right.

so it's a new year now, and all the crazy stressy things that came to a head in November/December 2003 are now past, thank goodness. it really doesn't seem like much now that I think about it, but at the time, getting ready for my sister's wedding, studying for the GRE, and gathering up all my stuff for grad school applications had me coming home from work every night, jumping onto the computer, shuffling through paper, and trying to make myself sound really really good in my personal statement.

anyway, it's all done now and I am happy to let out a big, fat PHEW. 3 of my 5 applications have been cut loose (the other 2 aren't due till March) and it feels so good. I've dropped almost $200 on application fees thus far, which smarts a bit. but oh well. like I said, SO HAPPY to have the applications out. I really don't even care that much what happens in the long run now because I'll know I gave it my best shot regardless. oh, but my final days of application assemblage were not without their fair share of trauma...

my undergrad advisor had chosen to save completing my recommendations until the week before one of the applications was due. I had been in contact with her both over the phone and over email, and had sent her my parents' address in Pennsylvania so that she wouldn't mail the recs to Cincinnati while I was home for the holidays. since I hadn't gotten the recs in the mail by Christmas eve, I called my advisor that Sunday to find that her husband had neglected to drop them at the post office during Christmas week. so I said not to worry, I'd come right over and pick them up from her in person since she lives but a short, 10 minute drive away from my parents' house. so I drove over, parked in the small parking area in front of her house, and started to walk up to her front door.

just then, a car pulled up and flashed its headlights at me. so I walked up to the driver's side window and a man looked at me and said, flatly, "can I help you?" I explained I was there to pick up my recs from Dr. Slowpoke and the man said, "I just mailed them." I stammered, "uh...I was supposed to come get them from her..." and he replied, "I just put them in the mailbox." I asked whether they were mailed to the PA address and he said, "I didn't look at the address." "uhm...oh...ok...well let me pull out of your parking spot," I offered, as he seemed royally pissed that he couldn't park his car, "and I'll just come in and speak to her for a second if you don't mind."

I started to walk back to my car when the man (obviously her husband) slammed on his gas pedal and screeched backwards to make room for me to back out. I thought, "what the fuck...? I haven't done anything wrong here, and is he going to hit me/her...?" and backed my car out of his spot. he immediately hit the gas hard once again, squealed into his parking spot, and I pulled up to the curb slowly, cautiously, kind of beginning to freak out at this asshole's inexplicable rage.

just as I went to unbuckle my seat belt to get out, Dr. Slowpoke came out of the house and came up to my car window and said, apologetically, "he just mailed them." I replied, "yeah, that's what he told me. Did they go to the Pennsylvania address?" "no, dear...they went to Cincinnati..." my lip beginning to quiver (one of the applications was due two days later), I said, "oh...uh...well..." she immediately offered to print off the recs again and I, in mild panic mode, squeaked out, "do you have the forms?!?" she said she could print out the letter she'd saved for me, make the appropriate changes, and have it for me the next day. I began to calm down a half step when I realized that only the one application was in jeopardy and that there hadn't been an official recommendation form to fill out with the letter. Dr. Slowpoke told me to call her first thing in the morning, said, "I'm so sorry...what a mess," and I said that I'd call her and drove off.

about halfway down the road I hit full panic attack mode and had to pull over in a parking lot to calm down, since trying to operate an automobile whilst hypervenilating and crying like a baby is never a good idea. I think it was mostly the asshole husband who was the cause of the panic mode, his rage had freaked me out so much. I realized soon afterward that what had clearly happened was that Dr. SP's crazy husband heard her on the phone to me, realized he'd forgotten to take the mail to the post office, and ran out to mail it to cover his ass, thereby royally fucking up my plans.

at any rate, I went home that night, calmed down, called James P, went out with him and drank a bunch of beer as we'd planned earlier in the day, went to bed, called Dr. SP the next morning, picked up the replacement recs, and mailed them out FedEx with the rest of my application that evening. when I got back to Cincinnati this past Friday night I had the pleasure of ripping open the original recs and reading every last word that Dr. SP had written about me. I was pleasantly surprised at how highly she had spoken of me, especially since I had zero contact with her between my graduation and October of this year (approx 4 years). if I do say so, that rec alone would get me in to at least one of the schools I'm trying to get into. so that was very comforting. but that was not the real focus of my two weeks at home in PA.

I got into town the Thursday before Christmas and relaxed for that evening. the next day I met with two of the women with whom I'd worked at my undergrad school's art museum and that was very nice. James P and his boyfriend got into town that night and we began what would become my two weeks of days spent at home and around town with family, and evenings (Christmas Eve being the only exception) spent in bars with friends. I have to say that one of the great advantages to having a college town as my hometown is the cheap, cheap drinkin'. $1 pints of my favorite PA lager makes me want to do somersaults. because I am that lame. and cheap. at times.

I guess in all there really weren't any major, holiday-defining events for me this year, certainly nothing like the MHD episode from last year. MHD wasn't in town this holiday season, as he was spending this year with his divorced father's family in another state, one of his best friends informed me. the reason his best friend informed me of this was because he also chose to inform me (unsolicited, and without prior mention of the boy, I might add) that MHD had a "huge" crush on me in high school. receiving this information filled me with a mixture of amusement, anger, sadness, and mild elation, a schizophrenic combination indeed. amusement because it immediately explained some past things. anger because the big pussy never really acted on his reported feelings, even when he had a great chance last year! sadness because it's a moot point now. and mild elation because my responses to him last year had been appropriate and assumedly not unappreciated.

