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On Aging: From 6 to 7…

In 12 days, I turn 27.

I tend to have an issue going from ages that end in 6 to ages that end in 7.  It seems like such a huge change.

I mean, from age 6 to age 7, you go from kindergarten to first grade.  Huge.

From 16 to 17, you go from carefree and fun-loving to starting to worry about college, and where you’ll go, and what you want to do with your life. HUGER.

And now, I’ll go from 26 to 27.  26.  My “mid-twenties”.  I’ll go into my waning late-twenties.  27.  Three years from 30.  27.

7 even looks like a more mature number than 6.  6 is like a little chubby kid, round and lopped over and standing steady on a wide base.  7 is like the cooler older sister that 6 tries to be–tall, slim, standing high in stilettos.

But with that tall, slim figure and heightened view come bigger responsibilities:  being a grown-up, fighting with your own insurance company (highlight of my day, lemme tell ya), picking your battles, battling your biological clock, money.  And that, my friends, is the HUGEST.

Mike told me last night that people are happiest at the age of 33.  I believe it.  You’re far away from 6’s and 7’s, you’ve probably got some routine to your life, people that you’re happy with, maybe even some nuggets.

But for now, I’m fighting 7–enjoying my last 12 days as a chubby kid who hasn’t yet had the realization that there’s no going back to childhood at this point–that each year now is just another year closer to more responsibility…and I hope some pleasant surprises.

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Posted by on April 10, 2012 in Daily Happenings

 

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Grandpa’s 81!

Grandpa Gene is 81!  Whoa.  And if you’re not from Clyde or Fremont, Ohio, you don’t know this, but Grandpa’s birthday is almost a national holiday (ask him, go ahead).  For weeks, he readies himself for this big occasion.  It’s a celebration all around town, at the Drug Mart and the Speedway, at McDonald’s and the Circle K, the VFW and all the places where Grandpa makes his rounds each day.

One of the things I love most about my Grandpa is that he loves Loves LOVES lottery tickets (probably more than he loves his own birthday).  Scratchers.  All the time.  🙂  In fact, when he owned Gene’s Drive-Thru Carry-Out in Clyde (I think I have my post for tomorrow), the slogan on his t-shirts (and for the store in general) was “Play the Lotto with Slotto!”

Didn't believe me, didja?

Grant in his t-shirt.

So Grandpa had an awesome birthday.  And he got a lot of lottery tickets.

Grant, Grandma, Grandpa

Every time Grandpa opened a gift at his birthday party, Grant would say, “More lottery tickets?!”  He did get quite a few lottery tickets.  I can see how a kid would be disappointed with repeat presents.

The other thing I love about Grandpa is his love for all Cleveland teams.  See the Wahoo shirt?  That’s one of hundreds, I’m sure.  And Grandma (isn’t she frickin’ adorable?) is the same way.  She loves watching the Cleveland Indians.

And we all came to celebrate at my parents’ house in Fremont.  Even baby Jax!  Now where are we going to find a tiny Gene’s Drive-Thru shirt for him?

 
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Posted by on November 15, 2011 in Daily Happenings

 

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Comforts of Home

A familiar smell
An open door
Yellow porch lights
Brewing coffee
Daddy singing
Momma cooking
Waiting for Petey
And long runs around the country block.

 
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Posted by on October 15, 2011 in Daily Happenings

 

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Happy Birthday to My Dad

Dear Daddy,

I know you rarely read my blog, which is probably for the best with all of my Guilt-Free 3’s and pictures of sexy men.  Your little girl doesn’t think like that, right?  🙂

I want to thank you for teaching me goofy words.
For teaching me to be strong.
For taking me to the dam so I could see a “waterfall.”
For driving me over the Michigan state line so that I could say I’d been out of Ohio.
For driving all the way back to Elyria to get me a dollhouse that I pouted about.
For letting me watch WWF wrestling with you.
For playing my Michael Jackson “BAD” record over and over and over…
For taking care of me, Pete and Momma.
For helping me sneak liquor into dry weddings.
For only laughing a little when that pheasant pecked me on the head.
For moving me to and from Ashland and North Carolina and Pennsylvania, and finally back to Ohio.
For helping me buy new cars.
For fixing all of my flat tires.
For putting up with the guys I dated.
For letting me draw you like I did in elementary school.
For not letting Mom kill me when I got a tattoo.
For driving me all over the place.
For letting me drive your car when I was 16.
For helping me get unlost even though I call you from Virginia and tell you what road I’m on.
For making me wooden blocks when I was little.
For welding my name into a piece of metal.
For keeping my picture in your toolbox.

I also want to tell you that you’re the best darn daddy there ever was, and that I will never forget everything you’ve done for me.

I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.  And I’m excited that I’ll be able to come home and share it with you!  This time last year, I was just starting my job (1 year at Foundation yesterday!), had just moved to a new place, and I wasn’t able to come home to see you.  But now I can!  So I’ll see you tonight!  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DADDY!

 
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Posted by on September 30, 2011 in Daily Happenings

 

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Nicknaming My Little Brother

My little brother’s name is Jason.  But no one calls him that.  Lemme guess–you’d expect “Jay” or his last name.  But no.  When I was little, I started a long tradition of never calling Jason by his real name.  He’s been Honkabo, Honks, Hammy, Betty, Judy (I’m not real sure why he answered to these), Spike (when he used to want to be a puppy), Hambone (again, with this and Hammy, I’m not sure-he was never chunky), and I think the longest standing nickname has been Petey, or just Pete for short.

