I'm Getting Older

Over the past several years there have been subtle clues that I'm not a kid anymore. I can't get up without making some kind of noise anymore - my joints will crack, or I'll let out a whimper of pain. It's getting harder and harder to stay up past midnight. I find myself spending more than a few seconds looking at the weather forecast. I'm starting to really, really like Fleetwood Mac.

And last week, I used a Target gift card - something I could have used to buy any one of several hundred thousand fun and exciting items available in-store or online - to procure something that says quite plainly and in no uncertain terms, "I've given up on my youth."

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I now own a Crock Pot.

But wait. It gets worse.

I planned this purchase. I researched it. I checked prices and pot capacity. I considered different models. I bought my Crock Pot deliberately and with premeditation. And I didn't just buy a Crock Pot. I am excited about it. I have plans for it. They involve vegetables. Vegetables!

It's hard to believe that only a few short years ago I was still on my parents' insurance and being mistaken for a teenager. But those years are behind me now. I use twenty-dollar eye cream, I'm in bed before Letterman, and I own a Crock Pot.

I'm getting old.

But for the record, despite my lost youth, I would still love to adopt a husband. Please keep me in mind if you know of any single men who are considering marriage. If nothing else, a husband of mine will eat well. My Crock Pot came with recipes :)

Good News

I got the job.

I was at Brakes Plus, doing a bit of mental math (a task I usually avoid) to figure out how long it was going to take Future Jill to pay for a new master cylinder, when I got a call from the county library district HR rep, with good news.

I got the job. I feel like a real adult now. I have an apartment - a rental condo, actually - and a car (it's paid for!), and a full-time job with benefits. Also, I have credit card debt. It's not completely my fault. Mostly my fault, but not completely. Things keep coming up that require money, and I have none. So I've gotten into the habit of letting Future Jill pay for them by putting them on my credit card. It's not that I'm going out to the mall every weekend and spending hundreds of dollars. But there are things I have to have. Brakes on my car, for instance. I actually put off the repair but my mother was rather insistent that I not die, so I went to Brakes Plus. Master cylinder + brake fluid flush + oil change = $361. Thanks, Future Jill!

Anyway. The point is that now I can actually afford to be alive! I can pay off that brake repair in months, not years. I'm kind of excited.

I'd be really excited, except that I'm really tired. I'm working 40 hours a week now, 8-5, and I am not exactly what you would call a "morning person." I have actually growled - growled! - at my mother for attempting to wake me before 10am. I guess that was a few years ago, but still.

So I got the phone call on Tuesday, my day off, and I was told that my new job was supposed to have started the day before, and I had to cram 40 hours in that week. I'd worked 5 on Monday. So I worked 35 hours in 4 days. I don't recommend it. I worked a 9.5-hour day, and when I got home I collapsed on the couch and cried. The thing is, even if the schedule says I'm working 8 hours, I'm at the library for 9, because I'm scheduled an hour for lunch. I don't expect you to weep for me or anything, but keep in mind this means that I am spending nine hours a day at the library. Also, last week I worked twice as many hours in four days as I usually do in seven. I think this mitigates the "crying on the sofa" episode.

On the upside, I have a desk. I was going to post a picture of it but the picture is on my phone and I'm too lazy to get off my duff and find the cable that connects Droid to netbook. It's a pretty nice desk. I need to decorate. So far I have a sticky note cube and one of these things:



Please try to contain your jealousy.

Where was I? Oh, right. So this job thing is pretty good news, really a huge blessing. It's not precisely the blessing I wanted most, but this extra money is just phenomenal. Between the extra hours and the pay raise, I'll be making 3 times what I made before.

I can't even wrap my brain around that kind of money. I've been keeping the thermostat at 82 to cut back on my SRP bill. I can knock it back to 80! I can stop using cheap lotion as a facial moisturizer! I don't have to choose between buying food and buying gasoline! As you can tell by the number of exclamation marks I've just used, I am very happy about my new financial situation. I'll be able to start saving money, too. That's a big one for me.

I don't know if I'll ever adopt a husband. It doesn't look like it, the way things are going. But if I ever do, I want to have enough money saved up that I can be a stay-at-home mom without being destitute. So it'll be nice to be able to save up for one possible future. And if that doesn't pan out, I can use the money to travel. I'm dying to see Sweden, and if you Google Prince Carl Philip, you'll know why.

That is all.

In case you were wondering, I was dead serious about blogging more often and about nothing.

I had a job interview at the library last Friday. You may be thinking, Jill, don't you work at the library? And in fact I do. But I have a really crap job at the library. I don't currently make enough money to be alive, and my job (shelving, basically) is dull and exhausting. The job I interviewed for is full-time with benefits, and is a circulation job, meaning I would be one of the ladies who sit at the front desk answering stupid questions like "How are you guys doing alphabetical order these days?" (I am not making that one up) or "What does it mean when the computer says you have zero copies in?" (Also not made up.)

