"Coo-coo-cachoo, they find their way back to the big ol' blue."

Sometimes you have to live three years in limbo before you find an escape route.

Google Images, babe.

Getting a job is hard. Getting a job you love is harder. Getting a writing job you love is really hard.

I interviewed for a staff writer position at Montco Media in January and for certain reasons, the hiring window became a freeze zone right after my interview. What did that mean for me? I didn't get hired.

This was really hard to accept because I wanted the job so badly. Frankly, I needed the job so badly because to be honest, I had hit rock-bottom. 

I have doubted myself for the past three years about becoming a writer. Could I even get hired? If I was hired, could I do the job well? If I did the job well, would I love it like I thought I would?

The answer is finally "yes".

In March, I was asked to freelance for Montco Media with the wonderful opportunity to have a friend be my editor. The friend is someone I had met waiting tables and is the reason I knew about the job at all. 

The most amazing, poetic part of it all? A week or two before I was asked to freelance, I severely cut back my hours at the restaurant. Why? I wasn't happy. That was reason enough for me. However, I was still as lost as I ever was- if not more. But I knew I needed to take the risk in order to find a job writing that truly made me happy and satisfied.

Hindsight would make it seem like I was making myself available to freelance. Reality would tell you that I had absolutely no idea what was about to happen.

When I received that offer I was nervous beyond belief. And they asked me to cover my first story the next day! Whoa! 

But I put on my fancy clothes, grabbed my notebook and listened to every damn piece of advice my friend/editor gave me. I am perpetually grateful for his patience and help since I've started this job. And it shows me how good people can be and how we're all here to help each other, more than anything else.

But guys- I'm still human. So I have made plenty of mistakes so far! 

For example:

1. Calling the Chief of Police "Officer". Oops. He did not like that. 

2. Not understanding sewage and water systems so badly (but honestly, who would?!) that I had to have the township manager spell it out for me on a phone call days after I covered my story. Embarrassing but necessary. And it won't be the last time I have to look like an idiot to get a story correct.

3. Conducting an interview of 3 people at the same time and starting with a question that I thought would steer my entire story... only to have them shut it down immediately. I was left floundering for words for the next hour. The audio is actually painful to listen to as moments of silence appear consistently throughout. Absolutely painful.

4.  Grammar. You think you know it- you don't.

5. Attribution. You think you've done it- you haven't.

And many more, I'm sure. However, I wouldn't want it any other way. I have learned so much and have met so many people in these wonderful few months. It's amazing how fast time flies when you truly love what you do. And I hope that never stops being the case. If I have talked to you at all in these past few months, I'm sure I've already gushed about being a reporter. I don't mean to be annoying but it's been a painful trip since graduation and I finally feel that I have found my niche. And it is pure joy. Pure, challenging joy.

I cover art events in elementary schools, and groundbreakings for beloved town establishments, and interview people that are killing it in this game of life. And then I get to go sit in my living room and write about it. WHAT. HOW COOL IS THAT!?

Google images, dude

So I promise to just keep swimming- if you all do the same. 

"That's a Good Lesson for the Kids"

In my efforts to seize the world, I am taking a film class at a local old-fashioned movie theater where I have been known to almost pass out.

The passing out is due to seeing Black Swan (can you blame me?) and Two Days, One Night... a foreign film I accidentally saw that made me squeamish for who knows what reason. Maybe boredom? Can that happen? 

Anyway, the class is about Woody Allen films. Is the guy a creep? Totally. Is he annoying to watch on screen and listen to rant? Most definitely. Do I even like him? No.

Google Images
Woody Allen's face

I took the class because I appreciate his approach to film and there is something about those films that make me want to pay $125 for four classes to listen to my overweight professor get in weird, passive arguments with my class full of elderly die-hard Woody Allen fans. 

Okay, maybe it isn't his films that make me want to go through all of that. But well, that's what I've been going through.

Last night was my second class. We start in discussion in a classroom then go down to the theater, watch the film of the night, then go back and discuss more. Solid. 

Well, last night was a better movie than the first week. Still weird and incestuous, but whatever. Foreshadowing, I guess. Well, there was a joke in the movie. Not surprising. However, EVERYONE in my class cracked up. The full "throw your body forward" laughing. I sat still. Laughed inside? I think I smirked just because the couple next to me looked at me like I was a freak for not projectile vomiting my laughter. That's when I knew.

I was surrounded by people that lovedddd Woody Allen. And it was then that I felt like I accidentally went into another foreign film.  