It’s obvious that none of these names are even close to “Jason”.  I don’t know where they come from.  But he calls me stupid stuff, too.  For a long time he called me Chuck Liddell (this is a stupid story) and he’s always called me Hoot.  Hell, everyone calls me Hoot.

But Honkabo?  Hammy?  Betty?  Whatever I called him, he always answered.

I think that’s the good thing about little brothers.  They take a lot of crap from you, and they give it back.  But you know what?  They’re there when you need them.

I think I could do a whole series on Petey.  Hm…

 

 
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Posted by on June 17, 2011 in Daily Happenings

 

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The Waiting Generation

My friend Jody asked me (and my mother silently asks me day after day) why my generation is waiting until later on in life to have get married, have children, start families.

I have a few theories on this.  THEORIES.  So don’t jump down my throat, okay?  This is just from my rattling 26-year-old brain that resides in my childless 26-year-old body on which resides a ringless 26-year-old finger.  Disclaimer:  This is not me complaining, it is just putting my comments into perspective.

I am part of the Waiting Generation–which is ironic.  We’re all so impatient to get things-information, the latest technology, instant contact, instant gratification…  But we put a hold on the moments in life that used to be the moments generations before us looked forward to, worked for, relished in, and any other number of prepositional phrases.

So why are we waiting?

1)  College.  We all were expected to go to college, which creates some problems.  We’re lacking skilled trade workers, and we’re all vying for college-level jobs.  Not to mention, because we went to college, we feel that we are entitled to things.  Better things than our parents had.  Better things than our friends have.  We are motivated in the work place, plus we feel that if we have to pay back the MASSIVE amount of student loans that most of us have hanging over our heads, we better be making damn good money.  Marriage and children cost money; therefore, we avoid them.

2)  Permission.  I’m not blaming our parents for this.  I’m not really blaming anyone.  Well, maybe society.  We still feel like we can live with our parents until we’re 30.  And sometimes, we have to.  No full-time job?  Well, how are we supposed to live on our own?  And with our college degrees in hand, God forbid we pick up a shift at the local Denny’s.  By living at home, we pretty much lose half of our prospective marriage partners because people that we are willing to date/marry look at us and say, “You’re living with your parents…”  It’s not a fair assessment, and it sucks, but it’s true.

3)  Inability to Meet People.  They tell us that our college years are the new golden years.  Fantastic.  And if that’s the case, you don’t want to “tie yourself down.”  So we don’t date anyone seriously.  We tell ourselves that we’re still so young in college, the way our parents told themselves how young they were in high school.  College IS the new high school.  And then we don’t meet anyone in college.  Sometimes we find partners in grad school, but even then, we’re so focused on getting that higher degree to put us above the Bachelor’s degrees out there, that we overlook love.  And when we get out of school…well, if you don’t remember how hard a time I had finding at least FRIENDS around here, I think it’d be doubly hard to find a mate.

4)  The Lure of Youth.  You see it everywhere.  Everyone’s mourning their aging (myself included) and trying to get back to being young.  From miracle salon products to Hollywood, to finally being at an age where we see those around us growing older.  We’re trying to hold on to our youth, and trying to remain independent, so that no one else can force aging upon us.

5)  Geography.  Even in the perfect storm (take me for example), things get in the way of marriage and children.  In the economy, and in this society, we are slaves to our jobs.  They’re few and far between, and we take what we can get, where we can get it.  So even though I met Mike in grad school, we ended up living in different states because we need our jobs…to pay for our student loans, to give us our independence, to keep us out of our parents’ homes.  And we can try as much as we want to move together, but because we both chose fairly specialized majors in college, we’re having a hard time finding a region that contains opportunity for us both

The truth is that we’re all about 5-10 years behind our parents.  High degrees are now required to set us apart from the masses, where once a Bachelors’ degree sufficed.  So we’re spending so much more time in school, chasing our careers to make our student loans seem a little less scary, yet at the same time, feeling entitled to not grow up.  We’re afraid to take responsibility for someone other than ourselves.

There are people out there, though, who did meet someone in college, or in high school even, and followed suit.  I see nothing wrong with the way my parents lived, or that entire generation, as a matter of fact.  They raised us.  And we’re driven, and successful, and smart.  But something happened along the line.  Somewhere, we became afraid of commitment.  The main reason, though?  We’ve forgotten what it is to live for someone else. 

 
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Posted by on May 24, 2011 in Domesticity

 

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Drunksgiving

Is this a foreign concept to everyone outside of Fremont, Ohio?

Every Wednesday before Thanksgiving, it is tradition to go to the bar–the Depot to be more specific.  And we call it Drunksgiving.

Everyone is home, you know?  Everyone you went to high school and junior high and elementary school with.  They’re all home.  And they’re all at the Depot, and they’re all drunk and in good spirits.  It’s a great time.  When you don’t live in your hometown anymore, it’s nice to be able to go to one place–one crowded, sweaty, smokey, wonderful place–and see the people you haven’t seen all year.

It’s nice to catch up.  But you always run the risk of seeing someone you really didn’t want to see.

Let’s just hope that happens AFTER you’ve had a few.

Happy Drunksgiving, everyone!

 
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Posted by on November 24, 2010 in Daily Happenings

 

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