Friday, June 24, 2011

I'm Their Favorite Celiac-ac-ac-ac-ac!

My amazing brother and sister-in-law (B3 and SIL) wrote this song for me on a long drive last summer. Going through old emails I found it, chuckled, and just had to share!

To the melody of "Movin Out" by Mr. Billy Joel

Annie's at work down the road at the Inn, saving her pennies for Denmark.
She traveled to London and soon decided, "I need to get out of this country".
Ah, but even when she's gone she's the best celiac- ac-ac-ac-ac-ac!
She doesn't eat gluten.
She will pass on the it-al-ian bread
Gluten Free keeps her so skinny!

On our big nights out, she shoots tequila to the boys bud lites;
and if it's pasta night than she's...eating rice, she's eating rice, no wheat.

Annie is my favorite celiac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac!
She doesn't eat gluten.

It costs more for Annie to watch your kids
but she's definitely worth that much money.
BUT Annie's booked on Friday night...
She shoots tequila to the boys bud lites
and if it's pasta night than she's eating rice... she's eating rice... not wheat.

Annie is my favorite celiac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac!
She doesn't eat gluten.

Give Annie Jose and a fat wedge of lime,
she is her own bartender.
She wears cute British hats
and walks drunk down the street-
on a drunken tequila type bender.
I'll make her meat and cheese cause she's
my favorite celiac-ac-ac-ac-ac-ac
She doesn't eat gluten...

repeat chorus 3x

And here is the actual "Moving Out" song, in case you don't know the melody!

Friday, June 17, 2011

Sweaty is the new Black

I have never sweat so much in my life. I didn’t even sweat this much when I lived in the Dominican and was forced to wear capris and heavy weight cotton crew neck t-shirts. So yeah, it’s a bit hot in Texas. Who would have thunk it?
Right now I can hear B4 shouting (all the way from Vermont – calm down! We all hear you!) “I told you you didn’t realize how hot it would be!” But I did realize. What I didn’t realize was people would continue to dress just the same way we dressed up in Vermont where it’s a balmy fifty degrees. I mean jeans? You’re wearing jeans??? Yeah, I’m pretty sure my jeans would melt to my body and never come off again. Oh the horror.
Also, apparently it isn’t appropriate to go around naked, or even half naked. Apparently you are supposed to wear real clothes, bra and underwear do not suffice. Which means we have a problem. In the beginning, I tried to comply. I mean, I’m pretty sure no one would hire me if I went to an interview with a lightweight (see also: slutty) skirt and bikini. *But you never know.* So I put on a nice, conservative skirt, a pretty blouse, and was on my way. It didn’t take five minutes before I had completely soaked through my shirt and there was sweat dripping, nay, pouring down my legs. Disgusting.
My only solution? Apply online a lot while sitting in my bedroom under the blasting ac wearing only my bathing suit. Once applications are all sent out, live in the pool. Hang around in bathing suit all day. Drink lots of water and occasionally pour an entire glass over your head. Try to only put real clothes on when absolutely necessary. Like when you really need a glass of wine and do not have any in your house so you quickly skip over to Wal-Mart and buy a bottle for $2.77.
Holy air mattress, I’m classy.
But for real, can we make an announcement that dressing slutty is ok during the long summer months as long as we’re doing it to keep cool? No objections, right? And wearing your bathing suit to the office is not only ok, it’s expected? Ok, great. That would be lovely.

Now I’m off to the pool.

Wednesday, June 15, 2011


It's happening already. I thought I'd at least have a couple weeks before my life felt like it was crumbling around me. I had prepared for this after all. But with application after application without not even a "we reviewed your application" back, life is getting stressful. And when life gets stressful I find myself wanting to cry about everything.  For instance, today while I was on the elliptical in the gym watching E! (cause I'm cool like that) they were talking about Harry Potter and how this last movie was the end. Not something new, yet I teared up. What the heck Annie, pull it together! I don't really have an explanation, but maybe it was because Harry Potter ending represented my childhood ending, since the books began when I was ten and I've been obsessed with them from the very beginning. But, come on now, don't cry!

