No place like NEPA?

Aside from knitting and packing, I have been trying once again to find a job. Difficulty: 1900 miles away. Presently, I'm attempting to turn my life into a real-life version of The Nanny Diaries. I'm hoping it all works out with my school schedule and whatnot. If not, it's back to the classifieds for me.

I'm feeling slightly...erm...nervous about the move. Added challenge: effin terrorists and new security regulations at airports. More things to stress me out. I mean, not that I care about the terrorists. I mean, what are the chances that they would want to be flying to Albuquerque anyway? Slim to none, and slim just rode out of town on a fast horse. However, the TSA people can be a bit intimidating. (And they always yell at you in Philly. Always!) Plus, I really like being able to drink water whenever I want. So does my guinea pig, who will be my traveling companion. Sigh.

Despite the constant gnawing anxiety before my move, I'm enjoying living at home. It occurs to me that this may be the last time I'm home for any great length of time. It's a bit sad. There are advantages to staying home. However, I'm determined not to become that 35-year-old living in her parents' basement. Nope. Time to pretend I'm a big girl!

Life is pretty good at the moment. I'm feeling very blessed by many things, including but not limited to free knitting patterns, home-cooked meals, nighttime cold medicine, tearable packing tape, and of course, all my lovely friends. Aww.

From the "Only in NEPA" Department

Most people I know spent Thanksgiving break with family, relaxing and whatnot. Perhaps they also caught up with high school friends. I, too, spent my break doing these things, but it seems that my break was probably a bit different from that of others.

Last night: Myself and six other people (all high school friends) playing hide-and-seek. At midnight. Outside. In the middle of nowhere. A cornfield. In November. Drunk.

Ah yes, the fine traditions of NEPA. Where else in the world would I find myself huddled in the shadow of an old car, sitting on the road, feeling the cold from the pavement slowly seep into my bones, and wishing for perhaps another glass of wine? Whenever I find myself in utter disdain of my hometown and upbringing, I must think of these quaint activities. Things like this have colored my childhood, and I suppose my early adulthood as well. My friends from the suburbs could never understand such a thing, I suppose. (Though these are the same people who didn't know what Chicken and Waffles is...)

I'm not saying I want to move home and stay there, but occasionally I get nostalgic for the place. It's unique, if nothing else.