"A" Is for Anxiety

Today, boys and girls, a lesson in the alphabet. Today we're going to learn about things that start with "A." "A" is for anxiety, and "A" is also for apartment.

Remember when I talked about the big move, aka my boyfriend moving in with me at the end of the summer. To think, I thought talking to my parents was the difficult part. That was before I developed this ulcer searching for apartments (ok, I exaggerate..but still). 


I think someone who has read even one of my entries can figure out that I sometimes, maybe, once in awhile need to be in control. I don't leave things until the last minute, and one more thing crossed off my list is one more thing I don't have to worry about anymore. So imagine my delight when I realized that with my boyfriend gone until August, apartment hunting would be solely in my hands. Not that I wouldn't trust him to nit pick and ask questions about every specific and miniscule detail, but well.. I wouldn't. Kidding aside, while it would have been nice to have his opinion I was going to try to make the best out of it. I was ready to go so Supermarket Sweeps on this apartment search. More people living together means more money, more space, more opportunities. Looks like I didn't factor 'mo money 'mo problems into that equation.

I must preface all this talk by saying that my boyfriend and I broke the golden rule; we looked too soon. Me being the smart, overly prepared, saavy shopper that I am decided that maybe we should take a look at some places when he was here in April so that we could figure out exactly what it was we liked. What worked, what didn't, so that I wouldn't be totally blind going into this thing by myself. And what happened? We found the perfect place. Brownstone, under budget, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, beautiful neighborhood, wood floors. I could go on but I fear I may tear up. The major problem was this unit was ready to be rented four months before we were ready to move (imagine). So I tried to accept it as a good thing, a template for what we were looking for. If only it were that easy.


Since that beautiful April day, when the apartment gods opened their glorious skies, I have seen upwards of 10 apartments. Different neighborhoods, different sizes, one bedroom, two bedroom, Craigslist, realtors, called numbers on the sides of buildings, you name it. And what do I have to show for it? Nada. Ms. Prepared, Ms. Overly Ambitious has nothing to show for her hours spent hitting the pavement. Dimly lit apartments, apartments with appliances from the 1960s, apartments that reak of cat urine, apartments with kitchens smaller than my own (which I thought was impossible) have all turned me into Ms. Anxiety. I have a full blown case of apartment anxiety. 


The worst thing about this long search process is that I've lost my pizazz. I now find it a hassle to go look at a place, its not as fun. When I see something I like I immediately develop a complex that it will be gone by the first chance I get to call (for good reason, its happened three times so far). Also, every glimmer of hope turns into my new dream apartment. Basically, I get played.


First there was the spacious, trendy, two bedroom, too-good-to-be-true-below budget dream...

..snatched right from under my feet when I called on a Friday and was due to visit on a Monday. RIP dear trendy-Meghan dream house.


Then there was the cute, quaint, lets-pretend-we're-really-adults dream house. Tucked in a historic cobblestone street which had so much outdoor space I thought I might seize... 

...which was too good to be true. It was a three story row home that had about enough room for a bed, a breadbox and a roll of toilet paper. RIP historic-cutsie-grown ass woman up Meghan.

And the most recent double take, the one-bedroom-compromise-but-who-cares-its-a-condo apartment. Or as I like to call it, Melrose Place. An amazing location with great amenities, however, just about as small as dream home #2..

..did I mention it lacked a bedroom door? Something, in the end, I just couldn't part with. RIP Primetime TV Meghan. Maybe another day...

The moral of the story here is that not only has all of this searching been time consuming and disappointing, I've realized doing it on my own has added stress, not fun! If I know something makes me happy, will my boyfriend like it too? Is it big enough? Now is it too big to heat? Too much money? Close enough to get us where we need to go? 

Don't get me wrong, I know its not the end of the world if something ends up being just OK, but lets be real. Moving is awful and I'd like to only do it once (for now..its not like I plan on bearing my first child in this house). Not only do I want to find a place that's good enough and worth our money, I want to find one that we won't have to move from for the next two or three years. When I moved into my apartment in August, I turned to my Dad and let him know "alright, well looks like I'm staying here forever."  And so my apartment anxiety was born.


