The Comfort Zone

Why is it that the company who made the thermostat in my bedroom thinks they know what temperature I prefer? They have deemed, via the "Comfort Zone" denoted on the thermostat, that 70-79° is the perfect setting to be comfortable. I beg to differ.

Now, mind you, we're talking heat here. My old New England house doesn't have air conditioning, unless you count the 200-pound window units we lug up every summer for the few months that it actually gets hot here. We have electric, baseboard heating.

If the thermostat is set anywhere below the "Comfort Zone," you can't feel any heat unless you lay on the floor about 3 inches from the unit. But once you cross that threshold from 69-70° and hear the click (that says, "I'm turning sh*t up in here!"), you immediately feel faint. It gets so hot that you're dizzy and disoriented, it smells like the house is burning down, and if you make the mistake of giving in to the poisonous heat and fall asleep for any period of time, you'll wake up the driest skin and hair you've ever experienced, and yes, Virginia, your nose will bleed from the lack of humidity. I like to think of myself as a smart, edumucated woman, but my brother is the genius - for he has conquered the heat. He uses a humidifier. He can get his room all nice and cozy without the nosebleeds.

Rags and I require white noise to get a good night's sleep, so I already have a air purifier chugging through the night. I don't want another contraption. So instead, I sleep below the "Comfort Zone" and leave my room frigid while turning my electric blanket up to about the fifth or sixth (out of 10) setting. Rags sleeps on top of the covers here, so he feels the warmth from the bottom up.

The past two weeks, minus a day or two here and there, has been warm enough that I can open my windows a crack to let in fresh air without turning blue. Two nights I even slept with the windows open. But for the most part, I'm always cold inside and always hot outside (even in the winter - I sweat doing my errands). I blame my thyroid, or lack thereof.

I just wish there was a happy medium. For now, the score is Kelly - 0, thermostat - 1 (or 35 if you count every night I've slept here).

Never Move Across State Lines

Warning: This will probably be the most boring blog post you ever read and I ever write. Deal with it.

When I moved to Florida in 2007, the process was relatively easy. I stopped at the RMV office in Gainesville the day we got there. I said, "Hi. I just moved here from Massachusetts and need a license." I got my license that day. Later that day, I called State Farm and said, "Hi. I just moved to Florida from Massachusetts and need insurance." I got it that day. The next day, I went to the Tax Collector's office in Gainesville and said, "Hi. I just moved here from Massachusetts and need new plates and registration." I got everything that day. Massachusetts demanded I mail back my Massachusetts license plates, so I did.

Fast forward four-and-a-half years, and I just moved back to Massachusetts. I called State Farm and said, "Hi. I just moved from Florida to Massachusetts. I have insurance with you, but need to transfer it to Massachusetts." I got an email that day with my new policy information. That's where it stopped being easy.

Because I have a loan on the car I just bought in December, the loan company told me I needed to send them a notarized letter informing them I have moved in order to get my title transferred to Massachusetts. The letter needed to include my account number, old address, new address, and address, phone number and fax number for the Massachusetts RMV. I'm sorry - have you ever tried to call a Massachusetts RMV office? No, because you can't. So I made up a phone and fax number, drove to my dad's office, bothered his co-worker who is a notary public, and got the damn thing notarized. Then my dad faxed it for me (because who has a fax in their house? and I hadn't started work yet). I called the next day - they didn't get it. I called a week later and was told, "We don't release titles until the loan is paid off." Well, no kidding. I didn't ask for my title. I asked for it to be transferred to Massachusetts so that I can A. get my new license and B. get my new registration/plates. I called State Farm, and the nice lady tells me that the loan company is wrong. All I need is the title number when I go to the RMV, and they do all the work for me regarding the title. So I called the loan company back, explain that they are idiots (in not so many words) and get the title number.

