Being Honest With Myself: Part II

Making a change begins with the decision that it's time to move on. In this sense, I was a classic hypocrite for quite a while; I would complain till I was blue in the face, but I never attempted to change it. Since second semester freshman year I was made terribly aware that Oshkosh is a dead-end town for someone like me. I thrive in big cities with millions of people and thousands of jobs. The Fox Valley area was never going to make the cut.

Conveniently, the end of my lease was coming up, and being a temp made saying "I'm outtie!" a lot easier. Plus, my parents have been living in the suburbs just outside of my favorite city for the last four years. While I was dreading moving in with them, it was a much better situation than where I was. Bruce Brazos (John Malcovich's character in the third Transformers movie) said it best: "First job out of college is critical. You either take the step down the correct career path, or you fall into a life-sucking abyss."

Since graduation, I'd had two jobs, both of them temporary and neither having anything to do with my major. As a side-note, in the 9 months I spent in Oshkosh after graduation, I was only employed for five of them. Rather than getting stuck in Oshkosh, I decided to pack it in and start over.

Considering I'm no stranger to relocation, I started making mental lists of things to do, and I also prepared myself to tell my friends and then-boyfriend, who I call Jigsaw. I wanted to call him Cowboy (he was raised on a ranch in the boondocks of Winchester, and he came to me fully decked out in a cowboy hat and boots, and he had that irresistible Southern gentleman charm), but I found Jigsaw more fitting (punny!) because he truly completed my life at that point in time, and calling him Cowboy didn't quite have the affectionate tone I was grasping for. I was 5-months graduated, and I had finally found a long-term (albeit temporary) position. In my three-part life, (consisting of a steady income, shelter and love), I was only missing someone to share my success with. Jigsaw pulled everything into place.

However, not very long into our whirlwind romance, major deal-breaking disagreements began to surface. As I've previously stated, I had no interest in staying in Oshkosh, the college town of 67,000 inhabitants. Completely the opposite, Jigsaw had no interest in ever leaving Oshkosh. At least not for a bigger city. He pined after the life his newly-engaged sister was building with her fiancé. They had just purchased a house in the boonies where their nearest neighbor was a good ten-minute walk. It came fully equipped with a barn, a few acres of land, an above-ground pool, and the peace and quiet that only the country can offer. In addition to this, we couldn't come to an agreement about religion. I had no problem going to church on Sundays with him and his parents (I even went once without him!), but we had vastly different views on how we would raise our children. It became clear very quickly that, while Jigsaw may have been "fun for now," neither of us were willing to budge, and there can be no future without compromise.

Clearly, Chicago had big plans for me; it had made everything so easy. I had a place to live, family to take care of me, and nobody holding me back. Within three weeks of moving I had found a job, and a special someone to spend my time with. Hopefully within six months to a year I'll make enough money (and build up enough job security) to find my own place. Not that living with my parents is nearly as horrible as I thought it would be, but after 5 years of independent living, it kills me to have to pick up the phone and say, "My plans changed. I won't be home by 9, so please don't assume I'm murdered when I don't show up."

Being Honest with Myself: Part I

I wrote this post in June or July during my 4-month stint at Kimberly-Clark, where I worked as a Consumer Services Specialist. I took calls from concerned consumers about the quality of Huggies Diapers and Pull-Ups. A lot has changed since then and I'll be more than happy to catch you up. But here it is, as it was written in it's original form:

According to Big Boss Lady, it’s okay that I’m not happy taking diaper calls. I am a temp, and it’s okay if I’m only here because I need the money. Considering how miserable I’ve been, this is great news. I was to the point of chanting in the mirror every morning, “It is my job to answer the phone and I love my job.” I think it was Abraham Lincoln who said that we can control our emotions? Allow me to enlighten you: This is codswallop. Well, maybe you can to a point, but the statement is a relatively large amount of steaming crock. You can abate your anger, but you can’t really make it go away. You cannot convince yourself to love someone or something. You can blink back tears, but you can't help what brings them to your eye.

Let me break my situation down for you: I’ve never lost a close family member. I’ve never lost a friend to suicide. No one in my immediate family is suffering from a serious illness. I have a roof over my head and food in my fridge. And yes, I'm incredibly aware how fortunate I am. Someday I’m sure I will get a reality check, but until then, this is my life, and these are the things that are important to me and have the ability to upset, fascinate, bewilder, and intoxicate me

So far, I’ve had 9 jobs that I couldn’t stand and I’m beginning to lose hope that there’s anything out there that’ll keep me happy on the regular. It’s unrealistic to think that any job I have will make me happy daily, but I would like to go home at the end of the day and not think, “Only four more hours till I fall asleep and do it all over again,” which leads to stress and tears.