Will I we  find something? Yes, because we have to; we've got to live somewhere! But this anxiety, as self-induced as it is, has got me near my breaking point. Is there something deeper there? Maybe. Maybe its all the change that's on the horizon. Maybe its me wanting to do right by the one thing I can control in this whole crazy, mixed up situation I've found myself in. Maybe its me wanting to cross one thing off the list so I can feel like I've made any sort of progress in this grueling time apart. Maybe. 


All I know is right now all its giving me is a big, fat, headache. Good thing "A" is for Advil, too.


To be continued..

The Hardest Part

Well, its been (almost) a month since D-Day, and can you believe it?.. The world didn't end. 

Joking aside, I get asked a lot what its like. The separation, the deployment, the absence. Sure we've always done the distance thing but now he's gone gone. Most of the time I don't know where in the world he is!

I get a lot of the questions along the same lines. Is it hard that you can't talk to him whenever you want? What do you think? How do you deal with missing him? I sit in a corner and stare at the wall, sunrise to sunset. When will he be back for good? How much time do you have? While I'm happy to fill others in on the best answers I have, part of me wants to ask  "what do you think its like"?!?!

What's surprised me most about this experience so far? The hardest part. While I know I'm one of the lucky ones, someone with a time frame and a guaranteed  estimated return that can be marked in months (that can be counted on one hand), there are difficult times, hard parts.


You see, the hardest part isn't what you'd think it would be. Its not the lack of phone calls, text messages or emails. Its not the birthday you spend by yourself, knowing that as great as it was, something was missing. Its not the empty bed or the quiet house. Its not a breakfast for one or another trip home alone. The hardest part, is realizing it all seems so normal.

Don't get me wrong, this "hard part" is what keeps me sane. If I stayed up every night waiting for a phone call, an email, a surprise visit, a breakfast mate, a warm bed or expecting the unrealistic, I'd go mad. 

Somehow, though, its also the part that stings the most. Rationally, it all makes sense. Emotionally? Mentally? Its the hardest to fully digest. The new force fed routine. Going to bed at 10pm instead of 1am because, for these few months, there is no before bed Skype. There's no Skype at all! Waking up in the morning without wishing anyone a good day. Funny stories, laughs and "you wouldn't believe what just happened" moments carefully cataloged in your brain for another time. Going to bed so you can wake up and do it all over again, this time one day closer. A new normal that has a big, fat hole in it.

I never thought of myself as an anti-change person. I'm adventurous, I like to try new things. Mix it up? Sure.  But I realize this is one hat that doesn't fit. One routine I don't like; its the hardest part.  

Am I going to make it through all this without hard parts? Probably not. But I have to remind myself of one thing; how lucky I am to miss someone so much. To love someone so much that it makes their absence so difficult and such a struggle. So hard.

But these moments, these challenges, these "I don't want to do this, too bad you have to" moments are what shape all of us. And sometimes the hardest parts hold the greatest rewards. 

I know mine will.

Everything's Bigger in NYC

Move over Texas, I think New York City just took the title. 

This weekend I took a long overdue trip to see some of my college roommates and spent a great weekend in New York City. As I've touched on before, its amazing how the weekends slip away, weeks turn into months, and before you know it you haven't seen your closest friends in nearly six months. Not only did this weekend confirm how much I miss my girls, but it also reconfirmed what I've been saying for quite some time now: my life should be a reality show (are you writing this down MTV execs)? So welcome to a special episode, I think this one would have been an hour long special and I think it would have been entitled "Everything's Bigger in New York City."

So please, join me on this photographic journey as I try my best to explain whats so big in NYC.

The nightlife: What's bigger in NYC? The nightlife. Case in point, see above. This was our view from the rooftop party we attended on Friday night. After casually strolling out of the apartment around 12:15 am, this is where we ended up. To be honest, I think this is how P. Diddy parties. While we're being honest I'm actually a little surprised I didn't see him there. Bottle service (which we did not pay for) check, bumpin beats, check, dance circle, check. And my personal favorite? Snuggies, check..

Ok, so maybe they more resemble bathrobes but lets not get off track here. The point is they were another larger than life (literally, I was swimming in mine) VIP addition to our night outdoors. Free booze, free snuggies and a skyline view of the city. Not too shabby. So was the tagline of the night, "I could do this every night..."