Half of the discussion I listen and somehow take 5 pages of notes, but the lulls between that include me watching my classmates. Flat out staring at them. Why are they all there? I haven't spoken a word yet. Except to say I didn't do the homework on the first night. Actually, I read 2 of the 3 readings which is basically doing all of it for me. 

I decided I hate one girl. She's foreign, but that isn't why I hate her. (Don't take offense, Two Days One Night.) Last night her phone vibrated for the entire second part of class. I'M SORRY, BUT WHAT!? Cut the shit, girl. I was especially angry because she had BO from the very moment she walked in and I made it a priority to shower before class. And I hate showering. Then she spoke and made a dumb point that was immediately passively argued by my professor. However, she pushed it further... all the while her phone vibrated. I gave up. 

But it was then that I realized the class was still worth it...

Because a retired doctor said:

"If there's sperm. There's a chance." In regards to pregnancy.
So my professor said:

"That's a good lesson for the kids!"

And that's what I learned in my film class last night.

Winterfest: A Night of Not Hating Winter

Last Saturday night I went to Waterfront Winterfest at Penn's Landing. It started out weird.

We pull up to the parking lot and have to pay to park. Fine. I gave $20, expecting $5 back. The lady hands me five (what look like) quarters. I give a very quizzical look and she responds in the accent of a southern gypsy on a back road asking for money, "Dolla coins."

Okkaayyy… we continued on through with my five Dolla Coins and entered the beautiful fake village in freezing weather.

All of the trees were alit, there were fireplaces inside and fire pits outside. Strangers upon strangers funneled on and off the iceskating rink and no one was in a bad mood. There was magic in the air.

Once we figured out which line lead to full beer glasses and which line lead to the beer tasting, we hopedp in the former. Then we grabbed some Winter Ale and give the beer tasting a whirl. Nothing else matters about these beers, except that I tried a peanut butter and chocolate beer and it was delightful. Just a subtle peanut butter taste! I wanted to trade my Winter Ale for a glass of that instead, however I figured that wasn't allowed. What a missed opportunity.

Up on the screen was a documentary about Prohibition and groups of friends sat about playing miniture games of air hockey and Jenga, while not a chair was left empty. I instantly envied them all.

However, all was well because we decided to move outside to drink our beers and creep on people iceskating. Since I figured it would be me soon, we decided to cheers to every person that fell. There were a few and there were also a few professionals down there that blew my mind. They make it look so damn easy!

One more beer and a mexican hotdog later, I was dancing to some jazz music by a stellar band called "Chelsea Reed and the Fairweather Five". Yet again, it felt like there was not a bad mood in the house.

Sadly, we had to leave the soft, sultry sounds of the 1920s to face the real music of iceskating. Don't get me wrong, I love iceskating. But it takes me awhile to get used to being on the ice and the rink was so crowded that I was sure I would start a chain effect of falling should I skate. Regardless, I still skated. We took breaks. Made friends with a couple that intelligently chose not to skate and just watched instead. Lap by lap, I remained on two feet blades. Tipsy and all! So, there really must have been some magic happening there.

Afterwards, we surrendered to coffee and hot chocolate instead of more alcohol and found our way back into The Lodge where those Fairweather Five friends were jamming out again. I considered myself a friend of the singer's since I had yelled at her "YOU'RE THE SINGER OF THE BAND. GREAT JOB," while I was in line for my skates. I doubt she felt the same. But when I want to compliment someone, you can bet your bottom dollar I will do it, no matter how obnoxious I have to be to get their attention.

We had tried to sit by the fire pits outside but sadly were constantly enveloped by smoke. So it was then we bowed out of a fabulous evening in Winter Wonderland. It felt like we had gone back in time, in more ways than one.

"Not I- Nor Anyone Else…

…Can Travel That Road for You."

The other day a friend of mine asked me how I was coping with my new single lifestyle. How do you answer that if you don't feel single? And yet, you don't feel taken?

"I'm good." "I'm fine." "I feel happy." "Some days I want to run back."

I wasn't sure if I'd write about this but time has passed and I've learned how much it is shaping me and I feel compelled to share it. Obviously certain things will be kept for myself.

My current predicament is definitely not something most old people understand. I don't think it is something the average person understands. You know the one. "The fall in love, get married, make babies" kind of person. (Not that I don't adore some of those people.)

Perhaps this can help those people understand.

-----

I'm working again at the cafe where I used to work, while I figure out what's next in my life. Here, there are a lot of old men that come in and pry into staff's lives. I used to loathe it. But now, well now I see how much I've changed since last year.

