Ahem

I'm feeling the need to blog, but I don't have a specific topic (or even theme) in mind. Therefore: a list.

• My friend and her mom are coming in town today, which forced me to do the spring cleaning that my apartment so desperately needed. Beware, dear reader: You might not think you're living in filth when, in actuality, your dust bunnies are more on par with elephants. Check under furniture with caution and something sturdier than a broom.
• The cleaning (followed by more cleaning) left me no time for personal maintenance. My fingernails are still bare! The horror!
• American Idol isn't really worth it anymore. If I hear one more "it was a little pitchy in spots for me, man" or "your vocal skills really are phenomenal" or "I just didn't get it," I may chuck a dust elephant at the screen. And then whine because my TV is cracked and I can't see David Archuleta sing.
• I really like the new shirt I'm wearing today.
• You know what TV show is worth it? Celebrity Apprentice. Yes, you read that correctly. Trace Adkins is my new hero. That crooked half-smile and ubiquitous cowboy hat get me every time. Not to mention The Voice.
• I'm in the midst of reading World War Z. As one reviewer said, the author "commits to detail in a way that makes his nightmare world creepily plausible..." What more could a girl ask for in a zombie thriller?
• I just replaced my antiquated (and severely limited in hindsight) Razr with a BlackBerry Curve on Wednesday. No major complaints after the 36 hours I've had it in my possession. Though if you have large fingers, compromised vision, or an extremely limited grasp of technology, stick with your Razr. Trust.
• My birthday is in less than two weeks, followed by a surprise birthday celebration that weekend. Surprise in that I know it's happening, I just don't know what the plans are.
• And THEN! How I Met Your Mother returns on St. Patrick's Day. What better reason is there to drink green beer?
• I'm going to a wedding in Columbia, Mo., next weekend. The city of my alma mater's arch rival. I'm sure my skin will be crawling for the duration. Oh, and I don't have an outfit picked out yet. It's March - you can't plan ahead for those ides. It could be 31 and snowing or 75 with a tornado warning. Never can tell.

Five o'clock is rapidly approaching. I need to beat a hasty retreat outta here. Tune in again next week.

Now what?

Okay, this is where I start to freak out. Who knew searching for an apartment would be this difficult? I've gotten my hopes up one too many times and it's resulted in the inevitable - utter lack of hope. Right now, I live in relative luxury - my roommate and I have a brand-new apartment (as in, they were still doing paint touch-ups and hanging light fixtures when we moved in), we have assigned parking spaces in a heated underground lot, the management is courteous and helpful, the location is fabulous, and we haven't had any neighbor problems whatsoever. And there's a pool, workout facility, and secure entrances.

My only complaint? I don't want a roommate anymore. I lived by myself last year and enjoyed it more than I ever thought I would. I want that again.

Hence, my search for the perfect (one-bedroom) apartment began. And, just as I tend to rush the seasons, I also tend to rush everything else - I won't need this apartment until August. Better to start early, though, right? That's what I thought.

Turns out the earlier you start, the sooner you'll be disappointed. I looked downtown first and was excited to see the abundance of lofts available, at fairly affordable prices to boot. I earmarked my favorites, looked at the floorplans with wistful eyes again and again, calculated what I would really be able to afford, and began decorating in my hopeful little head.

Ha.

That was before I read the reviews on these places. Dreadful. Horrible management. Walls so thin you can hear neighbors clearing their throats. Bums camping out in the halls. No parking. Break-ins. Pets doing their business in common indoor areas.

My urban dreams flew straight out that 7th-story loft's window.

So I turned to the suburbs. Where I found that anything even remotely decent was too far south, too far north, or too expensive.

"So move to a one-bedroom in your current complex," you say.

Double ha. The price of a one-bedroom here is nearly as high as the mortgage on a two-bedroom house. Not gonna happen.

Now, I ask you, what the hell do I do? I've looked everywhere in the metro area, including undesirable spots. And I'm stuck. And no, I can't afford to buy a house. I'm a single woman in her early (okay, almost mid) twenties. I've got a few years yet before that happens.

At this rate, I might as well move to Seoul with the boyfriend. (For those of you whose hackles were just raised: I'M ONLY KIDDING.)

Seoul-ful

The same weekend I went to St. Louis for Mardi Gras, the boyfriend went to Iowa with a friend of his. Mainly to spend some quality time with this friend he only sees a few times a year, but also to, inadvertently, accompany him to a conference. The topic of the conference was mentioned to me briefly, but it flew in one ear and out the other. I was busy fretting over road conditions and whether I should pack a few extra pairs of socks.

Turns out the topic would change the boyfriend's life. Headmasters and recruiters from schools all over the world were there to hire American teachers and counselors for positions abroad. Way abroad. And, lo and behold, the boyfriend's sparkling personality and karmic ability to win every job he interviews for landed him two job offers. One in Seoul, South Korea, and one in Paraguay.

After two weeks of waffling and vacillating and long talks with all those close to him, the boyfriend finally made up his mind. He's leaving for a city outside of Seoul late this summer. He won't return to the United States permanently for two years.

Unlike the boyfriend, it took me all of three days to decide what I thought he should do. Although I'm fairly sure I haven't mentioned it here, the boyfriend is extremely unhappy with his job situation and would do just about anything to remedy it. Including moving as far away from his hometown as is humanly possible. (Coincidentally, Seoul is at nearly the same latitude as Kansas City, just on the other side of the earth.) So, in my mind, it was obvious: go and be happy or stay and be miserable. So, go.