Housewives: As I think we all know by now, my name is Meghan and I am addicted to Bravo. While visiting NYC not only was I convinced that I would make my way into the Cash Cab, but also that I would run into every New York Housewife, and maybe if I was lucky New Jersey too. So imagine my delight when I found out that the apartment we were spending the weekend in was right next to theeee Real Housewife of New York Sonja Morgan's house (to most of you, this means nothing--I understand that I should be embarrassed, but I am quite the opposite). At roughly 4:00am I though this was the coolest picture in the world, but now in the light of day its just plain creepy.  At the time me plus a bravolebrity's house = BIG.

The landmarks: How can you visit New York City without seeing all of the landmarks that make NYC so special? The Empire State Building, Central Park, The Statue of Liberty. Well after sleeping in until 12:30pm, we were pressed for time. We may have cut a few corners, but to be honest I don't think anyone will be able to tell: 

The appetites: This weekend, we ate and drank like it was our last meal. Every. Single. Night. In an effort to save money, Saturday night we old farts of 23 years decided to stay in, cook a nice meal and share some wine. The result? More empty bottles of wine than I care to share, and this, a casual Saturday night dinner: 

Please do not adjust your televisions computer screens. What are you looking at you might wonder? Steak, ribs, pork, coconut shrimp, round two of veggies (asparagus and cauliflower) and the ever so necessary pasta side. If this was our dinner spread, use your imagination on the wine.. 

After barely being fed at dinner (insert sarcasm), a french toast breakfast was in order for the morning:

What will I pack with me on my next trip? Stretch pants.

Do you see what I mean about this reality show? Everything was super sized in New York City this weekend, including the doubled over laughing moments, the six months worth of stories to catch up on and the great company. 

And as it goes with any great time, I told myself next time I won't wait so long. Afterall, we've got rooftop parties to crash..

Staying Hot This Summer

Memorial Day weekend, so we all know, is the unofficial kick off to summer. Unofficial because summer isn't really officially recognized until its late June and we're all already drowning in pools of our own sweat.

If you're like me, or anyone in the Northeast apparently, this weekend was the perfect long weekend to kick off summer. Unseasonably high temperatures, sunshine and if you're lucky enough, pool side lounging. But besides parties and pools, Memorial Day weekend marked the beginning of much, much more. I got a crash course in what I like to call "summer is trying to make you ugly." Let me break it down, and I hope for some of you, its not too late. 

Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun the season of the ponytail/bun/rats nest. With temperatures that reached almost 95 degrees this weekend I started to experience some of my favorite summer past times; near heat stroke walking up two flights of stairs, the "glow" of a hot summer day and sweating while practically still in the shower. Hot, hot, hot. So begins the season of the ponytail. I have tossed aside my foolish ways and practically stopped blow drying my hair altogether (another great way to start sweating upon exiting the shower) and began rocking the ever so popular wet hair pony tail. But not the slicked back, glamorous do you see below. More a wet pony tail reminiscent of the pony tail that you swam around the pool in all day. Damp. Frizzy. Sweaty. Tangled. If only I had some Umbro shorts and a hemp choker you'd swear I was the Meghan you knew and loved in 4th grade, a far cry from the picture below:

Summer is suppose to be a time to be outside and enjoy the beautiful weather you've been given. Right? Kind of. This weekend was the classic excuse of "its too hot." Too hot for what? To walk around, run, breathe, pick your nose. All of the above. Turning my AC unit from "fan" to "cool" was about the only work my biceps got this weekend. Realistically, sweating in my make-shift sauna of an apartment was about the only hope I had of shedding pounds this weekend (unless "trying not move" is a new exercise craze I missed out on).


Speaking of shedding the pounds, beware, summer is trying to work against all of us (because I refuse to speak only for myself). Have you ever heard anyone say "its too hot to eat"? First of all, false. Its like those people who get so busy they "forget" to eat lunch. I never "forget" to eat lunch and its certainly never too hot for me to eat. Case in point, this weekend. BBQ season is the best. But its another way summer is trying to work against your hot, chiseled bod. Last time I checked beer + pasta salad + 2 hot dogs (I would say 1 but we're in the trust tree here) + laying in the air conditioning all day, does not a hot body make.  Apparently these VS models don't get invited to a lot of BBQs:

