Success

How do you measure it? When I was growing up, it was very simple and delineated, based on the different people in my life.

Success according to my Mom:  I would go to a 4-year university right out of high school. Get my degree. Get a high paying, prestigious career that she could brag to her friends about. Meet a man, either in college or at my job and get married. Then, because he would make more than me, obvi, I would quit my job and stay home and raise our 2.5 babies and golden retriever. She was adamant about me going to college, but then she would say things like “you better meet a rich man who can keep you in the lifestyle to which you’ve become accustomed!” Wait…but isn’t that why I was going to college? So that I could keep myself in the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed? Why did I need a man to do that? (this is even more odd considering that my mom made almost 2 times what my dad did…so, what gives?)

Success according to my Dad: Again, go to a 4 year university straight out of high school. But he was a little more specific. My dad’s dream was for me to be an engineer. Didn’t matter what kind; mechanical, electrical, aeronautical…didn’t matter, just so long as it was some engineering field. Then get an awesome job working for the government or one of the Big 3 car manufacturers in the country. He didn’t care so much about who I married (just so long as they weren’t taking advantage of me and using me for money), and didn’t even consider the option of me quitting my job to stay home with kids.

Success according to me: When I was in high school (and actually, long before that) I thought success would be a combination of my parents’ thoughts. Of course graduating from a 4 year university was #1. (are you noticing a trend here?) Get a high paying job that I loved and was awesome at. Then get married, but in my vision, my guy would stay home. Or, if not stay home completely, at least have some 2 bit job that didn’t take much time, but would give him some spending money. And he would cook, clean, take care of the babies, and I would bring in the real money. We would live in a nice house in a major city (like in NorCal), have nice cars and basically be able to do whatever we wanted, whenever we wanted. I didn’t think much about this far-off future husband. **In fact, other than the fact that he wouldn’t be as successful as me and would stay home and take care of things there, I didn’t really think of him at all. I’m not sure if this is a dominant thing, a control thing or what, but it really never crossed my mind that I would marry someone that had a better career than me or *gasp* made more money. Maybe that’s because I knew I liked things my way, and if I marry someone who makes less than me, it will always be my way. Because he who makes the money, makes the rules.**

Now, let’s go ahead and take a look at reality. Yes, I went to the 4 year university straight out of college (actually, it was a 5 year school, but same idea). And I went for mechanical engineering. So far, so good following both of my parents’ recipes for success. I got through about 4 years of the 5 year school. Mainly because there was a lot of moving every 3 months, and I was getting burned out. Also because I was doing an internship for the government and pretty much wanted to stab a rusty fork into my eye every day that I had to go to work. Not a good feeling, especially when you know you have another good 40 years of doing the same crap…and you’re not even out of school yet.

So…I quit. (And let me tell you, telling my parents was the worst conversation I’ve ever had in my life). And here I am, over 2 years after deciding not to go back to school. I am engaged to the best man I’ve ever known, whom I wouldn’t have met if I would have stayed in school. He has a wonderful career and makes way more than I do (like, more than double). Because he makes so much more than I do, I am free to have a job that makes me happy. I can do the things that I want to do and that I enjoy. (not right now, in Cali, because when I moved back I just took the first job offered to me, but when we move to BFE, I can pretty much get any job, even if it only pays $10/hr). Meaning, I can be a cell phone salesman (because I LOVE cell phones). Or work in a call center again, which I loved and was really good at. Or be a receptionist. Or basically anything else I want to do.

And I’m happy. I think that was the main thing missing from everyone’s idea of success, even mine. No, I don’t get to tell people I’m a Mechanical Engineer, and see the looks of shock and awe run across their faces. My mom won’t be able to brag to her friends about my career and how much I make. My dad won’t be able to puff his chest out in pride because his daughter graduated from one of the top engineering schools in the nation. But that’s OK. They still love me. They love GTO guy. And they are thrilled that we’re moving back to their state (in fact, I’m living .8 miles away from them), which is no where near a major city of any kind.

