On starting over February 9, 2010

Once a year, I find myself ready to pick up and move on. It always hits in February, and something always keeps me here in Nashville. This time, though, it feels different. I’m laying the groundwork to start over elsewhere, and I’m on a 12-month plan.

The main problem is the house.

The other problem is that I’m the most fickle person I know. I constantly remind myself to be where I am. You can’t live your life wanting to be somewhere else; that’s not living, that’s wishing. I’m a firm believer in living every day — and I mean living it alongside other people with whom you can argue and laugh and cry. I believe in late nights and taking on too many social obligations, and a long cigarette at the end of the night. I believe in talking on the phone for hours to people in other cities, in driving all night to see an old friend, in sending my brother care packages. That’s what I believe.

But ever since I returned from New York, I haven’t been living. I’ve been 50 percent here and 50 percent there. I need to go full strength in one place or the other.

Just a thought.

NYC Whirlwind February 4, 2010

Last week I took part in my first-ever “Tweetup”. In October, Wes posted a Tweet about cheap flights to LaGuardia, and I was one of six random people to respond that I’d like to go. I’ll post a slideshow of pictures later on, which can probably tell you only a little bit about how strange and fun and necessary this trip was for me.

Right now I’m in the middle of celebrating new beginnings, and there was really no better way for me to do that than by flying to New York with people I don’t really know that well. By the end, I had pretty much convinced myself that Wes and I are going to be friends despite disagreeing on almost every point, Daniel is still the nicest person I know, and Brian is even smarter than I had suspected. Betsy is even more like me than I had ever realized, and after all these years, I can still count JT one of my very, very close friends.

We stayed in the Financial District, but really ended up covering a lot of ground over the course of those days. We didn’t do a lot of particularly “touristy” things, aside from our stroll through Central Park (which, my friends, was one of my favorite memories of laughing with you) and our cheap ride to the top of the Empire State Building. To overview, I can pretty much just say the following:

Up at the crack of dawn to climb back on a plane, drinking a beer at Midway at 9:00 a.m., delayed flight to LGA, and then arriving. An illegal cab ride from a man named Victor, and apparently I can smoke all I want as long as I don’t eat meat. The Constitution still allows slavery? “You’d think that would be the first thing Obama would have done in office, certainly not fix the economy or something.” It was windy at the top of the ESB, but the city at night is worth moving there. Maui Tacos for a vegetarian burrito, which ended up costing me $20. I’m convinced JT has the money. Dead tired in the hotel, then off to John Street Bar for cheap beer (Is this watered down?) and Daniel Hudgins loves computers. “OMG will you guys stop tweeting?” “Did you just say OMG?”

A few hours of sleep in a big bed, then up and at it and off to SoHo, then NoHo, then Manhattan Bistro. A few more stores and then a VIP tour of the Waldorf-Astoria (where the Duke and Duchess of Windsor lived for 25 years!), the ballroom, gorgeous hallways, and then off to the MoMA for some quiet time. The Avedon prints and Carrie Mae Weems, and Jasper Johns. Heaven. Then a glass of Malbec and a journal alone in a cafe, and then a good conversation with JT, whom I adore. Back to the hotel to get pretty, then Little Italy for an intimate dinner with seven other people. Rigatoni and a spicy caesar salad, and too much wine, and free dessert. Off to Bleeker Street Bar for a beer, anxiously awaiting Grant’s arrival. Arrival delayed due to a wallet lost in Jersey and “What?! You blew the toll booths? Shit.” No I.D. for Grant, but a market down the street. A few six-packs and then it’s 4:00 a.m. and we’re all talking about our friends’ failed relationships.

