Living in Sin

In less than 10 hours I'll be picking up a U-Haul, filling two adult-who-has-lived-alone-apartments of stuff, and depositing it all in one place. After a year spending pretty much every night together, a year spending every night together, and a few weeks of can-the-cat-and-I-live-with-you-while-my-apartment-is-a-plumber's-nightmare, the boyfriend and I are moving in together. Officially.

The subject of moving in together came up around month 8 of our relationship (move in day, tomorrow, marks month 25). My roommate had just let it slip that he would eventually be moving in with her boyfriend (or was he fiancé by then?), not in San Diego. Being the ever eager apartment hunter I am, I was browsing craigslist one night when the boyfriend looked over my shoulder and said, "you know, you could just move in with me."

It wasn't a total shock. As far as having the major conversations went, we'd established that the future was real pretty much right away. But at less than a year of dating I could only imagine trying to explain that one to family. Plus, there were other reasons I didn't want to move in to his place, the main one being that when I lived with a boyfriend I wanted it to be a place we got together, that didn't previously belong to either of us. We spent the next year discussing this. The biggest hurdle was the boyfriend doesn't rent - he joint owns his place, so it wasn't going to be as simple as giving a 30-day notice and there were two others who had a say in things.

One day a few months ago we decided we've move in together in the fall, after wedding season is over for photographer boyfriend and the weather cools down a bit. Plus, it would be great to be looking after the new students were settled so we wouldn't have competition. But then my apartment exploded, and I pretty much moved myself and the cat in with the boyfriend and the dog, so we decided to start looking. I don't think either of us were expecting to find a place we loved so quickly, but we jumped on it. And tomorrow we get to call it home.

Unfortunately for us, the weather not only has not cooled down at all, it's hotter than ever. Our "relief" that the weather stations have been talking about is a measly 2-3 degrees, which is still in the 80s. Fortunately for us, since I've been pretty much living at his place for the last few weeks, the cat and dog are learning to co-exist. Chloe accidentally occupies a space close to Argo on occasion, but rather than immediately hissing and running away like she used to, she's been hanging out, if only for a few minutes. Chloe is a pro at moving and adjusts almost immediately to a new home, but this will be Argo's first move. Tomorrow will be an interesting day!

Changes

The last few weeks have been quite a whirlwind of downs and ups and things that would be so frustrating if they weren't a little funny.

First off, the cat and dog have been living together. Mostly unhappily...

August started with my two year anniversary with the boyfriend (aww). We went to a sushi restaurant in La Jolla that I had a Groupon for, and it was underwhelming. The atmosphere was nice, and going somewhere we've never been before was fun, but the sushi is way better in North Park. Which actually is great, because we eat at one of three nearby sushi places every week, and it's nice to know that we're getting the best without paying an arm and a leg or driving 20 minutes each way. We walked the long way back to the car and stopped at a little cafe that had cakes for dessert.

The very next day was his bff's birthday, so we went to a pizza/beer place, where we met some random southerners who were in San Diego before going to Vegas for a gay wedding. We stayed up late, ate burritos, and fell asleep on the couch until the very early hours of the morning. The day after that I was supposed to go to a meet up with my coworkers, partly because our boss was presenting, but my throat had been hurting all day and I had a mini anxiety attack when I got home from work; the thought of skipping it made me calm down. So I did and spent the evening cleaning my apartment and made one of my night-by-myself dinners. The next day I got a call from a fraud center informing me my debit card was stolen (even though it was still in my wallet). There were four attempts from Honolulu to Baltimore of someone using my card, and one was successful to the tune of $76 - at a Food Maxx in Union City. I went to my credit union to fill out a fraud affidavit (at, like, 515 on a Friday) and raced back home because my mom was in town for a visit... waiting in her car.

Over the weekend my sore throat turned into a full blown cold, but we pretty much spent the whole time at the beach and that made it a lot less severe. We hiked Torrey Pines one day and walked from Torrey Pines to La Jolla Shores the next (I stepped on a bee and got stung on my foot and got to experience seeing a whole lot of old man penis with my mother). Oh, and a pipe beneath my room sprung a leak and we came back Saturday night to discover my carpet was all wet. That awesomeness is in much more detail here.