So, my life turned out almost exactly opposite of how everyone thought it would. It’s perfect. And successful.

Goodbye Cali

Ok…well, there is something that has been happening behind the scenes in my life right now that I haven’t blogged about yet…mainly because it wasn’t official and I would hate to write about it just to tell everyone that it wasn’t going to happen. So…here it is: GTO guy and I are moving BACK to the state I just came from. At the end of this month.  He has already put in for his transfer and been approved. He already knows what his salary is going to be (and while it is a slight pay cut, it is still more than enough to live comfortably in this other state that is not CA.) We already have an apartment. We already have UHauls rented. It is official. We are moving in about 2 and a half weeks.

Yes, I know this is extremely fast. We have only known of each other’s existence on this planet for 6 months and 3 days. Yes, we’re already engaged and living together right now, but this is a huge deal. This is moving to another state together. He has never even seen this state. I have lived there for about 3 years off and on over the past 5 years. My parents are there. He knows no one there. But me. And my parents. And, well, I know no one there. except my parents, too.

The big thing my friends keep pointing out is that I tried very very hard to get out of that state and back to CA. So why, WHY would I possibly consider moving back?!? Didn’t I hate it there? There were no trees, no water, no ocean, no grass…it was a desert. The people down there either have tons of babies, drink excessively, or do drugs. Or they do all 3. At once. And well, I had to leave because I knew no one and I was bored. I hate being bored. More than anything else, I hate being bored.

But what they don’t get is that now it’s not just about me. It’s about me and GTO guy. We are starting a life together. And we wouldn’t have as good of a life here in CA as we could have in BFE (Bum-Fuck-Egypt, for those who don’t know). I mean, combined, we make over 100K per year. And we are living in an apartment with no dishwasher, no A/C, no washer/drier…and it sucks. And we want better. For us, and for our babies (yes, there will be babies…he’s thinking in 3 years, I’m thinking closer to 5, but either way…). We could afford a house out there, easily. Probably in less than a year( actually, probably now if we wanted to eat Ramen and Mac and Cheese for awhile). In Northern California, though? Um…not for a long, long time. if ever.

In BFE, we’re getting an apartment that’s about 200 sq ft bigger, with A/C, washer and drier IN UNIT and a dishwasher. For about $400 less. I know…it’s amazing.

Now, I love Cali. A lot. I was raised here. It’s gorgeous. I love the diversity of people, cars, beliefs, and cell phones. I love being at the mecca of technology that is Silicon Valley. I love the beach and Great America and the Professional Sports teams. I love that with a 4 hour drive you could be in the mountains or at the beach. I love the weather (even though in the 6 months I’ve been here this time, I think it’s only rained twice, and it’s been insanely hot). I love being at sea level for the drag strip. But, unfortunately, it is just not economical to stay here. CA would bleed us dry. And we would constantly be broke, even though we should be able to be living life high on the hog.

So…we’re gonna do it. BFE, here we come. Goodbye California, I’m going to miss you. I promise we’ll come back to visit!

Terrified of NFL Season

So, at this point, GTO guy and I have been together almost 6 months (in fact, next Tuesday is our 6 month anniversary!). I have known that he is a Raiders fan since about date 2 or 3. I realized he was a dedicated fan after going to his apartment and seeing all the Raiders paraphenalia all over the place; eg. mini Raider helmets (which were signed and kept in little plastic boxes on top of his desk), Raiders clocks, a full sized plastic Raiders locker in his room, etc. I have found out recently, though, that he expects to watch every single game on TV. Which is every Sunday. Which, if you’ll remember this post, is the only day we really have to spend together. He is also one of those NFL fans who yell at the TV, cannot be disturbed during the game, and whose whole day will be ruined if his team loses.

