Okay. I’m a smart girl. I’ve got a good head on my shoulders. I’m educated; a Bachelor of the Arts degree in Integrative Arts which has come in handy when writing blogs, but that’s about it. As far as looks, no one is going to ask me to be the bell ringer at Notre Dame, but then no one is going to ask me to walk the runway either. Though, if they did I’d do it, because I always want to try new things. I’m darkly fabulous on a modest budget; I’m in a serious relationship; and I’m 30-something.
So why in the world would I write this? Every 30-something unmarried female toting a BA degree and learning to make her way in the world thinks that qualifies her to write about what it is to be a 30-something unmarried female toting a BA degree and learning to make her way in the world. Wasn’t that sort of the basis of Sex and the City with a bigger budget? I don’t know. I never watched it. I was doing stuff. But since I haven’t been living under a rock, I’m well aware that I’m not exactly being original here. I’m writing about family, relationships, and the fact that I take my Midol to cure hangovers more often than that-time-of-the-month. How original!
I don’t care. I’m writing it, and maybe someone can relate. Here are the major players in the piece.
Myself, the Not-So-Gentle Author
I’m the 30-something unmarried female toting a BA degree and learning to make her way in the world. I’m the oldest of two children and the only daughter, which still somehow makes me the cool son. I’m the child of an interracial marriage…and yes, my parents are still together. I’m insanely close to my family and getting closer to my soon-to-be family. People say I’m fiercely loyal, and I would agree, but I remember every single time I let someone down in glaring detail. That’s me. In the interest of not sounding like a personal ad, shall we move on to the other players in the piece?
I call her Mom and so does my brother, but everyone else calls her by her first name. I, of course, in the interest of identity protection and the fact that she’s my Mom, will refer to her as “Mom.” But never let it be said that she doesn’t have her own identity. She’s not merely my mother or Mrs. Dad. She’s independent, bright, beautiful, and just a little crazy. What can I say? She’s Mom. She works in event management at a major state university. It stresses her out sometimes, and I hate to see her stressed, but Mom’s a planner. She’s good at what she does because she has this great way of foreseeing problems miles before they happen. She’s probably in a perfect profession. Patient sometimes to a fault, she is very good with people and the people who meet her love her. I don’t know how that trait didn’t pass to me, but then, why bother to question? She’s also going through this great self discovery/reclaiming oneself thing that I think is just awesome. I can’t wait to see how my mother turns out.
My Dad is a teddy bear wearing a porcupine suit. He’s a great big man who is tough when he has to be, which is most of the time. He tells you like it is whether you want to hear it or not and he’s got a heart of gold backing it up. He has to be that way. He’s a Union Man. He buys American; he eats good ol’ American meat that he grilled on Sunday afternoon; he drives an American car, and he watches war documentaries on the History Channel if there isn’t a good game on. He’s Dad, who from here will be referred to as “Dad” or “Union Man” depending on the tale.
I love him. That’s it. That makes him a major player. He kisses me good-bye in the morning and makes sure that the coffee maker is all set up for me when I get up to go to work an hour later. Do I have a great engagement tale? Not yet. We’ve agreed that we’re getting married; we’ve been using the “F” word for a while now; and so we’re engaged. But the story…well…to be honest, I found out the same way our friends did…facebook. I’d be happy to leave it at that if he’d be willing to elope, but he wants that traditional kind of wedding which involves a lot of planning. If I (he says “we” but I don’t trust his sense of style), have to plan a wedding, then I’m not getting robbed of my perfect romantic engagement moment. I don’t want him to go to Jared (please tell me I’m not the only one who vehemently despises those commercials), but a moment would be nice.
You already know I’m not an only child. I have a little brother. There are only five years between us, but he’ll always be my “little” bro. He’s…interesting. That’s all that can be said to describe him at this juncture. I don’t think any girl in the world will ever be good enough for him, but at the same time, from a female solidarity standpoint, I wouldn’t tell a friend to date him. Sounds harsh? Nah. He’s told me to my face that he’s shocked that I actually found a man who would put up with my crap. We’re even. Besides, I can talk all the smack in the world on my kid brother, but that’s because I’m his sister. Anyone else has something to say, I won’t hesitate to go all kinds of “schoolyard” to defend him.
I’m lucky. I have a number of BiFFs, or BFFs, or Best Friends Forever. There’s The Mad Muse, Witch-Momma, The Male Version of Me, and a few others. I love them and wouldn’t trade them for the world.
And, of course, there are co-workers, past and present, who I easily place in the realm of friendship.
And then there are the people in the neighborhood. The tattoo artists. The bartenders and liquor store clerks. The guy in the parking garage who always says hi and makes a point to tell me to have a nice day. The sweet girl at the gas station/convenience store who must think I’m an idiot by now, but is never anything but…well…sweet. It seems we never think about these people until we need them, but they’re people and so they play a role, and an important one at that.
The Current Situation and Why I’m Writing About It
I have recently moved away from home. No, I did not live in my parents’ basement this whole time (not that there’s anything wrong with that). I’ve had a number of places on my own, but they’ve never been more than 20 minutes away from Mom and Dad. I’ve been on a number of “adventures” but I’ve always come “home” and now here I am. I moved from central Pennsylvania to southeastern Connecticut with The Fiancé and I’m trying to figure out what this adult life thing is all about. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy. Pleased as punch, even. But there was a lot of fine print in the adult life contract that I didn’t bother to read and now it’s smackin’ me in the face.
Sounds like some tales are coming that you might like to read? Awesome! There are other installments coming. Sounds like something you’d rather not read? Well, then don’t. I’m going to write it either way.