And! Guess what this means? I get to be in an awesome long-distance relationship! (Please note the heavy dose of sarcasm.) And when I say "long," I mean looooooooooooooooooooong. As in, a 15-hour time difference and 24-hour flight away from eachother. As a rational human being, I know that that distance (both physical and emotional) would drive most sane couples apart. As of right now, we're wholly (and certifiably) insane.

I never, ever thought I would end up in a long-distance relationship (LDR). They always seemed ominous, signifying the inevitable end of what was surely doomed to begin with. I mean, it was only a matter of time before the couple moved on, right? Right. I would never succumb to an LDR. That was just bad sense. There was no reason to subject myself to that brand of torture.

Ha. Hahahahaha.

Will it work in our case? Obviously, I can't possibly know for sure. But then again, no one ever know for sure. About anything. All I do know is that we're going to do everything in our power to talk with as much regularity as we can, see eachother as often as possible, and use email for everything in between. Can a relationship be sustained by almost completely digital means? Maybe. Maybe not.

We'll give it our best shot, though.

Not that it will be easy. No, it's like I told him yesterday: We'll be both attached and single, without the perks of either. There will be tests and breaking points and strong forces of will. Hope and cynicism, battles and surrender. But I have complete faith that it's happening the way it's supposed to; my life, his life, our lives. Que sera, sera, eh?

Valentine's Day is for suckers

You know, the heart-shaped kind on a stick that tastes like cherries. And probably has white "icing" on it that says I LUV U.

What, you thought I was an anti-V Day robot or something? Nah. I'm a sucker like that.

Now go kiss someone.

I'll worry about the "exercise" part later

Lately I've been absolutely inundated with health and nutrition information. The blogs I read, the things I'm required to do (remember that mandatory blood test?), the annual doctor's appointment I have coming up, the industry I work in, the BLOGS I READ. It seems like, finally, the world is cottoning on to the fact that nearly everything we as Americans put in our mouths is intent on destroying our insides and wreaking havoc. Rationally, I understand that I need to eat more green things and less white things, but at what expense? I wouldn't really be me if I ate healthily. Granted, I do like the occasional broccoli tree or strawberry, but on a daily basis? Not so much.

And then I got my blood work back and let me tell ya, that did absolutely nothing to motivate better eating and more exercising. I mean, my cholesterol, glucose, and triglycerides were in normal, if not optimal, ranges and I was eating like crap and not working out! But the information and dire warnings keep flooding in without me looking for them. High fructose corn syrup is the devil! One high-fat, high-sugar meal will ruin you for life! Processed foods will cause cancer, diabetes, heart disease, and every other malady imaginable! Stay away from the inside aisles in supermarkets! Eat more fish! And olive oil! And nuts! DON'T EAT ANYTHING THAT TASTES GOOD TO YOU.

So I gave up chips for Lent.

With any luck, it will force me to eat healthier alternatives instead. For instance, I brought a salad to work today - romaine lettuce, avocadoes, shaved parmesan cheese, and honey dijon dressing. Except I left the dressing at home in my refrigerator. Which means the vending machine here at work is about the get assaulted by me. Again.

(Sigh.)

Miscellany

So, there are big, life-changing events going on in the boyfriend's life which, to be honest, have occupied my mind a li-ttle bit more than updating my blog. As things pan out with his situation, updating may be even more sparse. Or more frequent. We shall see.

MARDI GRAS. Well, in two words: Never. Again. Not to complain too much, but I have had it up to my eyebrows with obnoxious, insensitive, immature boys. I don't think I've ever yelled at quite so many (I'm purposely not using the word "men" because they certainly weren't, despite holding college degrees) in such a short amount of time to shut the hell up, THIS IS NOT A SMOKING ROOM, get OFF of me, quit snoring, and did I mention SHUT THE HELL UP? Grrrrr. I'm certainly done putting up with that. And there were only two guys staying in our room with us. Though it felt like 57.

Mark my word, there will be no Mardi Gras '09 for me. Oh, and the drinking all day? Not my cup of tea (with a liberal amount of vodka, mind you) anymore.

In better (and more encouraging) news, I got the results of my mandatory blood work back. "Mandatory" because in order to maintain the preferred health insurance premium (very low co-pays, nearly free prescriptions, etc.) we had to get a full blood profile done, as well as blood pressure, weight, and waist circumference measurements. And guess what? I just may live longer than 30 years! Depsite my near-complete lack of exercising, my HDL (good) cholesterol is in the way-better-than-average range, and my LDL (bad) cholesterol is really low. Woo hoo! Thanks, Mom, for what I presume are your good genes.

Boring, boring, boring, I know. What you really wanna hear about is that news I mentioned in the first paragraph. I'm not quite ready to blog about it, as the boyfriend reads this (although not, I think, with any regularity) and I'm not willing to "publish" my thoughts on the issue(s) as of yet. When I know what's going to happen and have developed a fully-formed opinion and plan, I'll spill. Just not yet.

Snow, shmoe

Well, it looks like yesterday's Urge was fighting a losing battle. The credit card gods will probably thank me come Monday morning. My wardrobe, however, will not. Ah, well. St. Louis, here I come! You better hope you have enough beads and booze to spare.