Holy Shit.

I don’t live in Iowa anymore.

But I don’t quite live in Colorado yet, either.

I am in Limbo.  In Omaha. Nebraska.

For the next 15-ish hours. With my mom.  And dad.  And little sister. And grandfather.

Then we will hit the road again for the next 9 hour drive to DenCo.

I am thrilled.  I want to be there. Now.

Yesterday was rough.  I spent many a minute yesterday afternoon sobbing.  Those hard ones.  The ones you don’t want to cry, but you can’t control. And the tears keep coming.  And every time someone else comes in and says, “Are you crying,” you cry harder.

God, I will miss those people.  I will miss them more every day.  I am thankful I get to come back in two weeks to finish my work obligations and see them again.

And then last night, it was better.

And then this morning, I went to breakfast with my dad and was so anxious/sad that I couldn’t eat.

The sadness keeps sneaking up on me.  Occasionally, I can feel it creeping up behind me. Like a creepy stalker…you want to run, but will you be fast enough to beat it? And if you can sneak out from it’s hovering shadow, you see the sun and you can be happy.  I think it will be like this on and off for a few days.  I think it will go away.  I think it might take time.  But, I think it will be normal.

I hope so.

I want to be excited.  I want the transition time to go away. I want to be there independently.  I want my parents to move me in and go home…so I can begin again.  On my own.

I want to be a Coloradan…now.

Oh, and P.S. as a Coloradan, I have taken a vow to myself to do more blogging–to blog regularly so that I can keep all of my people at home updated with what I am doing.

I feel like I am in the middle of a breakup.  The mutual kind.  Where you still love each other, but you know it’s just not working out.  The kind where the relationship had gotten so serious that you decided you were going to move in together only to be stuck in limbo while one or both of you search for a new place to live.

Yes, this is how this move works.  That is how this feels.  The other day I was packing up.  Doing much of the deep packing, as I know that next weekend is going to be hectic with trying to get everything figured out plus there is a camping trip in there and a side trip to my sisiter’s.  I was putting books in their appropriate boxes and sorting out the ones that didn’t belong to me.  I placed those in another box with some borrowed seasons of Sex and the City and drove a familiar path to the house of my dear friend Beth.  We both realized then, I think, that we’re breaking up. And then there is breaking up with dear friend and roommate Sara.  Sorting our things, forgetting what’s  who’s  and trying not to make too much of a mess in the chaos. And then there is breaking up with my wonderful besties Lucy and Danielle. And of course, all of the people that I love dearly in this very office. 

I will miss these people dearly.  The drunken nights, laughter, tears, margaritas, babies puking all over me, falling into showers, gravel-traveling with a cooler, going fishing at the pond, spending that long weekend at the lake–just the girls, lazy Sunday afternoons spent attempting to garden, recounting details of great dates and horrible kissers, long conversations when the loneliness of the road took over, shared dinners, shared fears, shared secrets, shared heartache.

The distance is growing as the days go on, not so much by intention but by circumstance, and we’re definitely breaking up. And it hurts… it’s one of those long and painful breaks.  Not the immediate, band-aid style, quick break we prefer.

Just know, ladies, I expect all your asses to come visit me in the CO!

If you really want to rock your world, this should happen to you: your job should be posted on your office’s website under the “careers” tab, and your landlord should put the “For Rent” sign in your front yard all in the same day.  If you are ever looking for an incredible jolt into reality, into the essence of  your decisions and their effects, into the great unknown adventure that lies at your fingertips, that’s what you should do.  Especially if these life changes have occurred through your own volition.

So, do you all remember the “news” I have been illuding to for several weeks if not months?  Well, here it is: I’m moving.  Not from Blogspot to WordPress.  Not up the street or across town.  Not to an office with a window.  Oh, no. To Colorado.  Denver to be specific.  If you’ve been reading for very long, you all remember I went out there to visit in February.  Well, I fell in love instantly and since then have been plotting the ways to get myself back there.

Thanks to a dear, dear friend in Denver and the support of some great people back here in Iowa, I have decided it’s time!  I informed the job and the landlord, and in four short weeks, I will be packing up a UHaul and driving across a couple states to encounter my next great adventure.