The boyfriend and I had been talking about living together for a little over a year and had recently decided to aim for the fall, after wedding season was over and he had more time to devote to the process. The ordeal with my apartment made us decide to move that up, so we spent the next week on Craigslist, emailing our favorite listings to each other. We also took a couple nights after work to drive around our target neighborhood looking for rent signs and made a few appointments to see apartments.

On one such night I got a call from my gynecologist - I had a yeast infection (fucking antibiotics) and something known as LGSIL - a low grade lesion. This can be caused by HPV. I got the Guardasil shot series after breaking up with the first person I'd had sex with but Guardasil doesn't protect from all forms of HPV - or cervical cancer. Soooo there's that. Now I get to have a colposcopy (where they go in to the cervix with a flashlight and scalpel) and a biopsy. The chances of this being anything more than a random lump is super small, and it will very likely just go away on its own in a year or two. However, now I've had an abnormal PAP and need them every year rather than every two. It was weird though, hearing the doctor say the word cancer. She told me that most women don't know they have cervical cancer because there are no outward symptoms (I wouldn't have felt this lesion), which is why PAPs are so important.

The rest of the week was full of apartment hunting. One night we went to see a place in our second choice neighborhood, which was right by a dog park. Long-story-full-of-emails-back-and-forth-short: we loved it, applied for it and got it! Deposit is sent, lease is signed, and in a few weeks we'll be living together. I didn't expect the boyfriend to be as excited and enthusiastic about moving and living together as he's been since we got the official notice, because the next month or two are going to be much more complicated for him than they are for me. He owns his condo, which means he'll have to rent it out and all of the responsibilities that come with that. On the other hand, I'm super grateful that he's willing to do this to live with me and to live in an area that's close to my work. In the long run I believe it will be beneficial for us both (extra income and a shorter commute for him, an area I already love by work for me), but the initial effort is definitely more one sided.

Days after we got official notice of the new apartment I had my year review at my company. My boss shared with me his vision for the company, told me he wants to support those who share his vision (which I do completely), and gave me a huge vote of confidence in the form of a high profile client. After years of odd-jobs that were fun and other jobs that sucked, I'm so happy to be in a solid position in a company that is not just doing well but has plans for the future, and a company that has a future for me.

So, after more than a week of downs-that-weren't-that-bad, I had more than a week of ups-that-were-amazing. And the next month or two will certainly be stressful and life changing, but they'll also be exciting and happy. I can't wait.

In Which I Kill A Fish

These guys will always be around.

I killed my pet fish.

It was a mercy kill, putting my fish out of her (pretty sure it was a girl) misery. She'd been sick, not eating, puffed up to more than twice her size, and was so bloated her scales stuck out. It was disgusting, and I imagine not comfortable for her. Possibly even painful. So I ended it for her.

Thing is, the other fish in the tank (same species, same sex), might have also been sick because she hadn't eaten in a couple of days. But the morning after I killed her companion she was as lively and hungry as ever. Could it be she hated the other fish and was finally happy to be alone? Could she have recognized what I do to fish that are dying and made a change? Probably neither, but it is a pretty big coincidence.

Because there doesn't seem to be too much information on how to actually kill a pet fish on the internet, I'm going to go through what I read and what I did, so if you don't want to know how people kill their pet fish maybe this just isn't the post for you (but seriously, do you not read titles?).

The internet thinks that the best and most humane way to euthanize a fish is to separate it into another bowl, and mix the water with drops of clove oil. The clove oil puts the fish to sleep, literally. Much like euthanizing animals, it's the overdose that's the lethal part. First, you put just a few drops of oil in to calm the fish and put it into a sleep- it'll go belly up but still be alive (don't mistake the belly up to be death...). Then, once it can't feel anything and isn't stressing, you give it the lethal overdose and in time it dies. It's supposed to take a while, but at least it doesn't feel anything, which is different from freezing it (some fish can survive in cold temperatures, so they're very much alive when they slowly die).