I want this job so bad. I should find out tomorrow or Wednesday that I didn't get it. Not if, but that. I refuse to get my hopes up in the slightest. There are several other candidates who are likely to be promoted before I am, despite being rude, incompetent, smelly, and old enough for retirement. This is the third time I've interviewed for this sort of position, and I keep being rejected in favor of the sort of people who should not be allowed to work with the public.

It's too bad. I need this job. I can't afford to keep working the one I have, and even if I could, it's starting to wear at me. I've had the job for just under a year, and I am already burned out. Part of it is the physicality of my job, and part of it is the fact that I work faster and harder than the other people who have the same job, and I'm being paid the same insulting wage.

I find this all especially frustrating because I am nearly twenty-eight years old, and I don't want to be single and working at my age - not at a job. I want to be working as a mom. I never, ever thought I would still be single at this age. I always thought I'd marry by now. It's frustrating for me to be worrying about money and whether I should be going back to school, and what I want to be when I grow up, because ... well, because I know what I want to be when I grow up, and it's not something I can control.

I'm not a control freak. I'm not the sort of person who always has to be in charge. But I do need to know what's going on, and that someone is in charge. I like schedules and order. I like to know that something is going to happen, and when it is going to happen. Being single is maddening.

Anyway.

If I'm honest, I felt a bit more optimistic about this whole job thing earlier today, but then I got some bad news. Or rather, I found out that someone in my family got some bad news, and my heart broke for them, and I found it hard to stay positive after that. This family member has gotten this kind of bad news before, and it is so unfair. It is unfair that not only do bad things happen to good people, but the same bad thing can happen to a really good person several times. Today was one of those days when I remembered just how unfair life can be. There's nothing to be done for it. All you can do is trust that someone - God - is in charge, and that He knows what's going on.

Rant alert!

When I said I was going to blog more often, I was serious. I mean, just check me out, blogging twice in a week.

The good news is I got my AC fixed. I had a bad relay. The repairman said it was the most cheaply-made relay he'd seen in twenty years. I'm not surprised, since they haven't made my AC in twenty-five years.

Someone I know just announced his engagement. Is it awful of me that when someone I know announces their engagement, happiness isn't my knee-jerk reaction? Instead it's this gnawing mix of envy and panic. I feel like the more people who get married, the more single I get.

Also, what is up with men my age dating twenty-year-olds? I'm almost 28, for the record (it's my birthday next month). Why on earth would a 28-year-old man want to date a girl who's barely out of high school? It can't just be a facial elasticity thing, either, because I know a lot of women my age who look really young. And I totally got mistaken for being 20 last week.

Mostly I think, if men my age are dating girls 8 years younger, who are women my age supposed to date? If you line the numbers up the answer should be "36-year-old men." But most 36-year-old men seem unwilling to date a woman older than 25. Seriously, men, what's up with that? Stop it. It's just creepy. And I hate to break it to you, men-pushing-forty, but if a much younger woman is interested in you, it's probably for your money. Or she's got daddy issues.

Do I sound bitter? I promise I'm not bitter. Not completely bitter, anyway. It's just ... I don't know. I'm tired of being alone. I'm tired of everyone else being asked out and not me. I'm not even going on bad dates. I'm going on no dates. Am I that repulsive to men? I don't think I'm that bad looking. And I'm totally not even fat anymore; I've lost 60 pounds since last June.

I just don't know what to do to make myself more attractive. It's frustrating. The older I get the harder it is to convince myself that there's not something wrong with me that everyone else can see but that I can't. I mean, what does it say about me that the only man who was ever interested in me turned out to be a porn-addicted atheist who's a mean drunk? And what does it say about me that even he didn't really love me, that he was only using me?

...

Sheesh. I guess if this is the sort of thing I'm going to be blogging about, I'd be better off not blogging. It's just ... I'm tired of pretending I'm okay with being alone all the time. I'm tired of pretending that I am having SO MUCH FUN being single. And I am tired of married people telling me, "Oh, enjoy it while it lasts," or "Marriage is hard work!"

Really? Marriage is hard work? Thanks for your stunning report, Captain Obvious. What part of life isn't hard work? I'm not a Kardashian. I've had to work hard for or at everything in my life. Why should marriage be any different?

Okay, really. I'm done being crabby now. Stepping off my soapbox.

But, hey, I got my AC fixed! Snaps for East Valley Refrigeration.

Let's try this again ...

I haven't updated this blog in forever. Lame.

I didn't think I had anything to say. I mean, this blog was sort of a gimmicky idea and it felt like the cleverness had run its course. But then I thought of all the hoping-to-adopt blogs I read, and how even when there's nothing new that's specific to the adoption world, the blog authors write about their lives so that prospective birth families can get to know them better.

I don't think I've done that at all. How full of fail am I?