Now, I enjoy football. I also know the rules and can easily follow the game. Mainly because my dad is exactly like GTO Guy (except with the Steelers), and we had season tickets to the 49ers games pretty much my whole life. However, knowing that I am going to be FORCED to watch it every Sunday and Monday for the next 4-5 months or so, scares me. A lot. It officially starts on Sept 8. I know this because GTO guy took the night off from work to watch it. No, I’m not kidding. Pre-season has been going on for the past 3 weeks, and I’ve already had a taste of what is to come. He hasn’t forced us to stay in and watch it (Thank God!) but he is constantly checking his phone for the scores (because he has NFL mobile on his cell phone), to the point where I want to kill him. Or just not go out and just stay home and watch the damn thing on TV. He gets tudey* when the Raiders lose. He has also told me that when watching the game with him, I am not allowed, under any circumstances, to root for the other team. Not even jokingly to make the games more exciting. Because it will upset him and ruin his day even more if the other team wins.

As I mentioned before, my dad was exactly like this. On Sundays and Mondays during football season, my mom and I just learned to entertain ourselves because my dad just wasn’t going to be budged from the couch. And that was fine, because he was my dad and not my fiance. I had friends to go hang out with, playing to do outside, and basically other things to occupy me. But now, GTO Guy is who I want to hang out with. And if we had normal schedules and had more than one day to hang out, this would be fine. But Sundays are our only real day to spend together. And I KNOW that there are going to be fights about it. Mainly because I’m not willing to sacrifice my whole day with him sitting in front of the TV watching a sport that I don’t care that much about. And of course I’m going to say so. In probably not the nicest, sweetest way.

Now, I think I’m a fairly “cool” girlfriend. I get along with his friends, and they like me. I have no problem watching him play video games, whether it be at our house on xBox live or at his friend’s house, and they are all playing together. I have no problem hearing him and his friends talk about cars, and can generally hold my own in the conversation (or at least follow the conversation enough to understand what they’re talking about). Not only am I OK with him going to the track (much unlike any of his friends’ GF’s), but I will go with him. Willingly. And will even race my truck (which he told me he thought was awesome, especially cuz his friends were all jealous at how cool I was. SEE?). I am also fine with him spending money to make his car faster or better looking (provided we have the money, of course).  There are a lot of things that I think separate me from the “average” girlfriend. However. The thought of football? Every Sunday and Monday? For the next 5 months? Already irritated.

So…I’ll keep ya posted on the next 5 months…and let you know if he’s still living to see the Super Bowl…should be interesting…

*our little word for getting an attitude with the other person…short for attitude-y

What The City Taught Me

Living about 45 minutes away from San Francisco means that I’ve spent some time there. When family is town from all over the country, we would take them to SF to be tourists and show them around. After high school (the summer between high school and college, actually) we would go out to the city to go to clubs and parties. When I came back to CA to visit in between terms at school, my friends and I would regularly go there to go shopping, catch a show at the theater or eat at one of the restaurants. Because of these excursions, I always considered myself fairly knowledgeable about the city and was comfortable telling people from other states that I was from San Francisco. However, I have never been to SF during a weekday, and apparently, that’s where you tell the natives from the tourists. The following are lessons I learned courtesy of the lovely San Franciscan natives: 

• If you do not begin moving the instant the light turns green, people will honk at you, and then speed past you at the first available opportunity and give you a dirty look and/or mean hand gestures.
• Some meters only allow you to put money in for up to an hour. An hour! How ridiculous is this?? What can you possibly do in an hour??
• If you are 7 minutes late, you will receive a $45 ticket for said meter.
• If you are parked on a hill (which, let’s face it, you will always be in SF) and you do not point your wheels toward the curb, you will have a cute little diagram placed on your window advising you of how to properly park on a hill.
•  You will see Lamborghinis and Bentleys next to Pintos and people with shopping carts.
• Pigeons will fly directly at you for no reason whatsoever, scaring the crap out of you.
• You will learn that your complete inability to parallel park, while not a big deal in any other place, will quickly be your downfall in SF.
• You will sit in the worst traffic of your life trying to get on the Bay Bridge around 5 pm, and it will make you want to put your car in park, get out, and fling yourself over the side.