Since it was late on a Friday night and I did not have any clove oil on hand when I noticed my bloated fish was belly up but living, I could not use that method. There are other methods online, which fish enthusiasts use, but none seemed like a quick or sure death (Alka Seltzer being one of them, garbage disposal being another). But I did have other tools on hand, which I figured would be faster and possibly more humane anyway, if only I had the stomach for it. That... that was hard. I know it's only a fish, and I know I've had pets euthanized before due to illness, but being the hand that deliberately killed an animal was new to me.

I set up a plastic cutting board and a steak knife (meant to cut meat but not so sharp as to cut the plastic bag I wanted to use and without ridges) on the counter in the kitchen, next to the sink. I gathered my nerves and made the decision that this was the only option and I was not going to panic or hesitate. I scooped the fish into a plastic bag with just enough water to carry her through the apartment. Back in the kitchen, I emptied most of the water into the sink, sealed the bag, laid it on the cutting board, took a breath, and sliced the head off.

My fish was a platy, and other than being bloated was a very small fish. I don't know if it would have been as easy on other species, certainly not larger fish, but this fish was big enough to get a grip on but small enough to be easily decapitated by a steak knife. Once it was over, and it was very clear she was out of any pain or suffering she might have experienced, I felt relieved. I took out the trash, cleaned my tools, and put them in the dishwasher (for good measure). 

I didn't hesitate and it was all over within a minute from plastic bag to death, so the suffering at my hand was very minimal. And I felt good that I'd been able to take control and speed nature along when possible pain was being felt. But afterwards I couldn't just go to bed. I stayed up late surfing the happiest parts of Reddit to make myself feel better, or at least flood my mind with cuteness so I wouldn't go to bed with the image of my fish fresh in my mind. It helped- at least to the point that I didn't have a nightmare. 

I'm really hoping I won't have to do that again, though. The other fish is doing really well- swimming enthusiastically, eating voraciously, picking on the snails, pretty much being a happy fish. Which is good. I'm a little nervous she won't survive the move, whenever that ends up happening, but at least I'm a little more prepared now.

The First Year

Getting distracted making dinner.

Today marks a full year since deciding to date one of my great friends and it's easily one of the best decisions I've ever made. But while we've been dating a year, our relationship started more than two years ago when we met. I remember telling someone once, slightly more than a year ago, about our friendship and how I didn't think it would come to be considering how it started, and then saying how very glad I was that it did.

Right off the bat this was the person I texted more than anyone else. We had immediately established a mutual love of food and burritos (and what he was eating, normally way past normal bedtimes) became a frequent topic of conversation. Part of this was fueled by my late night job which required me to eat dinner around 11pm, which was right around the time he'd be grabbing a burrito or carne asada fries. After I left that job I remember laying in bed once just before midnight and checked my phone: no text from my friend. And no texts the whole day or day before that, either. Suddenly that felt weird, even though we didn't necessarily text daily. I must have just gotten used to that communication.

A few months before we started dating I was fed up and frustrated... I had been off and on seeing someone I felt meh about and was ready for someone I'd feel more for. My mind kept going back to my friend, making me ask myself why we weren't dating. I couldn't explain it but something just wasn't there, and by then he'd become too good a friend to risk a short term fling (I really liked him and I didn't exactly have a good track record of staying in touch, much less staying friends, with people I dated). But I caught myself thinking about him more than I should if we were just friends, and way more than I should if I was sort-of-seeing someone else. This was someone who was ready to be there for me, someone who talked me to sleep when my psycho housemate had some sort of night terror, who picked me up to take me to get my car at a mechanic, who made me leap out of my bar stool at a restaurant when I saw him so I could go say hi, who felt comfortable asking me about the brief time we pseudo-dated to assess a strange rejection, who introduced me to great little restaurants, who took me to the zoo for our friendship zooversary, who took me on a day date to a theatre matinee... why, again, weren't we dating?

And then all of a sudden, through a strange turn of events I still don't fully understand, we were. And it was the easiest, least awkward, and most exciting time. When my phone buzzed from a text it was already likely going to be from him, but now my heart was doing little skips hoping it was him. I hadn't had that in... a long time.

