It’s no secret that series finales have a special way of turning this tough girl into a sobbing mess, and Six Feet Under’s last episode has rendered me quite useless.
I was introduced to the series by an old friend a few summers ago, and I’ve been an HBO evangelist ever since. I don’t think a show has ever broken my heart so many times, but that’s what I love most about it.
Sunday nights won’t be the same anymore.
People have always told me how much I look, talk and act like my mother. Grandma always calls me by Mom’s name — and usually doesn’t catch her mistake. When I met my boss at my internship this summer, he stared at me for several second before saying, “You look just like your mother” — he’d worked with her when she was my age.
And now that I’m living my Psuedo Grown Up life, playing house with my fiancé, it’s striking how much the maternal (or just domestic?) instinct has kicked in. I never used to care if there were dishes in the sink — now it drives me crazy. I’m actually buying groceries before I get hungry. I have favorite brands of cleaning products.
And I just got off the phone with Q, warning him to be careful when driving home tonight.
“Be careful on Naismith, because the mailman told me that it floods and carries cars off into the creek…but don’t go around to Ousdahl, it’s the worst. It gets really deep. If it’s deep enough that you can’t tell how deep it is, don’t go through it. I don’t want you floating off into the creek.”
I think it was actually my dad who gave me the driving-in-floods lecture, but the rest of my yet-underdeveloped homemaking skills come from Mom.
If only I could get Q trained as well Mom has trained Dad, then I’d be a happy woman.
(Sweetheart, thanks for making the bed.)
Starting last Monday, I have a new job. And an office.
I’m still in the journalism school, but I’m no longer a peon lab assistant. My official title is “student hourly programmer,” but I think I’m going to put “Department of Awesome” on my door. Really, I just do whatever Staci tells me to. I get paid to hang out in the newsroom and put my IB-endowed problem solving skills to use. It’s sweet.
This week, I became (assistant?) sys admin of an Xserve and a Red Hat box, created user accounts and installed customized WordPress blogs for our 12 new online producers, installed updates on the servers, started an ambitious overhaul of our (my) tech tutorial site for the multimedia reporters, helped plan a semester’s worth of weekly assignments for the Online Writing and Production course, attempted to organize my inherited mess of an office, admired and documented F&O’s still unfinished attempts at setting up our new flat-panel 42″ screens, Windex-ed the training lab monitors (voluntarily — I can’t stand the fingerprints), went to a bunch of training sessions for my copy editing shifts at the Kansan, came up with some awesome (hopefully) uncrackable password and wore some really cute shoes.
Mostly, it was a lot of fun. Working 14 1/2 hours on Thursday (8 paid, 5 1/2 unpaid at the Kansan) kinda sucked, but hopefully that was just a one-time thing.
I’d post pictures of my office, but I’m still trying to persuade people to come and see it in person. Maybe there’ll be photos after I throw away the mountains of ColdFusion books and floppy disks. That’s definitely on the agenda for this week.
It’s been two days since Q and I moved into our apartment.
I often think of
the sweet gig I could have right
now. Cue the facepalm.
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