One guy told me he didn't think there was a difference between a "break" and a "break-up." Interesting.  Maybe some people have been using the wrong phrase to describe their situation. But I firmly stand by the underestimated power of a true break. And I'm very into extremes, so that means a lot coming from me.

I guess love is it's own extreme. An exception. I guess love is the opposite polarity to everything else.

Another guy told me I was a triple threat to make me feel better. Smart, nice, and beautiful. He shortly followed this unusually sweet statement with, "Not necessarily in that order." Thanks for the bode of confidence, sir.

-----

The Universe was yelling at me. Screaming at me. Throwing me around, hard.

Since July I have had a string of bad luck, bad luck that stopped abruptly when I decided to move home and take time to myself.

The business I worked for shut down. I severely sprained my ankle and was on crutches. I had six cavities and no money. I couldn't find a job. I had no desire to find a job. I barely saw my friends and rarely saw my family. I was surrounded in my life by people that didn't make me feel good about myself. I had received traffic tickets and had to go to court. I had to drop unexpected large amount of money on said tickets and car issues. I was completely disappointed in myself. And then a tree branch fell on my car and shattered my windshield while I was at my parents house... the day before I was supposed to start a new job in Lancaster.

The first entry I wrote for this blog, I said "watch out for falling branches" and yet even I was unaware to just how literally the Universe can take your requests.

I cracked up. I laughed my way into my house when I told my mom about my car. I finally surrendered. I wasn't going back to Lancaster.

The bad luck, lack of confidence, and unique ways both I and Brian changed over time are the reasons I find myself in the bedroom I grew up in. And it's okay. I'm good. I'm fine. I feel happy.

I'm already confident enough with my decision to tell you that is okay to move home. And it is okay to not know what you want to be when you grow up. And it's okay to date someone for years and not know yourself well enough to make promises for the rest of your life. It's your life. You are not a "we."

-----

My best friend and I were talking about relationships, both with someone else and the one we have with ourselves at this point in our lives. We had hesitations and unanswered questions. And she told me something her mom said that hit me at the core, and also made me laugh thinking of her mom dropping this line and running away.

"Listen to the whispers."

Basically, listen to those things in the back of your head, at the bottom of your gut, in your footsteps on the ground. Don't always listen to what you tell yourself but rather what your Self is telling you. Trust it and if things are meant to be, they will be.

For the past month and a half, I've been waking up and going to sleep to my family. I've been running again and going to musical shows and trying mussels and liver pate for the first time. I started a book club with old, similarly nerdy friends of mine. I've seen friends I haven't seen for years. I'm paying people back. I'm going to take a comedy skit writing class and volunteer with Habitat for Humanity again. I'm getting to know this adult version of myself all by myself. And I feel like my kid self is pretty happy with me. She always knew how I should live my life, before I even existed.

I have found a way to be independent again. Something I shouldn't have lost in the first place. I am at fault for that. But it makes my journey a hell of a lot more interesting and at least I'm doing something about it. I have a feeling my posts are gonna have a lot more to say in the coming months.



"You Must Travel it Yourself." w.w.

Thoughts While Being Pulled Over

Over the summer I was pulled over while driving. It was totally my bad.

I severely overslept and made it to work an hour late that day (not my usual, I promise). When the workday was over I had to get home ASAP because I had a two hour drive to a friend's graduation party. And to be honest, the damn cop was just driving too slowly for me.

I gave him a chance to speed up... he unconsciously refused. So I decided to pass him. Unfortunately, I didn't think this through and decided to pass him while going through a traffic light. Okay, okay! While going through a traffic light in the process of changing from yellow to red.

But for the record, it was yellow when I started through it! I always think that is a valid enough reason to go through. This is probably my number one offense while driving. Well that and stop signs. Stopping in general. That's my problem.

Anyway, the light turned red while I was still in the intersection. I continued on through. The cop did not. This would be the moment when my stomach dropped, my heart stopped, and yet I immediately accepted my fate. Because why wouldn't that happen after the day I had? Every day has to have some type of theme to it, right?

I should have been in a car accident at that moment too. Not because of other cars but because I then completely stopped looking ahead of me and flat out stared into my rear-view mirror waiting for those damn colorful, flashing, vindictive lights.

No lights appeared. My thoughts in that moment? "Huh? Come on now, guy. You can't let me get away with that. I AM SLOWING DOWN SO YOU CAN PULL ME OVER MORE EASILY. ACT. I CAN'T REST UNLESS YOU REACT."