Pass out in the middle of Betsy and Grant and wake up to hit a diner, then South Street Seaport, then TKTS. No dice, fuck it, let’s get a cab. Met up with the others, headed to Times Square and played like tourists. Cup of coffee, Grand Central Station, Oyster Bar with Grant and JT and Wes. Off to the Met with Grant. Stared at White Flag for almost half an hour. Texted Justin Patterson. A few beers at Ship of Fools, sang along to the Fray to make Wes mad, back to the hotel, then dinner at Butter. A few too many wines and everyone was exhausted, but the food was phenomenal. Asleep within 10 minutes of my head hitting the pillow. Up alone and out of the hotel. Church service at St. Paul’s, then coffee in SoHo, then lunch on the Upper East Side, then Century 21, and off to the park. Bought a hat to keep my ears warm, and finally found my friends. Explored the South end of the park, took pictures, laughed, smiled, didn’t bicker. Hustled to Luncheonette for warm drinks and met a waitress from Lipscomb. Phenomenal Chinese food at Sunny’s, then off to the bar, where the waitress meets us, and I somehow get the bar tender to sell me six drinks for $25. Saved by Daniel Hudgins, I hop the train and hit the hotel and laugh with Betsy. Get up and hit Wall Street, look out over the water at the Statue of Liberty, watch a business owner push a man off a chair in the diner. Hop a cab, get to LGA, and here I am.

well, shit. January 27, 2010

Today we buried my Uncle Fred, and it sucked. There’s nothing else to say. He had a 21-year-old daughter and a 27-year-old son and a wife, my Aunt Gianene, who is strong and kind. And I honestly believe that being strong and kind are two of the best things people can be.

My cousin James is a man. I know a lot of 27-year-old boys who whine about working and take money from their fathers. James is a man. He was always calling himself Uncle Fred’s “right hand man” and so he served as a pallbearer on his father’s right side, and he watched the casket go into the ground by himself, and then he came to me and said:

“You are my family. These other people who are calling me and saying they couldn’t make time to come, they’re liars. You came here. You found out, got on a flight, and came here. And 30 years from now I’ll remember that. People will remember you for that.”

I don’t know what to make of what he said. I’m just proud of him. I’m proud that I come from strong men and women.

I don’t know many people who have families as strong as mine. When I told a friend of mine that my uncle was sick and it was upsetting me, he said, “Well, that sucks. But, I mean, you guys probably aren’t that close, right?” Wrong.

My family doesn’t do distant relatives. We’re all rolled up into one big, messy, arguing mass. But we know how to support each other. That’s one thing we get right.

Now it’s on to NYC.

when you know, you know January 25, 2010

I got home late last night. I don’t know when I got old, but it has been months since I’ve stayed out with friends past 12:30 a.m. But last night was a celebration. It started with 10 people at Ru Sans, and it ended with 7 or 8 of us at Sam’s house, toasting to all of our newfound luck and to some of us are starting over in new relationships or new careers or newfound independence. And so it was a late night intermixed with Malbec and Johnny Cash and a bit of a thunderstorm.

I appreciate good wine.

When I finally left after 2 a.m., the wind was blowing very hard and it was thundering loudly. Even in Nashville, I find this a strange weather pattern for January. I got back to my house and couldn’t bring myself to go to sleep. Instead, I invited the dog to sit on the couch with me while I watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I ate half a carton of mint ice cream. None of this made sense to me, even while I was doing it. But before long I became completely enthralled, almost captivated, by Audrey Hepburn’s Holly Golightly, and the next thing I knew it was 5:00 a.m.

When I laid down to sleep, it never really came. It hit me around 6:30 a.m., that my uncle was going to die in a few hours. I don’t know how I knew, but I always know. I woke up in the middle of the night just minutes after my grandmother died when I was 11 and instantly knew what had happened. I left in the middle of AP English class when I was 17 with the strong feeling that something happened to my Uncle David. He had died in a farming accident at almost the exact time I walked out of the classroom. And so at 6:30, I realized that there wasn’t much to do but wait and think fondly of good memories. There are too many to list here. Then I slept fitfully for a few hours, and woke up to gave Jake a ride to his car.

On the way there, four black crows were sitting in the street and they didn’t move when my car drove past. And so I knew that Uncle Fred had gone. Then I called my mother.

I didn’t expect it to go like this. I’ve been waiting expectantly for a call for two weeks now, but it wasn’t until early this morning that my stomach knew it was time. I was prepared. So it came as quite a surprise when I was booking my flight to Cleveland earlier and totally lost my shit. On the phone with someone from the airport. I mean, completely fucking lost it.

And now I know what it is. This is the second funeral I’ve attended in one month. Both men in their early 50s. Both men whose deaths could have been prevented. I can do breast cancer and I can do heart attacks and I can do car accidents. I can’t do deaths due to highly treatable illnesses.

