HipHipHooray, or, The Day I Became Gainfully Employed

After three months of job hunting and 35 resumes, cover letters and applications later, I am officially entering the "Professionally Employed" phase of my life.

That's right, people: I GOT A JOB!! And it's even in my field of study!

I am the Health Education Program Coordinator for the American Lung Association of New Mexico.

I think it will be a really interesting job and I'm looking forward to leaving the house on a daily basis AND having a purpose!

So, virtual beers for everyone!!

Muddified

In a desperate attempt to make friends in this godforsaken state, the Resident signed us up for a Mudd Volleyball Tournament to benefit the Carrie Tingley Hospital . It sounded vaguely fun, until we received instructions to bring duct tape, which would be used to tape our shoes to our feet.

We had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. This is apparently the event of the year in ABQ (mostly because there is nothing else to do except roll in mud) . You could see the enormous parking lots filled with cars, glittering in the sun, from the highway.

Although I am loathe to admit this, the experience was pretty fun. The mudd was up to my knees and I sloshed around, trying to chase after the ball (not often successful, since my feet stuck to the bottom of the mudd). The mudd was cold, though, and squished between my toes, even with my shoes on (and yes, everyone duct-taped their shoes to their feet---play does not stop to look for shoes!). The beer (and illegally smuggled liquor--how college was I?) flowed freely, which helped with the whole "What filthy diseases am I picking up from this foulness" feeling.

But the best part was really just getting out of our house and talking to another live person besides the Resident. We met some really neat people, one of whom is in his Intern Class, so we will be seeing more of her and her fiance, I'm sure.

The only downside (besides the raging hangover)? I now have mudd buried deep within crevices and nooks and crannies of my body. I showered, of course, but being covered in mud repeatedly over a several hour period makes it tough to get our. Even the natural lines in my skin feel dusty. And don't get me started on my hair, which not only feels dirty, but has the texture of filth.

Definitely an experience of a lifetime.

Aqua is the New Blue

The Resident and I decided to use some of our wedding money to buy ourselves a new bed and mattress since the double bed was getting a little small for our family of 5.

We ordered it from the store in Tucson before we moved, but arranged for it to be delivered from the ABQ store (mainly so we didn't have to move across the Desert).

Today, after weeks of waiting, the bed finally arrived. It was fantastic to put all of our new sheets and quilts on the bed. Getting the bed also meant that we could unpack the few remaining boxes scattered through the house. And we hung all our pictures on the wall, which gives it a "home" feel.

So everything is nice, neat and in its place.

Domesticated Goddess

Since we're almost 100% unpacked and I have no job, I've become a veritable 1950s housewife. I fill my day with laundry, vacuuming, scrubbing and cooking. I'm not alone in this domestic spree--The Resident pitches in and does chores right along side me.

But it's funny, this feeling that I am becoming my mother. I find myself saying the exact phrases she always says, "Will you please put the dishes away," "Don't go too far, dinner is almost ready," and "Want to go for a walk?"

It's not bad...it just makes me wonder how I turned into this domesticated goddess overnight. I mean, what happen to spooning peanut butter out of a jar for lunch and letting my laundry pile up until I had no clean underwear (no small feat, considering I have over 100 pairs of panties).

Too much time is a bitch, people.

And now, I have to go get my cherry pie out of the oven.

MySpace

I reluctantly signed up for an account on MySpace a few months ago. Truthfully, I didn't really see the point and it seemed like a complete waste of time....

Until yesterday.

I finally figured out how to effectively search for people on MySpace---And I realized you can search for old classmate---even as far back as high school! Or even middle school, I suppose.

So, I ran a search on all students that graduated from Stonewall Jackson High (yes, the South) in 1999. MySpace came back with 76 hits. Amazing. I haven't thought of most of the people that came up in YEARS, if ever.

It's been hysterical reading people's profiles. Some people have really neat lives now, cool jobs and still seem like fab people. Others are still in Manassas, working as waitresses, living exactly the kind of life I thought they would have at age 25.


Like my friend Lindsay says, MySpace is like a high school reunion you can go to in your pjs.

"I didn't claw my way to the top of the food chain to eat vegetables."

One of the intimidating things about moving to a new city where you don't know a single soul is trying to figure out where to eat. The second night we were in ABQ, we still didn't have any food in the house, so making dinner was out of the question. We were driving home from Walmart with a car full of essential odds and ends and realized it was 9:30 pm and we still hadn't eaten (this daylight savings thing really throws off my internal clock and sense of time in relationship to daylight. Dammnit.). The Resident looked up and saw a sign for "Rudy's BBQ," which is one of my favorite things.

We parked and went inside. The interior of the restuarant was a counter and lines of picnic tables covered in red&white table cloths. At first we were a bit confused because there was no apparent "real" menu, except listings of various meats by the pound. After some asking, we determined that you actually ordered your chosen meat by the poundage, were given some slices of bread and at the table, you make your own sandwich with the meat and the "sause" (your choice of "BBQ" or "Sissy") provided on the table.

Oh.My.God. I love meat. We had 1/2 a chicken and 1/2lb of pulled pork. The meat was delicious---tender, juicy, falling off the bones. We ate every single piece of meat that was on that tray. Plus a side of beans, creamed corn and greenbean salad.

Since Tucson had a dearth of good BBQ places, I'm very excited to find that ABQ has at least one good meat-eatin' place.

The Great Desert Move

Despite the 11 hour drive, two cats and a dog, a thunderstorm and hail, from one desert to another, we've arrived in Albuquerque in one piece. The new house (OUR house) is as adorable as I remembered. The adobe is yellow, the yard is huge, the rooms are tiny. We've been busy unpacking, hanging curtains, filling our kitchen with the unused appliances we receieved as wedding gifts. Unpacking is far and away more wonderful than packing. Even though I packed a mere few days ago, I have forgotten half of what we have. Opening the boxes are infinitely exciting, disovering pots and pans I've never used, books I still haven't read.

Adjusting to the city is hard, but I forgot just how hard it is. I feel lost, even with a map. I feel so alone and isolated. Nothing is familiar, everything is new. The newness is exciting, to be sure, but also overwhelming. We drove around for 20 minutes trying to find a Denny's (Spanish for next to La Quinta Inn) for breakfast because we don't even have a phone book.

I know it's only been a few days, but I keep catching myself thinking, "When I get home..." and it's with a pang of sadness that I realize this is my home. I am living here for the next three years. And the reality is, I may never live in Tucson again, a reality that makes my heart wrench a little.

I watch my husband build bookcases and install curtain rods, smiling at his man-ness. And I am relieved to know that, at least this time, I don't have to make a new city home all by myself. I have a friend by my side.