I go to the RMV in downtown Springfield. I'm told the wait is going to be two hours and 45 minutes. Fortunately, the RMV is across the street from the Y my dad and I belong to. So I go work out for as long as I can manage, and then wait the last 45 minutes with every other sweaty, smelly person at the RMV. The only difference between them and me? I was sweaty and smelly because I was at the gym. They are sweaty and smelly because no one who goes to the downtown Springfield RMV owns soap? I don't know, that's my best guess. Then it dawns on me that my license, which is good for four years, will have a picture of me sweaty and red-faced. Wonderful!

By the time I had accepted my license photo fate, it was my turn. I gave the clerk the 2,309,785 documents from the insurance company, the car dealer and the RMV website. She wants to know what I have to prove my address is, in fact, my new address. I give her my auto insurance policy with the address, but that's not good enough. She asks for a utility bill or lease. I inform her that I'm living with my dad and not paying any utility bills or rent. I do have a cell phone, but I only changed my address the week before and thus don't have a bill with the new address. In a stroke of genius, she realizes she can process my registration/plates first, and use those as proof of my new address. Great!

Massachusetts, also known as Taxachusetts, has this crazy rule that if you bought a car in the previous six months in another state, even though you already paid that state's sales tax, you have to pay Massachusetts sales tax again in order to register your car. This is because people hate Massachusetts and its insane tax rates, so they used to cross the border to buy a car in New Hampshire and save oodles. Not anymore. However, I wasn't trying to be sneaky. I was living, working and driving in Florida, so I thought it would be convenient to buy a new car in Florida. Apparently that was my first mistake. Trying to move back to Massachusetts was my second. The clerk wanted $600-something before she'd issue my new registration. I cried, partly to make her feel bad but mostly out of sheer frustration, but it didn't work. She said either I paid the $600+, plus the $50 for my license, plus the $75 for my registration, or I could show her proof that I paid sales tax in Florida when I bought the car. I showed her every single piece of paper the dealership gave me, including the bill of sale showing I paid $600 something in sales tax. Apparently that wasn't good enough. I need an official, notarized Department of Revenue form from the dealership. So I left. Without a license, without registration, and without plates (which, by the way, are called "tags" in Florida).

I called the dealership. They knew what form the RMV lady was talking about, but they said that was only for people who are Massachusetts residents who happen to buy a car in Florida, either because they are on vacation or they are snowbirds. She said that is not for people who are Florida residents who later move to Massachusetts, but that she would go ahead and fill it out as if I was a snowbird who bought a car in Florida. Ha!

It worked. I went back a few days later with my express ticket number, waiting about five minutes and, fortunately, got a different clerk. I acted like nothing happened. I gave her everything I had given the other lady, plus this stupid form that really didn't even apply to me, and walah - I got a license, plates and registration without forking over that $600. I try to look on the bright sides of things, so I guess I'm glad I look normal in my picture and not like a heart attack victim.

That was two weeks ago. Today in the mail is a letter from the State of Florida informing me that they are about to suspend my license because I canceled my Florida auto insurance. No kidding! So I called the number on the letter, was put on hold for 25 minutes during which I listened to this nice-sounding good ol' boy with a charming North Florida accent tell me what I could do online without waiting for an operator. Finally, the good ol' boy picks up and tells me his name is Mike. Well, would ya look at that! I told good ol' boy Mike about the letter and how I canceled my Florida auto insurance because I moved to Massachusetts more than a month ago was legally and officially licensed, registered and insured here, not Florida. Good ol' boy Mike says I was supposed to mail back my Florida "tag." Both RMV clerks told me that was not necessary. I lied and told Mike I threw the plate away (I paid extra for that University of Florida plate and I want to keep it!) and that the RMV took my Florida license, which he understood. So now, I have to fax a copy of my registration and a letter on State Farm letterhead with all of my policy information, to him at his office in Tallahassee. If I don't, when it comes time to renew my license (in 2016), it will show up in the national database of driver licenses that my license was suspended in Florida, regardless of the fact that it was suspended when I was no longer a resident. Ugh! Mike was nice, and very helpful, so I was nice back, but I think I need to go to yoga before I punch someone in the face.

I'm pretty sure I will never move across state lines again. If I do, it'll be because my rich husband takes a job elsewhere, and I'll just make his secretary handle all of this nonsense for us.

