve the stress of my financial woes. (Didn't work. I puked a few times instead). Since neither of us were 21 yet, we didn't have as much fun as we might've. But we learned a few things about ourselves (and each other). For instance, I know that I pretty much hate floral designs of any kind (my roommate's fave), and I do not like when people leave their crap lying on the kitchen table for days on end with no intention of ever putting it away. I also learned that if I want to be your good friend, and we are not getting married and having sex all the time, I'm probably not going to be a very compatible roommate for you.

My next roommate was my 70-year-old grandmother. My grandfather had just passed, and she didn't want to live alone, nor did she want to sell her house. So I, being the Grand Daughter that I was, agreed to move in for a while. It turned out to be a two-year stay, and I have to say that it went much better than one might imagine. The departure was equally as dramatic and distasteful as my previous roommate break-up, and it took Granny and me a while to not be weird around one another again. But in the end, it was definitely for the best that I moved out. I turned 21 while living there, and, well, the good times were a-rollin', and I was pretty flaky. I kind of regret some of my attitude back then, but I'm not sorry I moved out. It was time. I love Granny dearly, but it's an understatement to say that living with your grandparent - as a wild and carefree young adult - is tough.

After moving back home with my parents for a bit, I got my own apartment in Pryor. I had a few near misses with roommates in that place, but I was very skittish about co-habitation by then. The two-bedroom 1960s model apartment was cheap and accommodating. It served not so much as Party Central as it did Quiet Place to Sit & Talk. I did a lot of road-tripping when I lived in that apartment and dated guys who lived out of town. So, the party was usually elsewhere. Not that my life was all that exciting at that time. I was a major music geek then, and spent more hours listening to obscure CDs than is probably healthy.

Then there was the very dark period right after my brother died when I basically locked myself inside the apartment and cried and drank white wine and painted crazy pictures and wrote disastrous poems for a few months. The number of road trips started declining after that and never quite made it back to their prime rate. The combination of those emotional acrobatics and the truly free time made for some of my most creative moments. I was the owner of a website that featured a hodgepodge of local music material and creative writing, and I was a hopelessly devoted dj at a college radio station. I finished an associate's degree in broadcasting while living there and then transferred to OU just before moving out in the fall of 2003.

That brings me to where I am now. That year I purchased my grandmother's house (yes, the one in which I previously lived and then ran away from like a cold-hearted snake child). My little fixer-upper is probably never going to get fixed-up. Not much more than it already has been, anyway. AJ moved in with me in April of 2004, and - as you may already know - we got hitched in June of this year. We've made sparkly-eyed plans to build a brand new house within the next three-to-five years. Something big and nice! With possible stairs! And room to dance! And throw stupendous New Year's parties!

For now, we're pretty happy in our creaky quarters. Basically, everything needs refurbishing including the floors, the paint (inside & out), the walls, the plumbing, the electrical wiring.... But it's home. For now. Though it may lack a screen door and sturdy floor joists, mine is a sentimental home. Plus, it has central heat and air.

I hope you've enjoyed this chronicling of my residency since high school. Please tune in next time for "Chevrolet Cavaliers: The History of Jennifer's Transportation."

Good day.

Happenin'

Halloween weekend, and I'm all alone at night with husband on nights at work until Monday. It's okay though. I've got plenty of staring off into space to do. Actually, I'm hoping to find a good unfinished book in my tiny home library somewhere.

What's great with me? Well for starters, I experienced one of the greatest date nights ever this past Thursday. So special I won't even elaborate. Okay, I'll say this about the date night: AJ and I have some of the best interests in common when it comes to "extracurricular activities."