My last tip to avoid becoming a hot mess this summer, is watch the sun. Everyone loves a tan. Why? Because a tan always makes you look better. I'm sorry, its just science. I don't know about you, but I've found that even if you're not beach ready come summer, tan problem areas look better than translucent, pasty problem areas. Its why I refuse to try on bathing suits in the winter. Its just cruel and unsightly. For everyone. For those of you that tan easily, treat this as a questionnaire and skip to the bottom portion of this blog. For anyone else who suffers from what I like to call "the Irish glow," listen up. Sunscreen is your friend. You know what else is your friend? Evenly applied sunscreen. Because I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the number of times I've ended up looking something like this: 

Summer is a wonderful time of year. Remember, I love summer! But if you don't pay close attention, summer may end up turning you into a mess. So learn from my mistakes and join me; find a new up-do, buy some deodorant, invest in some breathable fabrics, do some lunges on the way to the air conditioner and for the love of God, apply your sunscreen evenly or don't apply it at all.

A Guide to Summer 2011

Welcome one and all. Today you've tuned into a super, special edition here at Am I There Yet?; Oprah's Meghan's Favorite Things: Summer Edition (cue screaming audience)... And if you all stick with me through the end of this post there may even be free iPads in it for all of you as well. 

No more teachers, no more books: Ahhhh, it is officially upon us. Summer, at least for some of us. I take this opportunity to apologize to all of you who aren't in summer mode yet. I on, the other hand, will be reveling in it. The sun is shining, the grass is green and I have three glorious months free of night classes and all things learning related (yes, I am the future of America people). But for now, I refuse to feel guilty. Instead, you can find me frying sunning myself at my friend's rooftop pool and drinking gallons of DD iced coffee. If nothing else, I will be caffeinated and bronzed.

Reading: Maybe this wasn't the best follow up after banishing school and learning for the summer months. Oh well, bringing me back full circle to make me once again, a nerd. The end of the school year leaves time for all the summer reading that took a backseat September-May. I made the executive decision that if I were reading anything during the school year it should be my homework (although that didn't really pan out either). So I had to wait until now. My favorite so far? 

Tina Fey's Bossypants. I would recommend this for anyone who secretly enjoys laughing aloud while reading in bed in their empty apartment. I'm just saying. Next on the list? Room, the Hunger Games series and copious amounts of reading material penned by reality TV stars-turned-authors. Did I mention summer is all about guilty pleasures too?

Traveling: Summer gives me plenty of time to catch up on my international, trans-America, exotic, Northeastern travels. Ok so maybe "traveling" is a little too glamorous, but please continue to picture me backpacking through Europe if that's where your mind is taking you. Unfortunately, my travel will be a little narrower, like a 4 hour radius narrower. Already on the list? New York City, Baltimore, Connecticut and the grand finale, Elmira. It'll be easy, inexpensive and fun. Stop trying to make Europe happen, ok?

Zoos and brews: After taking some time to eat my face off recover post-half marathon I've already scheduled my next race--a 10 miler June 18th near the Baltimore Zoo with two friends. But this race, my friends, is special. While crossing the finish line will be incentive enough (yeah right), there is an added bonus for this one; complementary beer for participants and live music following the race. Zoos, brews, and blues? Somewhere, God is listening to me. 

 Ok, so maybe I lied about the iPads...

Parents Just Don't Understand

Yes, yes, yes. If we haven't all said it out loud, I'm sure we've at least thought it a few dozen one time or another. What don't they understand? Well, I'm sure everything at one point or another. Growing up it was mostly the usuals: they don't understand curfews, or what all the other parents are doing, they don't "get" fashion, how to work any piece of electronic equipment, and the list goes on and on. I hope my own parents can take this with a grain of salt and see where I am going with all of this. 

Tell 'em Will

I touch on this because last month I had my own conversation with my parents where "I just don't understand" was basically the thesis of our conversation. My boyfriend and I, as I've breezed over a couple times here, have made the decision to move in together once he moves to Philadelphia. Because I already know that my parents aren't really on the cohabitation bandwagon, I felt the need to address the obvious (and whether they'd like to admit it or not, what they knew was coming). Not so much a conversation to ask their permission more a courtesy to a) test the waters and b) to get any arguments out of the way early (which thankfully there were none). The conversation went very well actually, but as I talked honestly with my parents about our decision the "we don't understand it" part was a little hard to swallow. 

When I try to look at this particular situation from their perspective, what I do understand is that this just isn't how things operated when they were younger. At least for them, it just didn't happen this way. If you're committed enough to live together, why not just get married (they said, like this is what every 22 year old is thinking)? But moving in, sharing a space, an apartment, responsibilities, finances, a daily routine and a life essentially, isn't that enough (the young lady felt like screaming)?! Isn't that the same commitment? What is there not to understand? How are we not on the same page here?