It turned out that year of being friends, and growing into good friends, was what made me fall in love with him without even realizing it. All we did was acknowledge it. And because of that, I've been lucky enough to have spent the last year with someone who:

*Pulls me closer in the middle of the night, without realizing what he's doing

*Dances with me in the grocery store (rather, dances next to me while I stand there looking awkward)

*Tells me I'm weird. And silly.

*Turns on Friends and laughs hysterically at all the same parts

*Brings me a cupcake from our favorite dessert place, just because I was having a bad day (and flowers just because)

*Sends me romantic text messages randomly, even ones that just have a heart

*Wanted to collaborate on a blog about food

*Looks at me in a way I've never been looked at before

*Is not afraid to be honest or direct with me

*Will eat anything I make, even banana bread

*Noticeably talks with me openly about our differences or disagreements

*Makes me feel like a real partner, an equal

Now this is a better representation of us.

When I wrote about having a boyfriend a week after we made things official I had said that I'd never felt this way about someone, that there hasn't been a person I've been this crazy for. Ever. A year later that's still true. I still, 12 months later, get that in-love feeling. I look at him when he's just sitting there, or playing with his dog, or editing photos, or (my favorite) out cold asleep, and get this wonderful surge of love. 

I get a similar feeling from his dog. From night one Argo has slept next to me (that might have far more to do with me being new than with me being me, but it still feels nice), sandwiching me in between him and my boyfriend, and as time has gone on he's seemed to get more attached and more comfortable with me. When the boyfriend is in the other room, Argo will come and hang out with me on the couch, and he's relaxed enough now to fall asleep on the couch spread out up against me or let me bury my toes in his warm fur. Through training and conditioning, partially due to my efforts but mostly due to the efforts of my boyfriend who immediately wanted us to have a deep connection, the dog now listens to my commands (mostly) and has developed an interesting level of respect for me that's entirely different from the respect he gives his dad. I'm still the fun one, but when I have to lay down the law he listens. And I can't help but think, when all three of us are cuddled on the couch, what a great little family we make. Now, to get the cat on board...

I Was In Love With The Place

I don't hate the number 4 so much now.

Before I lived in my studio in Banker's Hill, San Diego didn't feel much like my city. I moved all the time, changing zip codes as if it was nothing. I never felt at home. Community, and living alone for the first time in my life, changed that. In that quirky, old and crooked apartment I fell in love with San Diego.

Living two blocks from Balboa Park, an easy stroll from Hillcrest and an $8 cab ride from downtown connected me to the city. There was so much to do and experience, always people around, always someone doing what you're doing which makes a person living alone feel not so alone. For once, since moving out of our home the summer before my senior year of high school after my parent's divorce, I felt like I belonged. That space was mine to do with as I pleased, to cook what and when I wanted, to have whoever I desired over, to clean as often and as obsessively as I needed. My cat was no longer harassed, I no longer worried about who would be up when I came home, and sharing evenings with my neighbors made me happy to be social again.

But I also fell out of love in that apartment. With this newfound love for my city, and especially for my neighborhood and my job, my heart started leaking the love I had for my relationship. That love was suddenly no longer as important. My cat, my life, my city and my passion were all so much more deserving of love so I let the other one go. Looking back I mourn the temporary nature of my job and that I had to leave that apartment and that neighborhood, but I don't mourn the loss of my relationship.

Finally, that apartment was where the seeds of a future love were laid. Weeks, possibly days, before I packed up and left I was falling asleep when the person whose arms were comfortably wrapped around me whispered "I love you." I wasn't meant to hear those words so I pretended to be asleep. Those words weren't exactly real at the time, but they did mean there was more than just companionship. I wasn't ready to be in love with another person then, and because of that the following months were a roller coaster of disappointments. Now those seeds that were planted just before I left that place have sprouted and they feel like they're in full bloom.

Maybe it's all in my mind, just like the song:

I was in love with the place in my mind, in my mind

I made a lot of mistakes in my mind, in my mind

It's hard to think of certain things as mistakes though. I don't like that I don't live in Banker's Hill, but I can't afford it; I don't like that I'm not in love, but I wasn't ready when it was offered. In a perfect world I'll live in my old neighborhood again and the one I want will be nearby, and I'll just be the happiest girl in San Diego. Maybe it's time for me to make more of an effort at getting what I want.

A Decade

Sweet girl.

