Well, I’m in. After a week of unpacking and organizing, me and all my worldly possessions (less three plastic totes of exterior Christmas decorations sent to my Dad’s farmhouse for safe keeping) are once again under the same roof. And it feels good. It seems like just yesterday I was wishing it was the middle of August and I was settled. It took three attempts to finally get the couch in. The first delivery day they discovered the elevator was too small. The second try, the building’s elevator guy was on vacation and they sent some scab who clearly didn’t know how to work the elevator and scared the crap out of the moving company guys. Finally this past Monday the stars aligned - it’s in, so we can be damn sure they can get it out!
The couch situation about put me over the edge, though. It was one of those little things that showed me how close to the precipice all this transition has put me. I can’t explain how frustrating it was to stand there and listen to the movers talk and strategize about how to get the couch upstairs and not understand a single thing they said. As far as I knew, the conversation on Second Attempt Day went something like this: “Yeah, we can probably get it up there, but I really just don’t feel like it today. Let’s go back to the warehouse.” I’d have been none the wiser.
That said, my first Spanish tutor flaked out on me. On the day that was to finally be our first lesson, after two cancelled sessions before that, I finally texted him when he was 20 minutes late and he responded that he’d gotten a full time job, didn’t my relocation counselor tell me? So now I have a new lady who comes highly recommended by the company people before me. We are supposed to start next week. In the absence of formal instruction, I am making progress, though. I always felt that if I was just in a situation where I was surrounded by Spanish that I could pick it up, and I can already tell that I understand more simple conversations in the office. I’m as excited as a kindergartener sounding out his first word when I comprehend an entire sentence or question.
So, I don’t have any excuses for not getting out and meeting people. This is it. This is my situation for the next three years. As mentioned in a previous post, I always figured when I got relocated I would just join a CrossFit and meet people there. It worked so well in Grapevine that I had no doubts it would work elsewhere. Except I hadn’t planned for the fact I’d move to a corner of the world that CrossFit hadn’t yet infiltrated. So I joined the new fancy gym in town. Apparently the only other one is in Manhattan and it’s the latest craze. I was warned about how expensive it was when I told coworkers I was going to check it out. Turns out it’s half a much a month as CrossFit. It’s so new it doesn’t open until September 1. But they boast of 50 different kinds of classes, things like Kettle Krazy (very high hopes for this one) and Anti-Gravity Yoga (not so sure about this one) so surely I can find a class or two I like and meet some people that way.
I also caved and signed up for the freaking half marathon in November. Three friends from three completely separate eras of my life who have never met will be joining me in Puerto Rico for the run and I couldn’t be more excited. Last night while walking Charlie I finally got brave enough to break into a jog, and found it’s not so bad having to pay such close attention to the road. It breaks up the monotony of running that I so loathe. So I paid my money and even if we end up blowing it off and walking the thing with a thermos full of mimosa (and by “we” I mean Lynda and I, I am sure Kim and Jessie have more willpower!) at least I have a goal to work toward. I should probably research if there are any “running clubs” in the area and use that as an excuse to meet people.
The Friday before last, a coworker invited me and the other new guy moving in from LA to happy hour with some of her friends. The happy hour was a celebration for a woman in their circle who’d just taken a position in Austin. When she found out I’d just moved from Dallas, she mentioned the terrible heat in Texas recently. She said, “So it’s a good thing electricity is cheaper, because I guess you just leave the air conditioning on all the time, right?” Uh, yeah. On full time and it blows 24/7 and still doesn’t get to the temp you have it set at until about four in the morning. I’ve learned that even among the educated, well-to-do of Puerto Rico, air conditioning isn’t an expectation. It’s something you turn on for special occasions or when the weather is particularly extreme. Not even my apartment, that rents for $4000 a month, has central air; I have five window units throughout the place and it really only requires having one on to take the humidity out of the air. That said, would I live here without it? Hell no.
I’m off to Vegas next week. A trip with my sister and some other friends for my cousin Katie’s 21st birthday. This will be my first venture making the eight-plus hour flight and dealing with that three hour time change. When I lived in Texas, Megan was no stranger to chewing my ass the first day or so I was back in Washington for wanting to go to bed early, we’ll see if the Vegas magic can overcome yet another hour! (I stayed out of the casino last weekend so that maybe gambling and free drinks will seem like a novelty again when I get there!)
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