But maybe more than anything, I can’t bear the thought of wasting time here. I can’t handle the thought of not saying what you know you should say. Watching your friend marry someone who doesn’t care for her, or standing idly while people refuse to go to the doctor. I don’t know. If you’re reading this, take care of your shit. Take care of your body and eat more vegetables and stop driving through drive thrus and tell people that you love them and tell people when they are going to ruin their lives.

Tell your Uncle when you know his doctor is going to kill him.

Tell yourself when you know you could be doing more.

out with a bang. January 24, 2010

Last day was my last day at a job I worked at for a long time. I haven’t processed leaving yet, but one thing is for sure: I went out with a BANG. More information to follow once I figure out what happened on Friday afternoon/evening. But it did involve drinking beer in the office, drinking more beer at Mafiosa’s, drunk dialing my Dad and telling him how angry I was about the way I left, and refusing to sleep anywhere except my couch. So, altogether, I think I did okay.

it gets better January 23, 2010

My friends are strange, and sometimes I don’t know what to make of them. Some of them are quiet, some loud and offensive, others are too sensitive. Some tend to be controlling, and others are overly needy when they have a bad day. This makes sense, after all, because I, too, am all of these things: We attract each other. Right around Christmas, most of us had a falling out. There were hurt feelings and the wrong things said and too many strong personalities.

But just a month later, I can look back at the situation and realize how exhausted and over-worked and beaten down by a year of bad news we all were. So, it makes sense. Things always blow up around Christmastime. Ask anyone with an honest, communicative family. Christmas can bring the happy, but it comes with tears, and arguments with your mother about your hairstyle, and your parents asking you if your brother is still doing drugs. All of these things make sense when you stop and think about it: It’s the end of the year, and usually we’re all too weary to be on our best behavior.

I digress. The short of it is: We all fought and stopped talking for a month or so. Then, last night, by the magic of the Universe, we all ended up at the 12 South Tap Room, crowded around one table. And it was normal. We made fun of each other, toasted our beers, sat outside on the church pews and smoked, discussed the downfall of the government and the end of the world in 2012, made plans to read Stoppard out loud. We did the normal, nerdy things that we loved to do a year ago, and will love to do (probably together, still) a year from now.

I’m thankful for forgiveness and for people who can put things by. For as long as I can remember, my Dad’s side of the family has been bitching about how everyone tries to “take advantage” of you. I always hear it around Christmastime. “Megan, don’t let them manipulate you.” “Megan, stop putting up with people’s crap.” “Megan, tell them to deal with their own problems.” And forever I’m being told what I need to do. But the fact of the matter is, nobody can take advantage of you if you are fully alert, knowing the possibility of that happening. That comes with the territory of loving people. That comes with the territory of forgiveness. And you can’t be a part of people’s lives if you don’t know how to give some damn grace. I’ve been burned before, and I’ll be burned again. I’ve burned my friends before, and I’ll burn them again. The burnings, in fact, are the entire nature of my friendship with Justin Key. The honest admissions and hurtful words that give way to a deep and trustworthy friendship that I would not trade.

Does he piss me off? Yes. Do I drive him crazy? Every day. But yesterday, I had a story published in Fringe magazine, and his byline was right next to mine, giving attribution to his photography. Our first little project together that will gain any attention (though a very small amount) after two years of trying our hand at private creativity. We fought for that, and we’re proud.

Again, I digress. The point of this post is to say that I am a part of a living, breathing, passionate group of people who are spread out all over the country, and I would not trade them for anything. I would rather form friendships that allow room for constrictive criticism and celebrations of success than truck along acting like everything is fine when it’s not. So there it is. And here’s a shout-out to the 12 South Tap Room for letting us commune in the new year for the first time.

(And also, a shout-out to Courtney, without whom, I could not function in any friendship at all. Heart, my friend.)

my life in quintessential form January 22, 2010

things you don’t need to know January 21, 2010

Really, this entire blog is filled with things you don’t need to know. But, you suckers keep reading, so I keep delivering. Here is today’s list:

1) I gave my On Haiti post a few weeks to register, and ended up with 17 people donating. I donated $170 yesterday, and am waiting for my next paycheck to give another donation, hoping that a few more people will come out to play and I can add to their dollars with my next check. This is good news in the wake of much bad news.