Raking Blister

I picked up a rake today for the first time since December. And before that, I probably haven't raked since 2006, or maybe even 2005 - the last time I lived at home and it was warm out. You're probably wondering, OK, so why rake now? Because I moved home. Long story.

I hated Florida. Anyone who knew me, knew that. Living in Gainseville and going to UF was probably the best two years of my life. The first year in Fort Myers and working at the agency was probably the worst year of my life. To prove it, ask me where my thyroid is (another long story for another day). I quit, took a 45-day "sabbatical" and finally landed my dream job (OK, my dream job really is working for St. Jude. Or the Red Sox...but this was third). I became a writer for Lee Memorial Health System, the huge hospital system in Fort Myers. I was happy again. But after a year-and-a-half, the fact that I loved my job, loved the new friends I made and the ones I had known since I moved to Florida, and kept busy with Junior League, well even those weren't enough to keep me happy enough to stay. So I started looking. My plan was to get a job in the Boston/Springfield/NYC area in June or so. That would put me at two years with the hospital - a good length of time for my resume. Fortunately and unfortunately, I found a job much sooner than I planned. I applied, got an interview (via Skype) and landed the gig. That afternoon, I walked into my boss's office and dropped the bomb - I was leaving in two weeks. Exactly two weeks later, I left work around 2 on my last day, hysterically crying. I never wanted to leave my job and my co-workers, but I couldn't take them with me! They were all so understanding and happy for me, but kept reminding me how much I'd be missed. My dad flew into town that night, and a few hours later, in the wee hours of the morning, we hit the road. About 30 hours later, I was home.

Home. It feels so natural to say that. This has always been home. I grew up in the house. I switched bedrooms when I was 4, and then when I officially moved out the week after college graduation, my brother turned my bedroom into his den. So now I'm in the guest room. It's temporary until I find my own place, but it's so nice. I'm saving money. I get my alone time but I'm never really alone. Rags is on a 24/7 playdate and my dad takes them for at least four walks a day. He also has a yard to play in. Speaking of yards...

It was cold when I first got here, but the past few days have been quiet warm for New England in March (or should it be, "March in New England"?). Apparently an hour of cardio at the gym wasn't enough for my body, so when I got home, I didn't even bother to change - I just took the dogs outside and picked up a rake. Three hours later, my thumb was killing me. Well, hello blister. I wasn't mentally done raking - there is still a lot to be done. The freak October snowstorm kind of hampered my dad's (and the rest of New England's) plans to get the yard free of leaves before winter, so it's been several months coming. It was warm a few days in December when I was here, and we got the whole side yard done then, but we have a huge yard and so now the back two-thirds needs to be done. It's a good project for me, since Dad is busy tearing down sheetrock and ceiling in our den so he can renovate. I have afternoons off from work (another long-ish story), I'm not paying rent and it's good exercise on top of the hour I spend at the Y every day, so why the heck not? Plus, it lets the dogs get some fresh air without being tied to a leash. Rags particularly enjoys sunning himself. Probably because for the last four-and-a-half years, it's been too hot for him to enjoy time outside (in Florida) except when we would go to Dunnellon.

I really like cleaning, inside or out. I guess it's because A. I hate clutter B. I hate messes C. I feel accomplished when I'm done and D. I feel like I'm being helpful/useful/productive. I have always rented for the past six years, so I've never had to do any yardwork, but I truly do enjoy it. I always liked mowing the lawn in high school. It's good exercise and then, I would get paid or at least not feel bad asking for money for the movies or dinner. And I always got a tan! Now, I'm a little more "motherly" and worried about skin cancer, but I did let myself get some sunscreen-free rays today. I jokingly tell people at work that I lied - I moved back here from Alaska, not Florida. I think they believe me.

It's Been a While, Eh?