Then of course my mother called, full of information that my niece has a fever and my sister, who is visiting her, now has a fever as well and they are all sick and Annie, you sound sad, what's the matter? And all I can do is try to hold it together (because at this point I was in the public computer room in my apartment complex) and try to tell her I'm ok, just tired and stressed, then hurry off the phone.

It's probably because I haven't been eating well, and all I want is a gosh darn piece of chocolate cake already. Or the obvious, I've gotten over the excitement of moving to Austin and am now hitting the reality that no one actually wants to pay me to sit around and smile and eat chocolate cake. Shame.

For the moment I am avoiding anything even the least bit sad or gooshy (a blog post about a girl in love made me want to crawl up in my air mattress and cry my eyes out because I'm alone and probably always will be), trying to eat a bit more, and finishing up praying my novena to St. Joseph, hoping that by day 9 something miraculous will happen.

And today, to de-stress, I am going to put down my computer, stop checking my phone every two minutes, and go relax by the pool.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011

My House

I didn't have time to say goodbye. It had been the longest I had been home since I graduated high school, it had become familiar again, routine. It had become my life.
I had planned to do all of my "lasts." One last dinner at the restaurant, one last breakfast at the inn, one last sleep in my bed, one last fun day with my sisters, one last tea with my mom. But it all came on so fast. I was too busy to think about my lasts, to plan them. I don't remember my last breakfast or my last dinner because I didn't think it would be the last. My sisters were too busy and never home the week before. My mom was working every day while I was packing. The night before I left I was too occupied with what I may have forgotten and what I still needed to pack to appreciate my last sleep in my bed.
But did it really matter? The bed part I mean, things with my family I still ache for. But the bed I have slept in for the last six months wasn't "my" bed. It was the guest bed, in the guest room, where I had set up shop temporarily. My bed, if you can call it that since I only had it for two years before I moved out when I was 18, was now Bear's. My room was now Bear's. My room doesn't look anything like it did when I was in high school. It's a different color, rearranged just a bit differently, and covered in Bear's personality. And yet I still ache for it.
It's silly. I haven't lived in that house in five years. It was only my home for eight years, we had lived in two others (that I remember) before that. I have returned and left countless times. Yet this time, this time I have a special ache. A sad homesick - and I've only been gone a week - wishing I had made my rounds and said my proper goodbyes. Because this time, there will be no going back.

When my parents first announced they were selling the house, my sisters were distraught. I, however, felt ambivalent. They were going to move to the inn, right down the road; to the place that dominated my childhood memories. The inn is, and always will be, my real home. It was where I spent every free moment, where I made most of my closest friends, where I laughed, and grew, and loved. Where I discovered my love for horses and working with children, where I saw the praise and admiration in my father's eyes. It's where everything started.
So the fact that we were selling the house did not seem to mean much to me. Until I left. I realized, although I had only spent eight years of my life in that house, they were my most formidable years. Ten to eighteen. It was where I cried out all my adolescent tears, where I giggled over my first love, where I hid from the terrors of high school. It was the house I carved my name into; in a closet in one of my rooms, to leave my mark, so I could show it to my grandchildren as an old woman.
It's where I used to day dream I'd be proposed, out in the apple orchard just outside our front door. It's where I had always imagined my wedding reception would be, the twinkling lights and me in my white dress out on the back patio.
We had built the house to be our very own. It was designed specifically for our large family. We had the hopes and dreams that it would stay for generations. That children upon grandchildren upon great grandchildren would run through its halls, build forts in each room, and explore the large yard and woods.
Life, however, had other plans. It is sad it will no longer be our little home. But thankfully we can transfer those dreams back to the inn, where my parents began. Back to the small farmhouse they first moved into 27 years ago; with three little boys and great faith that they could survive the country. Five more children, four houses later, they are returning. Back to the simple roots of our little inn. Back to where my first memories began.

And maybe, back to where new memories and dreams will begin.

