The experiences and exploits of a college grad trying to make it in the "real world:" leaving school and friends in New England, moving south, and living with her boyfriend. Watch as I pretend to be an adult.
I've been running around like a crazy person, and my mind seems to be reflecting that right now. I'm thinking of a million things I want to blog about, and I can't seem to focus on any single item...so, for your enjoyment here are a few vignettes.
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Friday around 5:15 the owner of the company pulls me into her office to discuss the new person they hired. She sounds much older and much more qualified than I am, and is supposed to be taking over some of the office management minutia. At the end of our conversation, Linda says, "So, we're train you both up front, and then bring whoever is going to do the research aspect back here near Lauren." My blood freezes, I smile and nod, and leave the office. I spend the rest of the weekend wondering if this means they are going to try and give the research duties to the new person and stick me in a purely administrative role (not what I was promised when I was offered the job). I tell everyone I know, just so they can share my anxiety...I am a big fan of the "misery loves company" adage.
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Saturday morning I drive up to Virginia. I arrive at my parents at 2:30, and am informed that we are going to a fancy-schmancey places called the Tower Club for dinner. I, of course, have no suitable clothes, and so make a mad dash to the mall. I end up spending an hour and a half trying to find a damn knee-length khaki skirt I can also wear to work, and arrive home with barely enough time to change. I shift into "whirling dervish" mode, and learn the hard way that trying to shave ones legs in said mode is a very, very bad idea. I slice my legs up to the point I am forced to wear hose, and must now brave the jungle of my sister's closet to search for close-toed shoes. I am left with no alternative but to wear a pair of black pumps dubbed by my sister as "$15 K-Mart Specials," because, well, that's what they are. They are hideous, and look as though they are made of plastic. Hoping the lighting will be too dim for anyone to notice, I don the atrocities and stumble downstairs at the last possible second with a triumphant, "Ta-dah!"
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Later that night, we are enjoying our outrageously decadent (and outrageously expensive) dinner. Fine china, candlelight, and a wonderful three person band performing quiet favorites (generally oldies) come together to produce an atmosphere of relaxed sophistication. I feel terribly underdressed, but decide not to care (thanks in part to the excellent Pino Noir my father ordered for the table). As I alternate between exchanging salacious gossip with my sister Katie, and discussing the latest work issues with Chris, I realize that I am a spoiled, spoiled girl. That thought is quickly chased from my head when I think how nice it would be to have my own four star chef. Wondering if I could ever convince Elija to give up architecture and attend culinary school, I begin to analyze the financial requirements of keeping a house husband. I think I could swing it...
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I race around Sunday morning trying to do laundry, go to Costco, go to the Asian market, tidy my room and pack all before 1 pm. Because Elija and I have not seen each other for more than an hour at a time since Monday, we have decided that we will see a documentary on Tibet that is playing in the campus theater at 6 pm. My father decides that he wants to drive around with me to run errands, and I am unable to find a nice way to say "Dad, you're an old geezar who will only slow me up." We set off, and, as I knew they would, my errands take almost twice as long with Dad in tow. I call Elija to apologize and cancel our date. I am the worst girlfriend ever.
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In the course of my errands, I learn that Roberts (the new CJ of the SC) used to live next door to my Uncle in Maryland. I try to decided whether this means I have an "in," and sadly arrive at the conclusion that it doesn't. My father and I debate the merits and...uh, demerits of Roberts. My father says that he believed Bush will come to regret this appointment, and that Roberts will turn out to be a moderate. I agree, but still maintain that I want the head of the most important judicial body in my country to have more than two years of experience. I'm just saying. As we wrap up this intellectual debate, my father throws in a non sequitur, informing me that I will be missing out on a fabulous dinner- he is preparing frog legs. I laugh him off, as he is always threatening to cook strange things like that. As we go in to unload the groceries from the Asian mart, I open the freezer to put away some crab. To my astonishment, laying there surrounded by popsicles and Lean Cuisine dinners are two packages of frog legs.
After 22 posted at 8:53 PM
