Grad School: An Idea

So I have options, right? I'm a smart cookie, got the degree, not the/a job, and am willing to wait out the next recession in a classroom with a crap job on top. I could perhaps just stick up my place o' business and pay for this wondrous idea.

Um, no, that's probably a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. Stealing is bad.

Ok, next!

What should I get a master's degree in? Basket weaving, a good option. But really do I go international somethingerother or publishing or communications somethingerother? Wine making would be a sound step but I'm not sure I can handle the caloric intake, the alcohol, or the lifestyle. Weekends, I need them.

All of my options are limited by my background, English and British are a touch of what I want, words and foreign. Peace Corps is an option. One that involves isolation and foreign languages. Also, latex, which you know isn't my favorite thing.

Help!

Want to get a Drink? Otherwise known as The Dating Boomerang

Living with one's mother and working two jobs isn't really great for the social life and all. So how does a boomerang date?

It's an experiment I've actually decided to try.

A few months ago my mother decided to try her hand at online dating. She so enjoyed the attention that she suggested I try it. I used her match.com profile to see who happened to be trying the online thing in my area. I found tons of "eligible" bachelors in my age group, a bit of research showed that all of the folks on the internet are one of two things: Creepers and Gingers*.

It didn't take long for my mom to tire of her experience and offered up the end of her subscription to me. I took a look again. Still creepers and gingers, only this time I saw a familiar face. It was the brother of a guy I hung out with in high school and later dated briefly in college, newly divorced and looking. That sealed it. The internet is not for me.

My friends offered to set me up with someone, I agreed, but said blind date has yet to occur. I've been promised to meet this fellow no later than my fiends' wedding. And I look forward to meeting him and all but I am slowly ageing every day.

I go to the gym as a means of meeting people. I also do it for health and fitness reasons, which in someways makes the meeting people thing harder.

Everyone has suggestions. Everyone has solutions to the dating thing. And now I'm interested in a guy. And thats normal and all but everyone has suggestions ideas of how to make this work, not that it isn't working itself out. This guy and I, sort of. It's tricky but then again people my age don't really date well so tricky is ok. My favorite advice, other than I need to get over myself, was from my younger sister. She said, "Don't be too serious. You're still young." It is ironic advice. But good advice nonetheless.

Trial one (?) of this experiment is a go.

*Sorry Ginger friends, not a fan. I have enough sunburn in my life as it is.

Healthy Living

I'm going to venture that the world is an unhealthy place to be. The other morning as I drove to work there was fog lifting in the distance, the fog was a putrid yellow-brown. Overindulgence runs rampid in these parts. You fall in the Potomac River you get a tetanus shot. You fly on a plane, you are exposed to x-rays then slap on a paper mask (or so I hear, my travel has been limited to driving in the past year). I can't find a job because of the economy-or at least that's the excuse I've been given. Now you're thinking:

Jeez, Megan, my ass is asthma free and my BMI is within the normal range, I don't worry abut the tetanus thing because I don't go outdoors, I'm reading your blog instead.

And my response to that is:

Thank you and I can breathe as well but just sit and listen for a second.

I just got home from a run/walk. I'm combating the crazies so it's a must in my daily routine but it's more than just a drug substitute, it's a non-surgical butt enhancement, it's the next best thing to a tummy tuck and its the closest thing to controlling my chocolate intake I can muster. My skin is less likely to resemble a pizza and though it hurts them very badly, it's the best medicine for my hips which seem to hurt everyday now. I see the same few people when I go out on these looped treks, mostly older women walking their dogs and a few running so they can focus on their homework later on. The men run before I get up but on the weekends when we cross paths they're all hardcore with their mini shorts and aggressive waves. The men look "healthy" the rest of us look "normal." I don't think the men who run in the shorts are living any healthier than I am though. So what their muscles are bigger than mine and they have -55% body fat. You can't tell me that they are completely satisfied in their lives.

Lets look at our cars. I drive a car that gets called many names, nice isn't one of them, but I love it. My '97 Outback is a bit abused and not mint but it gets me where I'm going without making me worry (most days) and hasn't let me down too many times. Now I still have to pay for it but I will and it won't kill me in the process. Those men who run in the morning, they drive expensive European cars. Status symbols and they love them too I suppose, not for getting them back and forth but because as they pass people they feel as if they have risen above the rest us. Status symbols are unhealthy (one or two is fine, but your fleet of cars parked outside of your McMansion with your maids and gardeners is a bit excessive). Status symbols are more or less the definition of dissatisfaction. They are the smile you can't bear to wear because it hurts your face and feels false.

These men with their wives living in their houses don't have children but their homes could house a family of 12 comfortably. The energy to heat that house is a waste, and I live in a rather large home, one my mom is going to leave (probably) once my youngest sister graduates high school and move into something smaller. At one point there were 12 people living here nine permanent residence and three squatters and though it was a bit crowded at dinner life wasn't bad. I've lived in apartments where cooking was impossible because there was another person trying to fix a meal. I've lived in a flat that seemed small compared to that apartment but it was all we needed (plus an extra bathroom!), in that flat there were three or four of us living in two bedrooms, a living room and a tiny kitchen, the running men would have been fine for space but not for status.

I drink too much coffee, I eat too much chocolate, and I fight the fight everyday against falling into the bottom of a bottle (not that I have ever been there but it seems like a super idea some days). This week I've been told several times that I have a case of the wants. I won't deny it but I will explain it away. The wants are a sickness stemming from stagnation. I need a change and there is something to be said about buying new things when you need a change, its a quick fix, a band aid on a gunshot but for a short while it works. I want more than anything to have an adventure, I don't care if it's an adventure into the mundane world of having a nine to five with a 401k and health insurance or if I win a trip to a country where I don't speak the language and I don't understand the customs, New York would be a nice happy medium. I have this urge to try new things and move on, grow. My wants are false.

Maybe I need a doctor to keep me from buying a BMW.