'welcome home'

Monday, June 13, 2011

A peek at the road trip, and cheap wine

Last night I got drunk off a three dollar bottle of wine. Actually, it was $2.77, and I'm not proud of it. but let me explain (also, the shift key on this computer doesn't really work (and neither does the space key apparently) so I apologize for some errors).
Madic and I had decided the only way to make it safely through our moving process (2,000+ miles of driving, countless hours in a cramped car, and a broken ipod) was to treat it as a full blown road trip. Which means - go all out - spend money without thinking about it - cry later.

This meant packing our entire lives into a tiny subaru sedan - so much that we had zero visibility and very, very little leg room (my legs are still getting used to the fact that they can stretch out). This meant deciding, once we found out we had no where to stay in Pennsylvania or Maryland, to drive through the night and sleep two hours in the parking lot of a Huddle Hut somewhere in Virginia - actually I only slept an hour because I was convinced someone was going to break into the car and kill me.

Thankfully we stopped in at my aunt's house in North Carolina where she fed us, gave us a bathroom to shower in, and got us sufficiently drunk. She also provided a pool where we spent two days being extremely lazy and dreaming of moving to Charlotte rather than Austin (that may have just been me).

Then it was off again, and oh, look at that! Our path to Austin went straight through New Orleans. We stopped for two nights. And this is where things got messy. Madic and I morphed into full vacation mode. We were in New Orleans! We had to try everything - do everything. Eat craw fish to our hearts content, sample alligator, drink a Jester, drink a hand grenade, sing karaoke, ride a bull, dance in the streets. And somehow wake up and do it all over again. We had no hesitation dolling out money, sad to say a fifty dollar bill came out a couple of times. We were there to have fun.

Soon the fun was over, we crammed back into our little sedan and set off again. About halfway through that last eight hour drive, it hit us. Holy craw fish we have no money. It was a stressful drive. When we finally got into our apartment, paid our first months rent, got the batteries to blow up our air mattresses and bought a $25.00 coffee table (our one piece of furniture) off craigslist, there was little left for anything else. (Don't be concerned, this does not include the next couple months rent - I've got that covered. Food on the other hand...).
We got to work scrambling for jobs. Sending out resume after resume, stopping in to pick up applications to any establishment that would hand one out. I've been living off peanut butter and rice and salsa. Which brought me to yesterday, strolling around the Wal-Mart Superstore hoping to find a cheap loaf of gluten free bread, but instead stumbled across a display of wine for $2.77. I stared at the display for awhile, fighting with my inner wine snob. It had been five days since I had any alcohol and a week since I had wine. And I love my glass of wine a few nights a week. So I picked one up and hurried away.
I planned to have only one glass, but after the debacle of trying to open it (how did I forget my wine key???) I needed two. And that cheap bottle of wine packed a lot of punch. Drunk.

My question is, how in the world can anyone sell wine that cheap?? what is it made of?

Thursday, June 9, 2011

My back hurts, apologies

I'm laying on the floor in the middle of Madic's room while he sleeps beside me. This is the only place in the entire apartment where we can steal internet. It's sad. But at the moment I am searching for the best internet providers so I can hang out in the comfort of my own room, on my little air mattress surrounded by a whole lotta nothing. Yep, I don't have any furniture.
When I say this out loud to real live people they look at me like I'm nuts. Maybe it's because they were already wide eyed and open mouthed at the fact that I was planning to move 2,000 miles away from their comfort zone without a plan other than apply to a million and one jobs and hope one of them falls in love with me. And if that didn't work out, sell myself online. Just Kidding. Sheesh. But really, to me, either thing is not crazy, it's an adventure. It's called taking chances, stepping out of your comfort zone - and not even that far out! It's called learning.

And that is all I have to say at the moment because my back already hurts sitting here. I know, I fail. But this is called living - not having time or the ability to skype, and you all dealing with it.
Just kidding on the harsh attitude, I'm tired. But I really love you all.
And HI! to my new followers! Please leave me a comment to introduce yourselves - I want to learn all about you.

I promise when I can sit right in my own room (or at a library) I will write you a beautifully ridiculous post about all my (mis)adventures on my road trip.