Wow, so much has happened since I last wrote here. I couldn't help but laugh when I just read one of my last posts, and said that working in an agency was my last resort. Well, it came to that! Fortunately, it was a good thing. I live and work in southwest Florida. Ever heard of a ritzy yet nature-loving little island called Sanibel? Yep, that's where I work. I can't afford to live there, so my 25-minute commute five days a week involves lots of ocean, palm trees and fancy condo communities. It's never where I thought I'd end up, geographically or professionally, and I definitely don't see myself being here more than a year or so, but it works right now. I'm pretty happy. It's hard being 25 and working full time and trying to make friends. But I still have my besties from Gainesville and home (New England).

Andrew is about as far across the state as he could be - owning the 1L class at Florida Coastal School of Law in Jacksonville. Rags is cuter than ever and is finally behaving. I think the three year mark snapped all of his bad puppy habits out of him. My parents' divorce is final. My brother is in his sophomore year of college. My cat, Sparkles, who I got when I was 13, died over the summer. So did my best friend's (Annie) mom. It was the worst week I've had in years. There was nothing I could do to remedy the situation. I have never felt so helpless in my entire life. I had to sit there and watch my best friend fall to pieces and I had no idea how to fix her. Fortunately, she's ridiculously stubborn and is getting through it. Her amazing boyfriend is definitely helping the healing process. I'm running the 5K Race for the Cure, which I've always done since I was in high school and it was mandatory for the cheerleaders then. But this year it means something. I am running in memory of Annie's mom. And I've already raised $175! When Annie found out I was doing this, she said of her mom, "I bet she's looking down at you with her huge silly grin." I was sitting at work, and I just lost it. For one, I can't fathom Annie's pain or loss. And two, I don't know where I'd be without my mom. Or dad, but moms and daughters have a bond that surpasses all others. At least the lucky ones...

I don't know what to believe anymore, but there's something comforting about thinking that the people you've loved and lost are watching down on you. I've been fortunate to, other than the expected losses of grandparents and great-grandparents, never have lost anyone unexpectedly or at an early age. But people around me have - one of my best friends in high school lost her brother when he was only a freshman in college. No one saw it coming, and that was the first time I tried to hold a friend together unsuccessfully. There is no answer to these things. All you can do is be a good friend and keep them in the forefront of your mind. Because when a client pisses me off or I'm stuck in traffic or I overdraft my account, things could be a hell of a lot worse.

Giving back

I've decided to volunteer what little free time I have to Shands, the major hospital here in Gainesville. I am going to be working in two areas - pediatrics and palliative care. I've always wanted to work in pediatrics somehow, and for the past several years I've been trying to find a way to get into the PR department of a pediatric hospital, but there aren't any openings in this already limited field. So I figured I'd volunteer my time and at least get to experience it without it being a "job." I'll start on the pediatric unit but I hope to move into being a pediatric cuddler. Cuddlers give parents a break by holding, rocking, reading to and playing with newborns and infants in the NICU. I love babies, but don't want my own any time soon, and babysitting opportunities are few and far between with my schedule, so this seems perfect for me.

Shands has a new program called "No One Dies Alone." A few others hospitals around the country have it, and it's basically what the company I already work for, Haven Hospice, does, but on a volunteer basis. Patients who are end-stage and receiving palliative care within the hospital, but don't have any family or friends with them, are eligible for the program. A volunteer basically sits with them and does anything from talking or reading to them, holding their hand, or writing any of their final thoughts. These patients are typically DNR. I'm not religious, and the program doesn't require me to be. In fact, it is preferred that volunteers check their own beliefs and opinions at the door and allow the patient to initiate any religious behavior. I figured since I already intern for hospice and want a job with them, this would be a great way to expose myself to our clientele's needs without it becoming a conflict of interest.

I start next Tuesday from 8-11am on the pediatric floor. A few weeks later is the orientation for No One Dies Alone, but it's from 9am-3pm on a Friday, so I don't know if my schedule will allow me to attend, but it's definitely something I'm trying to fit in. Either way, I can't wait to start next week!