Boom. He must have heard me because the Scene-of-the-Crime-Stoplight changed and the cop appeared in my rear view mirror closer, closer, closer and THEN he put the lights on. Don't get me started on how uncalled for it was that he waited so long to put his lights on. To the point where I started to relax. He has some nerve. Not me.

So then I pull over immediately. Probably prematurely. I mean I basically just stopped driving. Blocked an entire entrance to a bar. Which in the middle of the afternoon you might not think is a big deal, but in this part of Lancaster city... you might be surprised.

As the dude takes his time to mosey up to my window, I text Brian, "I just got pulled over." That was it. I didn't respond until I got home. I wanted to keep him in suspense as much as I was being kept in suspense by the cop. Chain of Suspense... similar to the Chain of Anger. (Because I might as well incorporate that into my life as often as possible.)

"Bad time to run a red light, huh?"

That is what he said to me. Naturally my reply... "IT WAS YELLOW. I SWEAR IT WAS YELLOW WHEN I WENT THROUGH. I THOUGHT IT WAS YELLOW. YELLOW! YELLOW! IT WAS YELLOW!!!"

He then proceeds to take my information then goes back to play in his car. I sing a song to myself about how predictably chaotic my life is and he returns cool, calm, and collected.

"Okay. Just try and be more careful when you're driving." He hands my stuff back to me and I proceed to excessively thank him. Then, like a real creep, I ask his name and thank him with his name attached to the phrase. Because then we're on a new personal level of thankfulness and there is no way he would change his mind.

He probably thought it had to be an accident because who in their right mind would pass a cop to go through a red light? Rhetorical question, guys.

I waved as he drove away like an old pal I would see later for dinner.

While driving home from there with the jitters, I did what anyone my age would do... I called my mom.

"Hey Mom. So I just got pulled over... No, he didn't give me a ticket... he can't like send it to me in the mail right? Like it's done, right? No ticket for Bridget?" Like a good mom, she assured me he can't fake me out and mail me a ticket anyway.

As it turned out my luck with not getting tickets only lasted for one time. Because a month later I was pulled over again. That time wasn't as pleasant and I was slapped with two tickets for simply forgetting to have my car inspected. Which in my defense, was a new car to me.

I had been going to visit my nephews and stopped at a stop sign (luckily I did this time). I was waving someone else along when I noticed they were motioning behind me. I looked in that damn rear view mirror and saw a VAN with headlights.

"That can't be for me!? I did nothing wrong!"

It was for me. Jeez, I would have been happier if I got a ticket for the red light. Well, maybe not "happy".

Needless to say, I paid the one ticket and went to court two weeks ago to settle the other. All in the grand city of Philadelphia. Talk about intimidating. But also a grown up life lesson officially learned...

Man, I am so sick of grown up life lessons.

Hunting Without a Gun

Me: "If I'm going to act like a boy, I might as well drink like one."
Brian: "No Bridget, if you're going to hang with the boys... you don't have to act like one."

Last Monday, I went dove hunting. Armed with a library book. Before we went, I thought it best to drink a mug of rather strong beer. It was the only logical thing to do when I looked at my boyfriend and roommate and saw they were dressed in full camo and carrying guns.

You can barely see them, right??

I don't really prefer beer but I clearly felt the need to fit in with the guys more than my yoga pants and old running sneakers would allow. 

From the trip I learned a few things about myself, hunting, and boys. 

First off, dove hunting is rather tranquil. I only say this because no doves were killed in the process. We can argue there weren't a lot of them in the field we were in, or we can say the guys I was with aren't the best shot, or we could say sometimes a Robin looks like a Dove. Semantics. Peaceful is peaceful is peaceful. 

Part of the trail road we walked up at the State Gamelands in Manheim, Pa.

Secondly, you won't run into many ladies out there. I already knew this because I grew up in a family that had plenty of hunters and it was basically a "No Women Allowed" club. But while we were out there, this idea was reiterated when we saw only a couple other groups and they were all boys with bacon on their minds.

I also learned that hunting is mostly sitting. Which I'm down with, literally. Not just general sitting, but sitting out in the middle of nature. On our venture, we found a lovely little corn field to stomp through and then sit down at the edge of it. It's true, some of the time was spent taking selfies and creeping on Brian and Gil to capture their... uh ruggedness. But a lot of the time was spent reading and watching the sunset on beautiful downtown Nature.