So I've decided that I'm going to update a lot more often, mostly with really stupid things about my day or things that make me happy, in case there are any readers who want to get to know me before committing to an "adoption" plan.

Sound good?

I'm going to pretend that all two of my readers answered in the affirmative.

...

Now that I've given myself carte blanche to ramble about whatever the heck I want, I'm going to complain about my air conditioning.

My air conditioning likes to randomly turn off. Sometimes I discover it when I'm at home and I realize it's a little warmer than I like, and other times I don't discover it until I get home from work or somewhere else, and it's 90 inside my condo.

I've had a repairman here twice. The second time he said that the unit was just old and that it was going to keep breaking down. I relayed this information to my landlords. They are, understandably, reluctant to buy a new AC. I've never bought one before but I'm assuming they're ridiculously expensive. Especially here in Phoenix. In a place as hot as this, AC companies can charge pretty much whatever they want to, and we'll pay it, because we have no choice.

I would like a new AC though. Is that awful of me? I mean, I do like my landlords very much. But the old AC is a relic, and my electric bill is pretty scary, and I keep thinking that a quiet, new, Energy Star-compliant AC would be nice. Did I say my electric bill was scary? I should have said my electric bill is a horror film. I can't open an envelope from SRP without first fortifying myself with a piece of chocolate, and sitting down.

Of course, SRP is like the AC companies - they can charge whatever they want per kilowatt-hour, and people here will pay it, because when it is 115 degrees outside, reliable electricity isn't optional. I suppose that strictly speaking they have competition from APS, but the company you buy power from depends on where you live, and I'm in SRP territory.

I just keep reminding myself that in a month or two, the rest of the country will be cold and dark and miserable and eventually buried in snow, and I'll be driving around town with my windows down, wearing short sleeves and flip-flops.

Theoretically.

In practice, living here has made me enough of a wimp that when it dips below 75 outside, I start wearing jackets and shoes that require socks, and drinking hot chocolate to keep warm. I'm not even kidding.

I think that's it for now.

I suck at blogging lately. I remember when I started this blog I had all these fantastically clever ideas for blog posts. I'm not sure what happened to them.

I'm feeling like a bit of a Debbie Downer lately, and you're going to have to read about it.

One of the fun (ha-ha) things about being single is that any time the topic of conversation turns to relationships, you're subjected to a slew of platitudes and cliches and trite reassurances. I've begun collecting them, and each one is as nauseating as the last ("There's a shoe for every foot! There are plenty of fish in the sea! He's out there somewhere!") Everyone has a story about someone they knew who didn't get married until they were much older than you are, and so you shouldn't give up.

I appreciate that other people have so much faith in my future. It's nice that every single person I have ever spoken to thinks that soon (like, probably tomorrow) I am going to be swept off my feet by the most amazing, handsome man in the world, and all this will just be a memory. It's sweet how stupid people can be, it really is.

The fact is that there are plenty of women who never marry, and I'm no better than any of them. My single sisters tend to be highly educated, well-paid, successful, and happy. There are worse ranks I could join.

I don't particularly want to join those ranks, but this isn't the sort of choice that I get to make for myself. And I know that you (yes, probably you) could tell me about this great woman you know who didn't marry until she was 37, and she's so happy now, so I shouldn't give up. Do me a favor, and ask that happily married friend how many dates she went on. I don't care if they were bad dates. A date is a date.

I have never been on a date. I am twenty-seven years old. Guys just don't seem to look at me that way. I don't take it quite as personally as I used to, because the older I get the more that I realize many, many men out there simply don't ever grow up. Men who don't grow up don't date or get married (as a general rule).

I would still love dearly to adopt a husband. But I guess my feeling these days is that if I've done all I can do and I don't see any results, it's time to put my focus elsewhere. The longer I cling to the idea of being someone's wife, the worse off I am. I wasted my early twenties telling myself that this thing or that thing wasn't important, because I was going to get married. As a result, I am much farther behind in my studies than I should be. I never bothered to choose a major or look into careers because I didn't think I'd have to. Now I'm in a position of having to support myself. I can't plan ahead as though I'm going to get married, because it just doesn't seem likely at this point.

I don't know what more to do to not be single. It's not as though I've got ridiculously high standards and I'm turning men down. I don't think I'd ever say no to a first date. But I'm not being asked.

I've found that when I start to lament my single status, my mother tries to cheer me up my telling me how wonderful I am. I'm not sure what she hopes to accomplish with this. All it do is convince me that I must be physically repulsive, because if I really were that wonderful, I'd have married eight years ago. My mother once made a list of all the great things about me, and my physical appearance didn't make the cut. I sound like a bad personal ad. I have a great personality.

I don't mean to sound like such a negative nancy, really. Most of the time I am quite happy being single. It would just be easier to be happy being single if married people weren't so vocal about how happy they are to be married. I wish they could just be married and shut up about it.

Okay, I'm done whining.