I am so looking forward to sunny mountain views, fun nights out, amazing weather, winter weekends spent on the slopes, and hot granola Birkenstock wearing boys mixed in with some Colorado cowboys.  Mostly I am looking for a new adventure.  I have had the itch to relocate.  To find a place where I feel at peace enough to start to feel settled.  Lets hope this does the trick. Am I terrified? Midly.  Sad to leave? Very. Will it be worth it?  I think it will.  And a wise friend recently told me something that has stuck these last couple of weeks.  She said, “It’s spring, and in the spring, anything is possible.”  Here’s hoping she’s right.

Wish me luck!

I would tell him several things…if we still were in contact, that is. 

These are just a few:

-I’m really not as big of a bitch as you’ve come to believe I am.

-Our pictures from high school proms and homecoming dances  that I found over the weekend are really quite cute–we look young–you still have a baby face in them, and I look 20 pounds lighter.  They’d've been a cute slideshow at an event if we ever were together/married.

-Your relationship with her really was a crumbling point for us…

-I miss you less than I thought I would.  What a relief.

-I don’t picture you as “the one” anymore…the one that I was sure I was going to be with in the end. And for the first time in years, I’m okay with that.

-I still think you’re a great guy. Really.

-I’d like to erase your number from my phone as a precaution from drunk text messaging, but I can’t bring myself to do it.

-I like your hair better when it’s short.

-I think you two should get together…you’re quite perfect for each other.

-This is the last blog I’ll ever write about you.

-I’m wearing your socks right now.  The blue wool ones you left at my place that one time.  They’re comfy.

-You still have a really nice butt.  I remember drooling over it at baseball and football games in those tight pants when we were in high school.

-I still stalk you on Facebook.

Holy shit. I’ve been gone for a long time. I didn’t realize. Well, maybe I did but was in denial about the neglect I had been showing my poor blog and my dear bloggy friends.
Where have I been? All over. Chicago for a couple weeks. Crazy for a while in there. Many a day has been spent on the phone as this is our busiest season at work. Life? What’s that? Oh, right, that thing I used to have—that thing I had before it turned to March? Right, that.
So, in the last four weeks, what have I done? Driven nearly 2,500 miles. Celebrated a couple birthdays—my 24th and my niece’s 2nd. Ended a decade long, tumultuous relationship/friendship. Developed a big crush on a guy in Chicago, and promptly ran into a locker while speaking to him—face first—it was incredibly attractive, I am sure. Started running, again…bought new running shoes—love them…but now my knees are absolutely killing me. Apartment hunted for some incredible places with lots of character. Rekindled a friendship with a person who was extremely important in my teenage years—glad to have him back. Spent time with some great friends—and countless hours discussing the “big questions.” I read some great books. I went fishing, soaked up the sun, and drove too fast on gravel roads. Made big plans which I’ll share with you at a later date (hopefully not a month later). I’ve been happy, I’ve cried, I’ve laughed. I’ve done a lot in the last four weeks, and I’ve missed you…I’m glad to be back. And thanks to my hiatus, I feel incredibly refreshed, with lots of thought seeping out of these fingers…I hope you all still read :)  …I promise not to disappear for another four weeks, especially without explanation.

I’m extremely irritable lately. I might be PMSing. I don’t really know. But what I do know is that it takes next to nothing to throw me into a tantrum, and it’s very, very easy to piss me off. Calm down, Jamie. Calm down.

*Rummages through purse for pill bottle*

Anyway. Despite the previous paragraph, the drama actually doesn’t appeal to me. I graduated high school many years ago. And I didn’t like the drama then either, it’s just that there, drama is a nasty, sticky fly trap, and you’re the fly. You have no choice. Once you get close, you’re stuck. For years.

Which is why, when I forgot to return a phone call, I could feel my feet getting stuck to that very familiar surface. I very clearly pissed off a person whom I considered a dear friend. She was so pissed, in fact, that she basically told me to “fuck off” and that she didn’t need my “fucking shit” in her life and that we weren’t friends anymore. Okay. Whatever you say.