I've decided to be honest with myself: I was never meant to answer phones. I have no patience for people who think they have problems and really don’t. One faulty diaper out of a box of 174 isn’t going to break your bank. I assure you all: I'm aware times are tight. Additionally, I actually don’t need a life story and a printout of your financials to justify sending you coupons.

What I do need is to discover what I’m passionate about, and I think it’s long past time. For years I have been adamant about not having much skill… I love to sing, but I’m no Xtina. I love to write, but I’m no Rowling. I love (judging the director’s decisions in) movies, but I’m no Christopher Nolan. I love cars, but I'm no Jeremy Clarkson. And I love to travel, but I’m no millionaire. Last time I checked, I was just Kelly. But that doesn’t mean I have nothing to offer society. I need more than to just be passionate about these things; I need to find a way to incorporate them into my life. But nothing is that easy. Who is going to let an English major with no minor (and serious delusions of grandeur) into their office based solely on the amount of passion I exhibit? No one. Which makes me not want to try.

I can't let that get to me, though. I’m breaking the cycle. I won’t let me bring myself down. I’ve got to try, and I need to start somewhere.

GFK 101

GFK was once asked what he doesn't do well. After a momentary pause he responded, “Humble.” Clearly stated and understood by all who know him.

So if you guys read The 411, you might have said, "Ummm... GFK?"

GFK is my best friend of four years. Defining our friendship, or even writing about it, might prove to be one of the most difficult challenges I'll ever set for myself. However, no matter what I end up saying about him, the story always starts the same:

It was my first day on the job at Reeve Memorial Union and someone was supposed to train me. I found my manager and she said, "I'll be right back. I'm going to get GFK." I immediately thought, "Oh my God, here we go." Because you always get stuck with this crusty old dude who's been with the company for way too long. Very boring.

Well, not so much. GFK walked out. I looked at my engagement ring (I'd been wearing it a solid 3 days) and groaned, "Oh, shit." Out comes this tall, gorgeous young thing with sparkling blue eyes and one hell of a swagger. The flirtation was heavy, but we were both very dedicated to our significant others (he had a girlfriend of over a year). We talked at work, but never really hung out outside of it, talked on the phone, texted or anything else that might suggest something outside of a normal coworker relationship. GFK and his girlfriend eventually did break up, but I remained tied down by the ring on my finger. (I'll explain in a later post why I can't seem to mention my engagement in a positive manner.)

The moment I stopped working for the Union (May 2008), GFK and I stopped talking. Whether or not we made contact outside of work, my engagement was in serious danger with him around: my imagination would wander constantly--what would it be like if GFK and I were both single? Awesome, probably.

It wasn't until 9 months after I quit Reeve that I ran into GFK at the library. We got to talking, exchanged numbers, and started hanging out pretty regularly, mostly consisting of visits to the library to do homework. Except you couldn't get us to shut up, so nothing ever got done.

My next vivid memory of him takes place in my kitchen during my junior year. He was cooking for me--pan-seared tilapia, asparagus, and mushrooms--and telling me I needed to end my relationship with Freckled. (He didn't have freckles or anything, but every time I think of him, I think of my engagement ring, which had pretty poor clarity. It was freckled and dirty, like our relationship.)

At any rate, GFK was right. I wasn't in love with Freckled anymore. Little did I know, this was GFK's way of throwing himself at me. Had I dropped Freckled, GFK and I likely would have started dating not too long after.

Long story short, it took me about 6 more months to actually end my engagement. GFK and I finally had the chance to test the waters and... nothing happened. We questioned the possibility of this being a fluke for quite a while, but were able to put our tensions aside and settle into a comfortable friendship at this point.


My favorite memory of GFK is the day I graduated college. My family was in town and we were out celebrating at the bars the night before. It was looking to be a late night, so I asked GFK to make sure I was up on time in the morning. I said nothing more than this. He showed up at eight on the dot, wearing his best suit, with a coffee and doughnut in-hand to make sure this graduate was prepared to walk across the stage. He drove me there, and when I dropped my tassel without noticing, he backtracked the three blocks in the snow to try and find it.

Four years and countless trips to Starbucks later (before I graduated we had given up lying to ourselves about going to the library to "study"), I questioned him about the origins of the nickname "GFK." I'll give it to you in his words:

“It wasn’t made up. It already existed and we discovered it. It’s like that debate Aristotle had with that other guy, you know who I'm talking about. The debate was about whether or not math existed or was made up. Was it always there? Or did we make it up to explain a natural occurrence? They uncovered math. We uncovered GFK. I don’t remember the situation exactly, but I know that one day we were talking and you were telling me how something I wanted to do was going to be impossible. And I laughed and I said, ‘Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m Glen Fucking Kowalski.’ And by the grace of God, it stuck with you, and you alone. You kept it alive.”