I've been thinking a lot about being an "adult" lately. I know most of the fundamentals now, but I have to admit that I'm still pretty ignorant when it comes to "appropriate/legitimate concerns." I get way too caught up in trivial matters that most grown-ups wouldn't give much thought to. When I fall into these pits of unnecessary despair, my astonishingly more mature spouse usually has to intervene by either gently talking me through the self-glorified mess, or by physically grabbing my arms and pulling me up through the muck. I gave AJ an excruciating, meandering and drunken verbal spiel about my condition in the car the other night. He, in turn, said all these wonderful and reassuring things that made me more confident and less likely to fall back into the pit of Sweating the Small Stuff. That's one hopeless pit.

Poor AJ has to work an extra hour tonight because of "Fall Back!" And all I can do to make him feel better is enjoy my extra hour of sleep.

What else? Okay, here's something (not) to brag about: I recently received the honor of smelling "The World's Stankiest Truck Driver Couple." This husband-and-wife duo did nothing to dispel those old stereotypes of "smelly truckers." They came into my office carrying much more than their highway permits. Yuck. Of course, the second they exited the building, we nearly choked ourselves with Lysol.

I hope to update more often. I'll have new pictures soon. Expect ultra-cute kiddies.

Happy Two Days Before Halloween, Internet!

Bright Ideas

It seemed like a good idea yesterday to buy a couple cans of that spray-on hair dye they sell around Halloween Time. I got a can of pink and one of purple. When I got home yesterday, I found myself incapable of waiting one more minute before I coated my hair with the purple stuff which first resulted in a deep maroon mop. After one washing, I woke this morning to gentle fuchsia highlights.

I keep saying I’m going to be a punk rocker for next week’s annual Halloween party at my parents’ house. But I think I’ll probably just spray my hair pink and wear lots of gobby make-up and maybe wear an old prom dress. Be a freak. I don’t really have any punk clothing, and I’m unwilling to rip, tear or attach safety pins to any of the clothing I do have.

What else is new with me? Well, I decided it would be a good idea to become a REAL SMOKER about a month ago. Luckily, my dear husband pointed out to me how RIDICULOUS and NEEDLESS that was. And now I’m going through the process of QUITTING SMOKING. God, it’s hard even though I only really, truly smoked for about three or four weeks. I do not understand how people who have smoked for years and years ever quit. I have a whole new respect for them.

When you quit, it means quitting the whole process. You’re not just stopping breathing tar & nicotine into your lungs and bloodstream. You’re stopping grabbing your pack, stopping having that little skinny weightless stick in your hand, stopping flicking your ashes (my favorite part), stopping flicking your Bic. There’s a lot to it.

I should never have started inhaling. That’s what got me hooked. For years I would have a smoke every now and then while in the mid-to-upper stages of being drunk, but I never sucked the smoke down into my lungs. The smoke barely made it past my teeth before I was blowing it right back out. But once my poor pink lungs finally tested The Inhale, and they got over how much it burned, I was addicted. I was a dragon blowing it right through my nose. I found myself using things like TV commercials to calculate how long it had been since my last one to sort of keep a steady pace and refrain from outright chain-smoking.

It’s been almost a week since I quit, and it’s not so bad now. I should note that I will still smoke when I drink if I feel like it. But as far as the waking/working/non-social-nightlife hours go, I’ve pitched ‘em. (The one-month addict pats herself on her ridiculous back).

In other news, we went to the fair last weekend with the kids, and it was lots of fun. I never found the delicious steak-on-a-stick I was hoping for, but I did have a gyro and a sausage-on-a-stick. And some over-priced beer. Hannah and Sevin had a fun time riding things like flying school buses, rumbling dragons, swirling spaceships, and real-live ponies.

Always lots to see at the fair. One of the best parts of going to the fair is staring at the freaks. I saw a man with a 360º neck beard. His beard started on his adam’s apple and went (yes) 360º around his neck to meet back up at the adam’s apple and complete its circle. The fuzzy white hair stuck straight out. It was a veritable hair collar. We also briefly watched a contest between horses who were trying to pull the most cinder blocks stacked onto a trailer. Fair indeed.

That’s all I have for now, internet. Enjoy your sunny Saturday.