Heidi Hookie

There's a joke in my family that my sister made me cross-eyed. Ha-ha, right? Except it's not entirely false.

Just after I turned two years old, and coincidentally right around the time my sweet sisty graced us with her presence, my parents began to notice that my eyes were mysteriously crossed. All. The. Time. A few trips to the pediatric ophthalmologist later, turns out I have something called strabismus. That meant the muscles in my eyes were not strong enough to focus straight ahead. To add insult to injury, I was blind as a bat.

Thus began my relationship with glasses. Always mindful of having a stylish daughter (read: "let's just get the kid something durable and we'll deal with her insecurities later") my parents got me the super tricked out plastic pairs with stems that looped around my ears, leaving me with coke bottle eyes and teeny pink "earrings" popping out under my earlobes.*

Vintage 1989 sisties. Edited and re-used for my 25th birthday party invitations.

A few years into my vision quest, I got a patch. Over my right eye. Aaarrrgggggg, matey.

Luckily the patch didn't last long. The glasses stayed until eighth grade when science mercifully advanced enough to provide a sweet set of contacts. Fancy Pants! That was a good day. Now, at 25, it's hard to remember what life is like without contacts. I haven't worn glasses in public ONCE since then. Not even that horrible day in college when I had mono (thanks to sisty, hmm is there a life-ruining pattern here? KIDDING) and had to drive myself to the campus clinic and they pinched my finger for blood tests and I almost passed out on top of the nurse. Nope, not even then. I only put my glasses on after my face-washing routine at night and take them off immediately after stepping out of the shower in the morning.

Last month I felt brave enough to get myself a new pair of specs. Yes, I was still rocking the pair from eighth grade in those short minutes before bed. Excited by the prospect of actually seeing the frames before purchase (in the past I always had to take my glasses OFF before putting the new ones ON, and since I'm basically blind I had to rely on my mom's fashion sense), I spent 45 minutes in the frame store selecting the perfect pair. Kinda nerdy, slightly oversized, really cute.

Again, minutes before bed. Please excuse the dust on my mirror.

The only problem? I was wrong about being brave. I can't bring myself to wear them in public. I kind of-sort of forgot the coke bottle effect of wearing glasses. When I look in the mirror, I feel like my eyes are distorted to cartoon-like levels. Also, I forgot how hard it is to walk around without peripheral vision.

Looks like my kinda nerdy, slightly oversized glasses and me are gonna have an exclusive relationship. Maybe I'll be braver in another ten years.

*That's a joke. My parents are rad and would never disregard my mental stability. No harboring resentment to see here, friends.

Adventures in Reupholstery

As part of the ongoing effort to furnish and beautify my home on a shoestring budget, I recently decided to reupholster my dining room chairs. Our local fabric store was having a summer sale (50% off everything!) so I enlisted the Looch to come shopping.

Here's what happened: We chose 4 or 5 bolts that seemed to fit into the color palette I was aiming for. Walked through the entire store three times while holding up said bolts to compare to more options. Put everything back in it's place and decided we needed a snack to make up our minds. Laughed at our ridiculous inability to make decisions. Picked up a completely different fabric, laughed about how it was the exact opposite of all the other choices, and then brought it to the front to be cut. About thirty minutes with the staple gun later (MAGIC!):

Since I didn't want any of the chairs to have the same pattern, I was able to buy less fabric and still achieve a cohesive theme. I added a layer of padding for extra comfort from an old twin bed egg-crate the Looch had saved from college dorm room days.

And here's the entire room:

Final Budget:

Dining table and chairs: $50 (Craigslist)

Fabric: $12

Hutch: $120 (Craigslist)

Birdcage: $10 at a garage sale

Antique globe: $7

Things inside the hutch: FREE

Light Fixture: $35 (eBay)

Cowhide Rug: $130 (eBay)

Curtains: FREE

Painting: $30 for the canvas, $8 for the paint, 45 minutes to "drip" in the backyard

Total: $402.00

This is the ONLY room in my house that is pretty much completely styled. Yes I still need to hang a few things (nevermind those antlers on top of the hutch), re-center the light fixture so it's actually over the table, and maybe work on getting some place settings. But whatevs! I'm calling it complete for now.