And so the conversation went. Not in circles, I'd say looping is a better describer. I guess sometimes its just a draw. Agree to disagree. Luckily, I know my parents are always behind me 100% in whatever I choose to do, however I think its natural that we want our parents to be behind us because they understand our decisions and not just because they're our parents and love us unconditionally. Herein lies the problem when we hit that generational gap (sorry parents, have I made you all feel ancient yet?), and lets face it guys, sometimes parents just don't understand. Different generation, different values, different lenses. Insert dilemma: when do we have to (cover your ears parents) forgive the misunderstandings, stop listening to our parents and just trust ourselves?

For me, its a classic struggle of growing up and still wanting to be my parent's daughter. And I'm sure for many of you its the exact same thing--you want to appease your parents when you think of all the countless things they've done for you, given you and how they've supported you. On paper, you want to pay it back by making the decisions that they'd make...until you realize you don't. 

So what happens when you grow up and things get a little more complicated. When parents don't understand more than curfews and fashion and how to work the god damn DVD player (note: to protect the innocent I'm not saying this has actually happened in our household... but I'm also not denying it)? Where's the script for when you (gasp) grow up and realize that you don't agree on everything. You want to be respectful, but you just don't see eye to eye. The million dollar question: is there a time when you have to stop being your parents daughter in order to become all the other people you're destined to be? When you have to trust your own decisions as a girlfriend, a friend, an employee, a boss, as yourself and so on and so on and so on. Maybe you'll never get to be the best version of those people if you don't trust your own decisions and intuition, understood or not.

But isn't this the person your parents have taught you to be? I guess its all full circle, maybe parents really do understand. Maybe they knew this day would come all along.

13.1 Miles In My Shoes

What a great weekend in Pittsburgh. A chance to see my brother, his wife and my niece (we became fast friends again although by the sounds of it she may think my name is "Mike"), all of whom I hadn't seen since January. But lets not forget why I was there---Sunday was (cue drum roll).. RACE DAY! 

Baby's first half marathon, as I like to call it. While I knew I was as ready as I was going to be, it was still naturally a bit scary, but in an exciting way. I'll tell you one thing, few things will get me this awake at 5:00am. 

My brother and I arrived in downtown Pittsburgh around 6:15am for the 7:00am start. My sister in law had warned us to expect long bathroom lines. Apparently, I had no idea what she meant. The whole morning I had been conflicted between hydrating my body and not forgetting my oh-so-small bladder situation (understatement of the year). I seriously panicked that we would a) miss the start (even with the 45 minutes we still had left to wait in line) or b) I would acutally pee myself mid run. Eff.

Long story short, 35 minutes in line later we hopped the barricades and found our spots in our "corral" (literally) with minutes to spare. Phew. Then it was time! For those of you who haven't had the opportunity to stand in a sea of people, all as excited and as pumped up on crazy as you are, you're absolutely missing out. I could not believe the adrenaline that was already surging through my veins. My heart was racing out of my chest; part of me feared that I would somehow still pee myself despite my empty bladder. It took us about 10 minutes to walk to the actual starting line. One last "good luck" exchange with my brother, started up the iPod, crossed the starting line, and knew there was officially no turning back.

The amazing thing is, I really was ready. Whenever you can say that the first eight miles breezed by, I think you're doing alright. As I approached mile 10 I started to feel the time wearing on my body, but by that point I was so far in there was no turning back. I had to let the cheering crowd be my reminder of how badly I wanted this. Slowly, mile 10 turned into 11 which turned into 12 and before I knew it I was in the final half mile stretch, turning the corner catching a glimpse of the finish line. While I wish I could say I sprinted that last half mile to the finish, my body violently rejected that idea, but I did pick up the pace significantly. 

Then at 2:20:22 I crossed the finish line (along with a Nigerian to my right who was completing the FULL marathon). I stopped, after unsuccessfully trying to walk in an straight line, only to bend slightly doubled over to catch my breath. I stood up, and collected myself. I thought about what I'd just done. I thought about what it had taken to get here. Much more than 13.1 miles. Oh my god, I just did that. 

And just like that, it was over...for now.


Next stop?