I've written before, many times, about my cat Milo. Today was the tenth anniversary if his death. It may seem silly or crazy (let's not forget I'm both silly and crazy) but that was the first thing I loved and he's still the love of my life. Had he still been alive he would turn 18 this year, which is a pretty unlikely age for a cat, especially one that goes outside. But that doesn't matter.

It's so weird to think of someone being dead longer than they've been alive. Milo died ten years ago, a few months before he would have turned 8 years old. Two nights ago I dreamed our dog, Tipper, was with me on an intense hike with a group of strangers. She was the only dog and she was a real trooper, even though she was older. Everyone loved her, she hopped up onto the rocks like a pup, and swam in the water with me, even though in real life she was a little afraid of water. I gave her a big hug, like I was just realizing how great she was, and it felt so real in the dream. I woke up pretty happy that I had that experience with her, even though it wasn't real. I miss her a lot; she was a great dog.

The behbeh.

Part of the problem with loving animals is they don't live very long. That means I'll love, and lose, a great number of animals in my life. On the other hand, I've been lucky enough to not have had to experience the loss of people in my life yet. But I feel like I can have a stronger connection with animals than I can with most people, so maybe their losses have more of an effect. But that doesn't matter either, because that's something I never want to change.

Love

It's been a while since I've felt loved. Spending time with my sisters this weekend, then going for a beautiful hike among Torrey Pines with my lady, and then getting dressed all in black with red pumps and seeing my friends in my favorite neighborhood made me feel that I've been missing that lovin' feelin'.

Hanging with my sisters this weekend and just bullshitting around recharged my sense of closeness with them. It would be nice to be closer to them, to be able to see them more than once every couple months... I do miss them.

Hiking along the beach cliffs, among the incredibly endangered and beautiful Torrey Pines, looking out at a calm, overcast ocean restored my sense of closeness with the Earth. I love where I live, that a walk on the beach is a spontaneous possibility in the late afternoon.

Rounding out the night, dressed in all black, red heels, heavy eyeliner, in Hillcrest with 40 or so people all dressed as goths restored my sense of community. Being in Hillcrest makes my heart skip a beat. I really do love that neighborhood, and can't wait to be officially moved back there. I'll be living there in time for Gay Pride Festival, in time for summer and ready to take walks around Balboa Park and to Sushi Deli. I feel alive and happy there, like it's where I belong right now. But being there with a group of former co-workers for our good friend's birthday really made it a special night. Good moods abounded, and everyone was digging the make-up and costumes. I felt welcomed, even though I didn't know many people, and loved, especially when one coworker (who I didn't know liked me very much) slapped my ass and told me I was missed (she may have been tipsy but I'll take it).

I miss that loving feeling I used to get from life. I'm taking small steps to get it back but the meantime is draining me. Hooray for the little things, like meeting a singing dog and gaining his trust long enough for him to snatch a treat from my palm, for making salsa when you forgot to buy some at the store, for kitty sitting on the couch watching Scrubs, for a friend saying he appreciates you, for a sister appreciating your gift, for your dad's girlfriend not showing up to the graduation ceremony or dinner, for Costco cake, for heartfelt talks with your uncle, for photo prints coming in the mail, for a boy telling you he wanted to see you (even if it wasn't 100% true)... This is what keeps me going. Once again, world, keep it up. I need this.

Pay My Bills!

Though it feels really good to see my credit card statement below $3k, my savings over $1k, enough in my checking account to cover rent and another paycheck on the way, I do sometimes wish I wasn't spending my nights working a second job. Sometimes I wish I had parents giving me money every month to live. Sometimes I wish I had a boyfriend who paid my rent.

I've made choices the last few years that got me where I am now. If I moved back in with one of my parents when I graduated college I could have lived rent free until I found a job and built up savings. Or if I moved in with The Ex (not that he would have agreed...) when I was laid off I could have lived cheaply. Or if I found a full time job at a desk somewhere I could have a consistent paycheck and probably have my card paid off by now.