It's Not Goodbye...It's See You Later

One of the many lessons I learned in DC was the delicate balance between coworkers-as-friends and actual-friends. When I moved to Nashville and started my new job, I was cautiously optimistic about what my friendships with coworkers would look like. I knew better than to spill my secrets to the first smiling face that invited me to happy hour. Of course I always politely accepted, never extending the evening beyond 7:30 p.m. and definitely never ordering more than three cocktails.

But something strange happened along the way. As I began to get to know some of my peers, I discovered that I actually enjoyed their company. Maybe I could find a way to keep my professional life separate from my personal life with the same people.

It's now been almost two years since I started my job and I've earned a handful of compatriots in the office. That thin line I so fearfully dreaded has been (thankfully) easy to navigate, and the people I've chosen to allow into my world outside the walls of my desk have become dear friends.

Of course, we're all in our mid-twenties, and no one wants to sit still. My very first friend in the office (and coincidentally the person who welcomed me into what is now "my" group of friends) just moved back to Texas to be closer to family. Another is leaving to pursue a better job opportunity. And another, probably the one I'll miss the most, is moving to DC with her just-graduated-from-law-school husband.

I've come to love these girls, and it's definitely going to be a lot less interesting around the office and on weekends without them. Gone are my coffee-run buddies (although my checking account may actually thank me for that). Lost are the covert eye-rolling battles during the unfailingly awkward all-staff luncheons. And Friday afternoons in the break room won't be peppered with plans for the weekend. I can't be anything but excited for these girls; their lives are continuing forward in only the best directions. So as I prepare to say goodbye to all my office friends, I won't delete their numbers from my phone book or take on that ugly out of sight out of mind attitude. I'll simply remove the "office" from the preface of their names and slide them over to the ever-growing list of people I'll make an effort to stay in touch with.

And look! More cities to explore! Excuses to use up my vacation days on weekend getaways! There's always a silver-lining somewhere, right??

Sightseeing Without Seeing A Thing

Just got back from a whirlwind trip to Chicago for the weekend. There and back within 36 hours. I wanted to visit one of my best friends from college. We don't get to see each other often (for obvious reasons) and I always take advantage of the small collisions of our overly busy schedules when we can play.

Today at work everyone wanted to hear about the sights I saw, which restaurants I dined in, and if they could see pictures of the trip. They looked at me quizzically when I reported that I hadn't gone to the Sears (I can't call it the Willis) tower of even snapped a shot of my reflection in "the bean" at Millennium Park. I couldn't recall the names of the places we ate dinner of even the intersections we crossed on an early morning walk.

I silently reprimanded myself for not paying better attention; for not savoring every drop of Chicago. But then I realized I didn't go to learn which streets populate the city grid or to taste how their fish tacos differ from the ones I get in Nashville. I went to see my friend, to spend time in fellowship and laughter. I've grown and learned so much since high scool, since college, since my first attempts at "adulthood" in DC. Along the way I've cried over mean words hurled at me by so-called best friends, reveled in the warmth that comes from a well intentioned hug, defined myself through friendships. I have a handful of really great friends, and I wouldn't trade them for any tourist attractions or snow globes in the world.

On Love and Loss

Our neighbors down the street have a son named Samuel, a sweet seven-year-old from Haiti they adopted through a ministry in their church. Along with the other kids on our block, Samuel rides his Spiderman bike up and down the street, battling invisible villians in wars waged on front lawns and protecting the neighborhood from alien invaders. Whenever we cross paths he gives me a huge smile and says "allo" with the most awesome french accent. Last week his family found out that because of government nonsense, Samuel's citizenship papers were never approved. He was sent back to the orphanage in Haiti, away from the parents who loved him and the life he deserved. They are fighting the decision with everything they have. His Spiderman bike is still parked in the driveway.