So, while I may tell people when I travel to different states that I am from San Francisco (a practice I began because telling them the name of the city that I actually come from only got me blank stares and confusion), I found out yesterday that this is not true. I am not from San Francisco. I am from suburbia. And prefer it that way. I was so overwhelmed and stressed by driving in the city, that when I got home, I was exhausted.

 **So maybe this means I should think about changing my name on this blog to Suburbia Girl….**

Why Can’t I Care…?

**First let me thank everyone who commented on my last post and made me feel better. I do, in fact, feel better! So thanks!! =)**

I found out a couple of weeks ago that my aunt on my mom’s side has cancer and most likely will be passing away within the next month or so. She had kidney cancer about 12 years ago, but after removing a large portion of her kidney and continuing to do radiation therapy on it and having multiple checkups in the year after the surgery, she was told that the cancer was completely gone, and I guess they stopped looking for it. Because they just found out that it had metastasized in every organ in her body. And that because of how advanced it is, there is nothing they can do about it.

My aunt was a part of my life from the time I was a baby. She was at all of my birthday parties and we would go over to her house every holiday season and have dinner. Her grandkids (my cousins) would come down from Washington every summer and I would spend just about every day of the summer with them. She continues to send me birthday cards, even though my mom insists that she should stop because I am over 18. She was one of the 5 people my parents brought to my highschool graduation (we were only allowed 5 tickets because of the limited seating in the hall). When I was 12 and developed an unhealthy love of animal print decorations, she bought me more pillows and pajama sets than I can count of leopard and cheetah print.

Based upon the previous paragraph, it seems like I am a terrible person for not being able to care so much about her passing away. There are parts that I haven’t told you yet. Like, she would make fun of my weight constantly. In many different ways. Like, one Thanksgiving, I got up to get a slice of pumpkin pie, and she said in front of everyone “are you sure you need that? your pants are looking kind of tight as it is.” Or, when my cousins were in town every summer, and I would put on my swimsuit, she would pinch my hips and say things like “you’re way more confident than I am! I would never wear a bathing suit if I looked like that!” I, to this day, will not wear a bathing suit. When she would get me shirts or PJ sets for Christmas, after I opened them, she would say “I got an Extra Large so they should fit, but if they’re still too tight, I saved the receipt.” She also would make fun of my acne. I didn’t have a lot, but around 14-17, it was definitely there. She would ask if I’ve seen the commercials for the OxiClean wipes or things like that, and if I said yes, she would ask why I didn’t use them. I used to fight back and tell her that I did use them, they just weren’t working! She would then laugh and say that I must be doing it wrong. As if there is a wrong way to use those. She made me cry more times than I can count, and always at big family events so everyone else would hear. And my mom never defended me. She just let her say those things and would try to make me feel better later.

The worst part is that my mom is devastated. She has spent the last couple weeks at her side doing everything she can to make her more comfortable. And my aunt is now turning her venom on my mom. Calling my mom fat and stupid and a ton of other names. And my mom just takes it. She says that she’s in a lot of pain and is really depressed and that we need to be there for her no matter what because she is family. My mom has cried silently, without her sister noticing, so as to not upset her. I understand about being there for family, but she was a mean woman. All her life, not just now when she’s “hurt and depressed.” My mom tries to make me feel guilty because I don’t want to have anything to with her. The only reason I’ve seen her at all is to be there for my mom. Does this make me a bad person? Should I be caring more than I do? She hasn’t asked for forgiveness, in fact, she’s just gotten worse, but should I overlook that and be there for her no matter what? I feel bad because I think I SHOULD care about this…but I just can’t. Any insight or comments would be appreciated…