I chose to stay in San Diego when I graduated. I chose to live alone. I chose to work at a non-profit, outside, doing something I love. But when I'm working nights driving students to PB or downtown, when they're all dressed up and smelling nice, to go have fun is kind of depressing. I've never really had the cute clothes, nice perfume, or sexy shoes like other girls have, and rarely did I ever have the money to go out drinking and dancing. Oh, there was a time when I was working a lot at shuttles and went out and bought fancy foods, but that was a short time that seems so far away now. And it's not that I really care about dressing up and going out every week, because I don't. I just want to not count every dollar I spend on the rare night I can go out. I knew when I graduated that I wouldn't be making much money, and now I know it's more important to my overall happiness that I enjoy what I do for a living rather than be able to buy nice things. I just hate the worry and the penny pinching.

Since Blogger decided about an hour into me having ads that I abused the privilege (before the ads were even up... thanks Google) I'm not making any money from this blog. So, I am accepting cash donations to My Personal Fund. Money will go towards paying rent for myself and the kitty, providing us both with sustenance, fueling my car so I can continue making my own money, and maybe occasionally buying a pair of jeans (I have 2 that fit) or a t-shirt that hasn't been through the wash ten dozen times. Leave me a comment and I'll direct you to my bank account. Thanks!

Regrets

Though I'm very pleased to say I have no major regrets in my life (you know, like "if only I didn't drive drunk that night" or "if only I didn't get pregnant," things like that), there are a few small things I would re-do if I had a time machine.

I wouldn't have told my friend I was hoping someone else would ask me to the 8th grade dance.

I would have taken my guinea pig to the emergency clinic sooner.

I wouldn't have postponed colorguard a year because of money.

I would have asked for a necropsy on my cat.

I would have kept that guy's phone number from speech class.

I would have found a stranger to live with when I first moved to San Diego.

I would have applied to shuttles sooner.

I wouldn't have been so mean to my friend after I kissed him.

I wouldn't have fallen for that scam.

I would have moved into a 2-bedroom apartment with my sister when she moved here.

I would have told The Ex I didn't want to be his girlfriend anymore.

And I would have created immediate space between us. Same for Boyfriend #1.

There are other regrets I have but would have no control over, even with a time machine.

I regret the confusion and pain that comes with a divorce.

I regret (very deeply) having to leave our house and the animals I loved buried behind.

I regret my mom's downward spiral.

I regret not noticing my sister's downward spiral.

I regret my dad's choice in women, mostly his choice of women over kids.

I regret how my parent's actions post-divorce has affected us all.

Mostly, if I had the opportunity to go back in time and change the course of events I would be more aware of how my actions affect others, as well as how other's actions affect me. Maybe I wouldn't be so trusting of others, or maybe I would have just listened to my gut. First things first, though: time machine.

In Which People Tend to Resemble Their Pets

This is not news.

Studies, stories, and certain stereotypes surround the concept of inter-species look-a-likes. Consensus has long been that married couples begin to look alike, and Rachel Toor combined both concepts by pointing out how her pets resembled her husbands and lovers in The Pig and I, cleverly capitalizing on the theory.

A couple of days ago one of my clearance fish died and the survivor was listless. After being frustrated with PetsMart for telling me plants would be in Wednesday... no, Tuesday... no, Monday, and not having plants for three weeks I bought plants and a few small fish (elsewhere) to keep my clearance fish company. As soon as I got the new fish in there he started swimming around them, but curiously didn't join their mini school. It was enough company just to know they were in the tank with him, and he stayed nearby, keeping a tiny distance. Most of the time I know that my friends are nearby and I can see them any time I want to, and contentedly live alone the rest of the time. However, this weekend it seems most of my friends are gone: off on spring break, on a camping trip, or generally too busy on weekends to get together. I feel kind of like my clearance fish felt before he got companions.*

No, we just don't like him.

Chloe, on the other hand, is both very much like me and very much not. Her tolerance for company is painfully limited; she prefers solitude, but when she wants attention she's rather enjoyable. You don't go to her, she comes to you. Of course, sometimes she's plain crazy and will attack your ankle simply for walking past her. Lucky she's cute enough to get away with almost anything, except standing in the potted plants, which happens to be her new favorite flavor or mischief.

Sure, she's cute now.

*EDIT: Clearance fish #2 died Sunday. Figures.