it's so stupid for me to dwell on any of this anymore, but I definitely was appreciative to receive that info. and the best friend was amused to hear my abridged version of what had happened last year, since MHD apparently hadn't filled him in. I didn't mind telling him since I've known the best friend just as long as MHD (since elementary school) and I figured there was no harm done. the best friend was incredulous that MHD hadn't done anything about the crush beyond the one comment he made and the brief physical gestures, so I admitted I had a crush on MHD and whether that gets back to him matters not to me in the slightest. when I catch myself thinking, "well...maybe NEXT year..." I just start laughing at the futility of it all and go back to eating candy or whatever I was in the middle of doing before my silly mind started wandering.

anyway, yes, so I drank a buttload with my friends and saw some other elementary-era classmates I hadn't seen last year while I was home (including MHD's best friend) and it was marvellous. [side note--it's really funny how there are absolutely no pretenses between me and these elementary school-era boys with whom I'd been sort of friends but with whom I've also not kept in contact whatsoever. there's no awkwardness or anything, and it's just as if we'd spoken to each other only days ago and not so many years ago. maybe because they're boys? dunno.] I just love being home when all my friends are there, and I love being able to make wicked comments about how our old classmates look from across the bar floor. but mostly I love having all my friends and family in one place and being able to alternate between the two groups happily, living a relaxed and lazy life for the entirety of my trips home, forgetting what day it is, and laughing out loud at my friends' stories and at our ridiculously small bar tabs (in comparison to our large consumption amounts).

apart from drinking, my sister was married in a church ceremony the weekend after Christmas. I wasn't overly excited for the event because the whole situation hasn't exactly been filled with lots of love and happiness, particularly following her husband's arrest three weeks before the wedding date. I don't have the desire to go into that right now (and I don't think I mentioned it before), but suffice to say it was a charge that was parlayed out to be a big misunderstanding...nothing like murder, of course. anyway, the wedding was a nice one.

one bizarre possible indicator of the future for my sister and her husband was the wedding march, which was clumsily played on the piano by the groom's 92-year-old grandfather...a clunky wedding march for a clunky union...kind of made the whole affair a bit sadder but we'll just chalk that up to acquiescing to a family's wishes to involve their patriarch's waning talents.

apart from that, the only other wedding moment that stands out in my mind was when my 17-year-old sister came up to me after we and the rest of the wedding party had clambered out of the limousine for the reception to tell me that one of the over-30-year-old groomsmen had leaned over to her during the ride and said, "let's turn these lights off so I can get arrested." fortunately my sister is wise beyond her years and used to receiving compliments about her looks, so she wasn't too scarred. but still, EWWWWW! sleaziest line I've heard maybe ever.

the rest of the reception went well. my friends were all in attendance so I was able to chit chat with them every once in a while. I danced a little, I watched my parents dance a little, I tried to forget that my sister and her husband had chosen the song "Love Jones" for their first dance (uh huh! and they grinded!), I drank only two drinks. after the reception, I did a quick change from my bridesmaid's dress and went out for drinks with James P, my trusty, fellow pseudo-alcoholic.

the next few days were just fine too, but not marked with any outstanding events. on the 30th I drove up to Manhattan with Stacey to stay with her in the West Village for New Year's Eve. we went out for sushi that night, my first really great sushi experience since leaving Chicago, and I met one of her old friends from when she lived in South Carolina for two years.

the next day we saw "Big Fish" (good but mildly depressing), and then on New Year's Eve Stacey and I met Dana, her husband, and her husband's cousin for Indian food in the East Village. Dana ordered chicken vindaloo as her entr�e and specifically requested the chef make it as spicy as possible. well it's true that chefs enjoy a challenge, as we found out when the infernal dish came. I put a quarter forkfull in my mouth and spent the next ten minutes wiping sweat from my face, laughing hysterically, guzzling beer and water, stuffing rice and nan in my mouth, and feeling like I was totally high while the burning slowly subsided. it was the hottest thing I've ever tasted and ever care to taste again in my life. that episode of The Simpsons where Homer eats the crazy jalapeno peppers and hallucinates? not far off, my friends. not far off.

a nice addendum to that episode is that the waiter gave us a free gigantic bottle of beer out of respect when we told him we'd all tasted the vindaloo, I think especially because Dana said it was "very good."

the rest of New Year's Eve was fine, nothing spectacular. we barhopped around a few different places in the East Village, and I busted out a cigarette indoors when the last place we went was openly ignoring other people smoking in celebration. it was liberating.

Stacey and I ended up walking back to her place when it became apparent that every cab below 14th Street was permanently occupied. this ended up being a pretty good thing in the end, as it allowed me to sober up enough to make my 11am waking time quite painless. I had chosen to drive back to PA on New Year's Day so I could spend my last two days with my parents and my sisters and I wanted to get home fairly early.

I was in the car, driving up the West Side Highway, before 12:45pm. you want to know the ultimate, best time to drive in Manhattan? New Year's Day before 1pm. ho-boy, I made it out of the city in no time flat, and was home in under four hours, a very admirable time for a drive that usually takes at least 1 hour longer than that. my last two days in PA were a bit anticlimatic, especially since my mom had to work the first half of Friday and since I developed a bad cough after getting home Thursday night.

but all in all it was an excellent trip home. it was so hard to come back--I'd almost forgotten I even had a job back here in Cincinnati and it was not fun waking up at 6:15 and working for 9 hours straight for the first time since December 18. but oh well. all good things must come to an end, and anyway I just realized last week that I'll be returning to PA five times in the coming year--twice for weddings (Jen's in May, Kelly's in October--I'm in both), once for Amanda's graduation, and once for Thanksgiving (my mom wants to have it chez mes parents this year) and once for Christmas. that will be nice.

so, like I said, it's a new year. things will happen. I will experience them. and hopefully write them down.