The Finish Line

Oh ah, GEEZ, where did y’all come from? I have knitting bloggers out there! I had no idea! How THRILLING. Also, I kind of love all of you and wish you all commented more, because we could be e-mail friends and I LOVE e-mail friends (ask the birthday boy and Lawyerish), even though sometimes, when I get very busy, I am not as good as I should be at returning one-offs in a timely fashion. But I am trying to get better! And I HATE when I do that (Jennifer from Seattle-ish, I’m looking at you, because I AM SORRY.)

I love knitting bloggers, and read quite a few of them (even other than Crazy Aunt Purl, and who DOESN’T read Laurie? Which reminds me: I love her. If there is anyone who does the big blogger-slash-author thing with humility and class, it’s Laurie. So if you don’t read her, please read her now. I also owe her for leading me to Jen, who I also love. And looky-me, aren’t I just all LOVEY today?). I think my knitting bloggery might be because I cannot knit, and have, in fact, about eleventy million scarves — or at least I did, because shit, where are they now that I’m going to need them? — and a half-knitted sweater with one arm for a Keebler Elf, and another for Andre the Giant. Well, if he were alive. I’m pretty sure his corpse-y arm would fit into the sweater, as it’s either cremated or emaciated. Either way, it’s gross, and I’m sorry I brought you there.

So! I quit my job yesterday, and it went over better than I expected. This, naturally, can be taken several ways and what kind of kills me about that is that there was NO WAY FOR THEM TO WIN. If they threw themselves in front of me, begging me to stay, I would have felt like a royal shit because I couldn’t, of course. And if they were gracious and happy about it, which they were, then it means THEY DO NOT LOVE ME ENOUGH. BEG ME TO STAY YOU INGRATES. But ultimately, I’m happy, and I’m crediting the happiness and smooth resignation to all of you and your happy, kind thoughts. Do you want a cookie? Perhaps a wheel of cheese made with farm-fresh rennets? Ooh ooh — I know, a pickled CARROT.

However, I did bring at least one co-worker to tears and another’s face fell like a little boy when he said, “NOOO,” which both touched me and broke my heart. And yet another announced that secretly she was thrilled because it meant we could finally be friends, as until I quit, it would have been inappropriate. And now that I think about it, that sounds super-awkward, and I guess … I guess it is, but awkwardness is my game. I embody awkward.

And for some reason, and perhaps only journalists will appreciate the ridiculous dorky nature of this statement, when I told my friend Vivek that I quit my job in like, PARAGRAPH SIX, he responded with a snarky, “Way to bury the lede. God.” And then I realized I’m going to miss the whole thing, but it’s GOING TO BE OKAY. THERE WILL BE CHEESE. And Ben & Jerry’s. Totally lots of Ben & Jerry’s. (Seriously, B&J is only an hour away. DANGER, WILL JONNIKER)

And hey, speaking of ice cream — because things can’t get any more random than this — I have a flavor question for you: black raspberry ice cream. Do you know it? Love it? Ever seen it? In Pennsylvania, where I grew up, it was one of the most popular flavors, and it’s been my favorite since I was about six. I recently had a hankering for it, and honestly, I can’t find it anywhere in Florida (well, my particular odd part of the state). I can find five-way chili because I live in a land of Ohioans and I can even get a Chicago Italian beef sandwich, but I can’t find the damn ice cream. And a quick survey at work says that at least two people — one from Florida, one from Indiana — have never heard of it. To which I ask you: seriously? Black raspberry ice cream is one of the world’s best things. I found Haagen Dazs black raspberry vanilla chip, which is NOT THE SAME.

And finally, if it’s not too much to ask, if you have a spare moment between 1 & 2 p.m. tomorrow, perhaps you could think, “LINDSEY. THIS IS TOTALLY THE HOUSE YOU WANT. SIGN ON THE DOTTED LINE,” that would be awesome. For Lindsey, our tenant prospect, is coming by for a “final look” to make sure she’s “100 %” with the renting of our house. I sort of love Lindsey and she’s perfect for us, and I WANT HER. I WANT HER BAD. (And also am in process of finalizing my own lease for a house that has a creek and an apple tree, and would like not to have to start over. Yes.)

Happy Friday! Thank you again, for everything. You’re all awfully nice and helpful.

*Snow Patrol

35 comments February 7th, 2008