Operation: Amuse Bear

My current occupation? Dog-sitter. It sounds great, and it is great, because the dog I'm currently sitting is not only one of the greatest dogs ever, but he also has some weird quirks that make my time with him very interesting. His name is Bear.

Operation: Amuse Bear is going well so far (e.g. the water bottle hasn't had to act as mediator). The first morning during our walk Bear was being a little difficult... stopping a lot is what I really mean. After a while I got pretty good at getting him to keep the pace. Until... SQUIRREL! He moved at the pace of about 2 feet per minute, and eventually (because he doesn't like being tugged), he sat right in the middle of the street. So I waltzed over, picked his butt up and put him on the grass. He looked at me, looked toward where the squirrel had been, looked back at me and went, "Oh yeah?" And plopped his butt down in the grass. I sat in front of him, gave him some loving, and then we had a talk.

"Bear. Bear? Are you mad at me?"
"I can't even look at you right now."
"I'm sorry about the squirrel, but you can't just plop down any old place. People are leaving for work and need the street."
"But the squirrel!"
"How about a cookie?"

Conservation over.

I was determined not to make the same mistake the second day. I grabbed his toy and, because it's too big for my pocket, I unzipped my jacket and stuffed it in there. After he had done his business, I squeaked the toy. I had his attention. He jumped for me, tail wagging. A toy in his mouth makes the walk much smoother; he's so occupied by the object that sometimes he forgets to sniff around and pee on everything.

At one point, pretty early on in the walk, he dropped the toy and it rolled to the side. He went after it quickly, and shoved his nose into three times. I heard him saying, "This is my toy! I love my toy! I will not abandon my toy!" So he picked it up, but after that his efforts to hold on were pretty half-baked. His will is only as strong as the nearest scent trail. About halfway through we came to a scent that was much more interesting, and the smooth walk we'd been having turned into Chicago traffic: start, stop, are we go--oh! Nope. False alarm!

I guess now would be a good time to interject that Bear is relatively skittish. If we're laying on the floor, sometimes I will set down the remote control in what I believe is a gentle manner. But Bear's head shoots straight up and he looks toward the source of the noise. It takes him a bit, but he eventually decides the noise is non-threatening and will resume laying half on top of me.

Well, this particular morning was Friday, which means garbage day. Let me put it to you this way: Bear-1, Garbage Truck-8 (+~3?). While Bear did eventually succeed in passing the garbage truck, the noises coming from it (the squeaking wheels, the hissing noises, the general rumble of the engine) made him look at me like, "Seriously? You want me to pass that?" He walked across the sidewalk in the same line 6 or 7 times, unable to get himself to move closer to the green monster. He didn't want to get closer, but it was approaching him, and he didn't want to turn his back on it either. Eventually, the monster was only two houses away on the opposite side of the street and Bear decided to get brave. He walked quickly to my right side, putting me between him and the truck, and snuck past it. Let the smooth sailing commence.

After running into some friendly neighbors there was an extra bounce in his step. I wish it hadn't been so short-lived.

GASP! School bus, lady taking in garbage bins, bunny, children on sidewalk, dog barking at next corner. So what did Bear do? He started hyperventilating and plopped his butt right down, naturally. SYSTEM OVERLOAD. What to do, what to do? Chase bunny! Which is equivalent to dragging me across the street. I could have controlled him, but the school bus was getting closer, and I figured it was safer just to cross than to risk him laying in the middle of the road in defiance. He quickly lost sight of the bunny, so he looked across the street to the lady with the garbage bin, whose two dogs had wandered out after her. Bear immediately resumed stalking position, which gave me a moment to assess the situation. Up ahead, the way was clearing: the children were loading onto the bus, and the dog up the street was being guided away. In a fit of impatience (a little at Bear, but mostly at garbage-bin lady who chose an untimely moment to perform chores), I took the abandoned toy in my hand and started using Bear's head to squeak it. This got his attention. He looked at me as if to say, "You are such an embarrassment." We got up, and to the promise of a cookie, we (mostly) trotted home.

Standing at the crack between the driveway at the garage door, we had one last conversation. No matter how much I patted his butt or said the word, "Cookie?" he just sat there. Finally, he made a jump for my jacket.

"Collateral, please."

I gave him the toy, we walked inside, and he would not give me that stupid yellow toy until his kong was filled with dog food.