In the process of all of this, I realized that I didn’t have her phone number. Oh quit your judgemental scoffs, quit them, right now. I got a new phone. The numbers didn’t transfer. I transferred my family, my coworkers, Lauren, and that was it. There are numbers that I know because I have called them for years. Hers didn’t stick to my brain. Our prime communication before this had been Facebook and email anyway. MY BAD. I know.

So, I ask a mutual friend of ours for her phone number. He has it. I specifically ask him not to tell her that I asked him for the number because that will just send her into a tizzy and our friendship will be completely fucked irrevocably damaged.

The mutual friend, I need to add, has, for several years been a “love interest”—we’ve been back and forth for nearly a decade—honestly.

So, it’s complicated. Very.

And in an underhanded low-ball move, he tells her.

Because he wants to piss me off?  Big, ridiculous, her once again screaming in my face drama–I am sure you can imagine. She was even more pissed off at me, and I was pissed at him. Two days later, he apologizes—“never meant to screw things up, etc. etc. What can I do to fix this,” type of thing. I give him the easiest answer I can think of. Never talk to her about me. Don’t tell her anything about my life or what I am doing.

It’s *that* easy. Now that we aren’t “friends” I didn’t think it would be that hard. Why would she ask about me if she hates me? Right?

So when she Facebooks me last night over something that I only told him, I’m instantly all:

“whatthefuckwhereyouthinking whywouldyouevengothereafter allofthisyoudumbshit!?”

And why, dear bloggy friends, does she care? She axed me from her life for not returning a phone call, yet she acts interested in what I am doing? This doesn’t make sense to me.

And is he dense, or what!?!?!

“Woman, just shy of 24th birthday, nearly goes ape-shit on cell phone company.”

It all started a mere two weeks ago.

My Blackberry stopped receiving emails.  I’m addicted to my Blackberry, and subsequently, my email.  Thus, this was a big problem.  Big.

Spent three and a half hours on phone with customer service.  With three different people.  One of whom sent me to the wrong website and then left me hanging on a Blackberry help line with no case number and a virtual dead end.  Thanks, bitch.

Needless to say, I was really pissy by the end of those conversations.

I suck it up and while in AZ I thought I was brave enough to try again.  Except this time I wouldn’t get stuck with the person on the phone–I’d go to the store. 

Hand phone to tech.  He tries everything for about 20 minutes.

“I’m sorry, maam, but this phone is defective.”

“Okay, how about you replace it?”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t–you will have to call this number and speak to the warranty department.”

Oh. Great.  Really, they were *so* helpful last time.

“Thank you for calling the new AB&C Warranties, how can I assist you today?”

“Yes. My phone is broken, I would like a new one.”

35 minutes later, after 1007 questions, he assures me my phone will be at my hotel in 2 days but I will have to cover the $12 shipping fee.

Excuse me?  I won’t be paying that.  Yes, you can confirm with your supervisor.

The next day. Message from AB&C.  They tell me to call FedEx because the address on the package is wrong.

FedEx tells me AB&C has to call them back because their accounts are private.

I call back. Again. My cheeks, I imagine, are red–because if I get pissed, I get really flushed.  I’m sure I was red. I was probably sweating, for Pete’s sake. Finally get a competant person on the other line.  I explain the situation.  She is more than helpful.

She calls back 20 minutes later.

“The good news is your phone is near you.  The bad news is that the wrong address is on the package and they refuse to change it so you will have to go pick it up.”

I’m staying in Scottsdale.  It’s 35 miles long.  The phone is on the opposite end of town.  And traffic is shitty.

Fuck you all. “Really? Well isn’t that lovely.”  At least I’ll have my phone.  I calm down.  Crisis averted. Right?

I drive 40 minutes. 

Pick up the phone.

And get this.

The phone is broken.

BROKEN. (&*#^*%(#*&^%!!!!

And you thought I was pissed before.

Headline, instead read: “Woman goes incredibly ape shit on cell phone company, threatens to burn shit down, and ends up with big fat chunk of credit on account.”

I am off again on yet another trip! I am in Phoenix through Thursday–have an event this afternoon and a bunch of appointments the rest of the week.

This weekend, a guy I work with came to help with my event.  He’s older than me…in fact, old enough to be my dad. He has kids my age.  So, yesterday, when we met up in Phoenix, and made our way to the rental car station, things got interesting. 