2) I woke up this morning and it was pouring down rain. I was disappointed because I woke up early to take the dog for a walk, so instead, I put on a really bright skirt, and lavendar knee socks, and brown boots, and a white shirt. Also, I danced to some new David Bazan while curling my hair. I refuse to be in a dull mood today, even though my Uncle is in hospice care in Ohio, and fading rapidly — and I can’t be there to contribute.

3) I am becoming my mother. Before I left for work I put together some chicken taco chili in the crockpot, including all of the chopped vegetables I prepared last night, so I can feed some friends tonight after work. This is textbook Cindy Pacella: Plan an entire menu and stay up late preparing it, so you can set an oven timer or a crockpot to have everything ready when you hit the door in order to maximize your time with friends. I guess this shift was always inevitable.

4) I put together a strategic mix for today, which I entitled “Out the Door.” Currently, I’m listening to Radiohead. The mix also boasts Ozma, Bright Eyes, The Rentals, The Low Anthem, Blind Pilot, Elliot Smith, Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes, Blitzen Trapper, and Bon Iver.

5) After work Thursday I’m going to purchase a pack of cigarettes so I can follow through with my leaving a job ritual on Friday afternoon. When I leave a job, I open all of my car windows, and drive off smoking, listening to a carefully chosen mix. I find momentous occasions, such as leaving an old place of employment or moving out of a house in which you’ve lived for a few years, are best marked with the perfect song and a single cigarette. I am ridiculous.

6) Eight days until NYC. I really hope I can go.

this is so weird January 20, 2010

This is my last week at a job at which I have worked for about three years. Actually, almost exactly three years. I started off as in intern in February 2007, and I’ve been here pretty much ever since.

Friday is my last day, and everything at work seems weird as a result. Today when I arrived, there was a very kind note written by our marketing director waiting for me. This was one of the first times anyone outside of my immediate team has acknowledged the fact that I’m never coming back.

Getting laid off sure as hell is awkward, and I’m thankful that nobody is talking about the fact that I’m leaving. There will be no goodbye party or farewell lunch. And that’s perfect, because if I had it my way, I would walk out as usual on Friday afternoon without having to say goodbye. I don’t do goodbyes very well, especially when I have mixed feelings about them. Sure, I’m ready to stop commuting from East Nashville to West Nashville every day, and I’m ready to work with new clients and start fresh at The New Gig. But, for me, everything is always about people and relationships. And that’s what I’m not looking forward to letting go.

I’m just rambling. But, the bottom line is, I’ve worked with the most kick-ass co-workers for three years. And now I’m going to be counting on people at coffee shops and friends who freelance to function as my co-workers. I had the best first job out of college of anyone I know: I was taken care of by my employer and I was taught how to write, edit and manage accounts by patient editors and designers. From that respect, I’ll be sad to go. But I’m going on to something new and exciting, and I’m armed with a lot of knowledge and experience that I’ve absorbed in the past three years. What else can you really ask for?

a most excellent weekend. January 19, 2010

To sum it up: Turkey burgers, Werthan Mills courtyard, peanutbutter M&Ms, and Rolling Rock. Strawberry shortcake, lemon pie, 4 cups of coffee and a plain jane bagel. NYC planning, running all over downtown in the pouring rain, eating homemade tortilla chips at Lydia’s apartment. My backyard is flooded, the neighbor ran over her dog and then left it in her front yard, I saw the windows freshly smashed out of a car. Watched a man bring a prostitute into the Stahlman building. Walked the dog three miles, confirmed a cabin date, listened to Elton John on vinyl. Read Middlesex, watched Gilmore Girls, saw a drunk homeless man curse in a minister’s face. Ate a $3 cheese quesadilla at Las Maracas and drank five beers, used Blaine’s Snuggie because I forgot my coat at home, told a story about a sweat lodge, met a woman named Peaches who told me all white girls look the same. Pumped my fist to Journey, gave sound advice about girlfriends, edited plenty of words, and read up on The New Gig. This was the weirdest, most excellent weekend I’ve had in quite some time. Only in East Nashville do such strange things happen. This week is my last week at the old cubicle, and then it’s off to a new adventure.