This was my view. Pictured are all 4 previously mentioned: book, pants, old sneakers, Nature. 

I carried no weapon (unless you call my book a weapon) but felt like a hunter. Luckily, you don't have to be too quiet when dove hunting and it wasn't too cold outside. My kind of hunting. In fact, had I had to be quiet... I really don't think Brian would have let me come along. Not that I talk a lot, but if I don't say certain genius thoughts when they come to me than they just float away and really, who does that benefit?

Now that I'm an adult, I appreciate hunting a lot more than I used to. Knowing where your food comes from and how it is prepared has become much more significant to me, even if I'm not a total fan of front-row seats to the show. 

Brian and Gil did not succeed at getting a dove to wrap in bacon later but that was just this time. I have a whole freezer to prove that should we head back to a hunter/gatherer lifestyle... we will be covered. And with every success, a great heap of thanks will be sent out to the universe.

Speaking of "Thanks", this is when Gil killed a Robin and had to say Sorry and Thank you to it. 

If you decide to go hunting and aren't familiar with the activity, I am free to offer advice on things to think about while you are out there. For example, "maybe I should have worn a better sweatshirt." Or, "how long would it take them to notice I disappeared into the corn?" And even, "this is why so many diseases come through the library... because weirdos takes the books out hunting."

Having heard about this activity my whole life, it was definitely enjoyable to be on the other side of the story. However, I think I will be discounting some of the grandiose stories I've heard from uncles over the years.

Corn, corn everywhere and not an ear to eat.  

Realignment

I'd been waiting for a morning that both my parents and I had off from work because I wanted to take them to breakfast. I was earning money and they had just celebrated their 35th anniversary so I wanted to treat them. Unfortunately, after some weeks it proved a morning like that wouldn't come for some time. So I finally decided to take them to dinner! I don't remember the last time just the three of us had been able to do that and it felt great to grab the check as my parents sat back and smiled like satisfied kids.

Dessert? Of course. We then went and got ice cream... another swipe of the debit card.

After an impromptu mini-midweek vacation at my parents house, I went back to Lancaster for work on Thursday. The moment I walk in the door refreshed, my boss tells me the restaurant is going to close. Dammit. 

"Do you regret quitting your job at the library?" My boss genuinely asked me later that day.

"No. I was so unhappy there," I genuinely answered her. But still, now what?

FLASH FORWARD!

Less than a week later, I was playing soccer tennis (I know, again with the soccer) and my ankle completely rolled when I landed in a crack in the court I hadn't seen. I've done this enough to know when it's sprained. I also knew, I could keep playing before the pain took over. So I did. Then I went to my friends' apartment, watched Dating Naked (curious show) and couldn't walk by the end of it. Dammit.

The following break of dawn, I woke Brian up to take me to the doctor's. He piggy-backed me into the Patient First office. 

The nurses greeted us, "That was quite the entrance. Most people just ask for a wheelchair." 

Right, hadn't thought of that.

Then 4 nurses (eager to get the day started, I suppose) got me all set up with x-rays which proved, I needed a splint and crutches. Dammit.

Not my favorite pair of shoes.

I was not going to be able to work my last days at Forknspoon and I was in for some transportation struggles for the next couple weeks. 

Then I received a phone-call from my family. We were putting my dog down that day. I laughed. How could all of that happen within a week? No job, sprained ankle, no dog. This life is supposed to be a lesson. That was all I could tell myself, while I cried.

Since I couldn't drive, Brian took me to my parents house to say goodbye. This wasn't the first time I've said goodbye to my dog. But that isn't to say it gets any easier. To be honest, no matter how much you know it is time, each time you don't go through with it... you bounce completely back.

The pup himself. 

Well after a day from hell, my family decided to give Remi (my dog) one more chance. It turned out he has diabetes and is doing much better on medicine. This life is supposed to be a lesson.

After days of hopping and bruising myself with crutches, I decided to go out with friends on this past Saturday night. I wasn't going to go downtown because of the crutches but they convinced me (not hard to do).

I ran into a lot of friends, sang karaoke, danced alone on the dance-floor, aggressively scared creepers away from friends, and fell down only once! The floor was wet, what are ya gonna do!

I think I embarrass myself better than anyone else could embarrass me. But I wasn't going to let the inability to walk, earn money, or see my dog keep me from laughing. (But don't be fooled, I yelled a lot too in the past week.)

So now I am in a stage of realignment. Again. But dammit, it is like my parents always say: We may not have been as smart as we should have been, but boy, we had fun.