The guy at Enterprise –I’m driving a really nice Pontiac G6 this week–it’s sweet– anyway, the guy at Enterprise, along with everyone else there, simply assumed that C is my dad. At first these two guys greeting us ignored my feminine existence and made eye contact only with my “father” C.  This was further suggested by the surprise when I had the car reservation in my name because surely, they assumed, if he wasn’t my dad and traveling with me, he would have made the reservation himself, because he’s a man, and that’s what men do, right?  Also, I never called C by his name while we were there, thus I didn’t have the chance to set the record straight–more assumptions that he is my father. Anyway, the guy was acting like a total tool and when he realized that I was capable of making said reservation for said car, he finally acted like I was a human being and actually made eye contact with me, and not C.

He asks how long we are in town–I say I am here all week, and C is only here through the weekend.

So, we get all checked in, he’s giving me the receipts, I am gathering all of my shit and my phone rings.  I stick my hand in my pocket and silence it.  It rings again, I silence it again.

I say “Ugh, I silenced you once, I’ll call you back!” talking to the phone in my pocket.

C says “Who’s after you?”

I say “My dad.”

This prompts an extremely disturbed and unbelievably shocked stare from the man behind the counter who assumed this whole time that C is my dad, and is suddenly thinking that there is something more going on here than meets the eye.  And I’m sure it did seem that way.  Me and my old man boyfriend who is leaving on Monday morning taking a rendezvous for the weekend.  Yikes.

Mental bitch slap to the man behind the counter.  We work together you idiot–get that look off your face!

I’ve been skiing before.  It was the one sport that I thought I might have a slight talent in. I went several times in high school, and actually got halfway decent.  Back then I really had no fear of falling, or slamming into trees or dying on mountains.  Nope.  I clipped in and jumped off the run going as fast as was possible, and somehow, but the grace of some diety, I typically stayed on my feet.  I was not the bunny slope gal…not at all.

Fast forward 7 or 8 years, and put me on the top of Keystone. It’s beautiful.  We had the best view and the best day.  This is a wonderful, picturesque snow covered mountain.  A mountain.  A real mountain.  Not a small Minnesota mountain, but a real Colorado Rocky Mountain.  And then, put three PBRs in my system to calm the fear.  And then put an ipod in my ears…because that’s what everyone else does…it’s not like I need to focus. 

Wait. Yes. I actually do need to. On the first run, I was nothing but a flailing mess of arms and legs and poles.  I fell three times.  On the first run.  The. First. Run. Mind you, I am with three much more experience people…I became the one they would run halfway down for…then they would pull off the slope, and wait for me near the trees.  Usually it would take me twice as long, because in the time they went down, I would have to eat  shit, find my skis, place them at an angle at which I could step back in to them, gather up my splattered pride, and slowly, slowly take my ass down the hill. The first 5 or 6 falls had me cursing myself and whispering the word “fuck” every time I got going too fast.  I saw my life flash before my eyes as I envisioned myself running face first and leaving my bloody shredded remains tangled around a tree.

The last fall, though, it actually reallly hurt.  Badly.  My left ski got twisted somehow, and rather than fly off like it did every other time, this one decided to stay attached just to see how badly it could actually jack up my knee.  And it did.  I had decided I would just lay there for a while while rocking back and forth cradling my knee, taking very deep breaths from time to time.

An old man asked me if I was okay.  “Yup. Fine.  Just shaking this one off.  Thanks though.”

He left.

Then these other two people came around to see if I was alright.  And by people I mean 2 six year olds.  And I’m not shitting you.  They were tiny. And they were doing all this crazy shit on their skis, sans poles, mind you. They were about the size of that little girl…in the pink helmet—>

“Yup.  I’m fine.  Go find your mom and get your hot chocolate.  Oh, and before you go…could you please put my pride back down…I’d like to keep that, theives.”

Everyone needs a humbling experience from time to time….

I am off to visit my dear friend Colie in Denver for an extended weekend!  I will catch all of you when I get home next week.  I am sure there will be stories and pictures to share!  Have a great weekend everyone!  See you soon!  xo