Yesterday I got lost in a blog written by a man whose wife died hours after giving birth to their first child. Faced with unimaginable pain, he tells the story of grieving for her loss while raising their daughter in an environment of joy and love. His posts are heartbreakingly and beautifully written. He's giving her the world, keeping her mom alive one memory at a time. One day she'll be able to look back and see that her dad didn't just curl up and cry, he fought the grief in order to give her everything he was missing.

Two stories of families struggling with the reality of their loved one disappearing. An empty hole where there was once overwhelming love. Finding the strength is takes to move forward, continue living after tragedy strikes. Got me thinking that maybe I should quit complaining about how incredibly blessed my life really is.

Me & ...

The other day I got an e-mail from a friend inviting a big group of people to a house party on Saturday night. She and her husband wanted to keep it casual, just cocktails and conversation. I quickly responded "I'll be there!" and marked the date in my planner.

A few days later another e-mail arrived in my inbox, this time detailing what everyone was bringing to share. As I scrolled down the list I felt like the soundtrack to my life screeched over to that song "One of These Things (Is Not Like The Other)". Each item - from appetizers to desserts - was listed next to a PAIR of names. All couples, except for me. Guess maybe I should've brought a cheese plate. Haha, get it?

Her & Him. She & He. Me & ...

Just another reminder of what happens when you live alone.

Here We Go

I'm only 25. I just want to put that out there into the universe before we even get started. Twenty. Five.

A few years ago I put the brakes on my fast-track post college life and moved back in with my parents. It was a temporary thing, just so I could take a little breather and figure out what it really was that I wanted to do with my life. It was the best choice I could have made for myself at the time. Unfortunately, that's not what my grandparents thought.

Both my mom's and my dad's parents are still alive and kicking. I'm so blessed, right? They've watched me grow up, from diapers and dolls through awkward adolescence straight through to adulthood. And they've had something to say about it all.

While I was on my hiatus from responsibility, my dad's very German parents paid me a visit at the 'ole casa. Did I mention they are German? And very very old school. Things were going fine...until the first morning of their stay. As I made my way downstairs to the kitchen, I was greeted by the sounds of both my parents and my grandparents enjoying their breakfast around the table. I pulled my hair into a ponytail, pinched my cheeks for some color, and braved the entrance.

Trying to avoid conversation at the ungodly hour of 9:30 (What? I was on a break, remember?), I quietly poured myself a glass of orange juice and grabbed a few eggs from the fridge to make an omelet. The grandparents immediately pounced.

"Why are you making an omelet?" (Because they're tasty.)

"Why would you make something like that for just you." (I'm sorry, did you want one, too?)

"Oh it's such a shame that you have to cook for yourself. That's what happens when you live alone." (...crickets...)

In just 10 minutes my morning had gone from regular old eggs to YOU ARE ALONE AND DOOMED TO SPINSTERHOOD WHERE YOU'LL GET OLD AND SHRIVELED AND THEN NO ONE WILL WANT YOU.

You see, I have dealt them the ultimate blow. I've failed at the one thing they've prayed for, the one thing they've looked forward to since that hot day in August when the doctor said "It's A Girl!" and held me up like Simba in The Lion King. I have yet to snag a wealthy guy, get married and have babies. Oh the horror.

That was in 2007. I've since moved to Nashville and started an awesome new chapter in life. I'm still single, and the comments have only gotten louder. Loud enough for me to feel the need to broadcast them on the internet. So here are my stories of "living alone" and everything that comes with it - navigating the dating world, forging a career path, remodeling my old house, and enjoying my social life (even if it sometimes means being a plus one).

Full disclosure: I don't actually live alone. Quite the opposite, really. My house has three bedrooms and all three are occupied. No, not by my cats. I don't even like cats.