Mile-High City

I almost forgot that I've been meaning to post about our trip to Denver. We went for four and a half days, over Martin Luther King Jr. weekend. We went for an underwater hockey but Andrew and I stayed longer than everyone else so we could enjoy the rest of Colorado. Here's what went down:

Friday
5am - wake up
6am - get on the road to Jacksonville, with Kelly already heavily caffeinated
10am - leaveJacksonville, which is 32 degrees when we take off. Luckily, the planes and runways don't need to be de-iced
11am - layover in Atlanta, Moe's for lunch
2pm (Colorado time) - arrive in Denver where it's 60 degrees and there isn't a cloud in the sky
4pm - get to our hotel and have a light dinner
5pm - practice at University of Colorado at Boulder
9pm - back to the hotel, bigger dinner plus drinks

Saturday
7am - wakeup call and breakfast
8am - tournament play starts at the Carmody Pool in Lakewood
4pm - tournament play finally ends for the day, with two losses, four wins, and a LOT of chlorine and high-carb snacks in my system
6pm - dinner at Old Chicago, which is next door to our hotel. "It's a-niiiiiice!" -inappropriate Borat quote
8pm - back to the hotel where Kelly and Andrew try to sleep, but Raf, Mark and Justin are not interested and our visitor and teammate, Weston, also has no interest in sleeping but in drinking by himself while telling stories of surfing, over and over again. All in good fun, though :)

Sunday
7am - wakeup call and breakfast
8am - tournament play continues, with two wins but a loss in the championship game. Yay for second place!
3pm - back to the hotel for showers/naps
6pm - banquet in the hotel
9pm - Kelly, Andrew and Raf attempt to get a heavily intoxicated Mark and Justin to the car so they can drop them off at the airport and make it to the hostel reservation on time. No such luck...
12am - arrive at Boulder International Hostel, which apparently also happens to be on Sorority Row = hearing drunk people in the streets all night

Monday
7am - wake up and take icky showers in the community bathrooms, Kelly also loses body wash behind shower stall and decides it's not worth reaching back there
8am - breakfast at the Original Pancake House in adorable downtown Boulder
9am - Kelly attempts to sign up for first-timer ski lessons at Eldora Mountain, but is 15 minutes too late
9:45am - fully geared, Kelly makes first attempt at skiing without killing herself of any of the 230,843 infants also learning to ski
12pm - break for lunch, both of us are exhausted but loving it
1pm - Kelly and Andrew brave the bigger hills, Kelly continues to fall multiple times but laughs through every second of it. Andrew also laughs at her.
3pm - exhausted from a full day of skiing, drive down the mountain and sweat in long underwear because it is still 60 degrees in Colorado! In January!
4:30pm - arrive in downtown Denver and have dinner and drinks at Vine Street Pub, a hippie-ish urban little place with delicious food
6pm - arrive at Hostel of the Rockies, which has some "interesting" guests that seem to be long-term
9pm - Kelly takes a sleeping pill and is fast asleep, leaving Andrew to deal with our newly arrived dorm-mate who insists on turning on every light in the room and then proceeds to sit on his bed and stare at us sleeping

Tuesday
8am - wake up and have breakfast at Pete's Kitchen, which has won all kinds of national awards
9am - walk around downtown Denver after learning that our anticipated tour of the Denver Mint has been canceled. Instead we visit

On The Market

Like most college seniors and final semester graduate students, I'm on the job hunt. I would like to consider myself pretty marketable - I've had three health care PR/marketing internships (hospice, hospital and university infirmary), one in patent licensing PR/marketing and one in sports media relations. I also worked full-time for a year after college, always worked during college, and have been really involved on campus during grad school, mostly in a (go figure) public relations capacity. And I've got really good grades.

However, the job market is scary right now. A close relative just found out they would be laid off next month after a decade with the company. This petrifies me to no end. If 50-somethings who are excellent at their job and low-cost to keep on the payroll are being laid off, what are my chances at getting a job that is going to make me happy and pay enough to help me start cutting down on my $50,000+ in school loans.

I'm not sure how my "picky-ness" ranks in comparison to others in my shoes. I'm pretty sure that health care, specifically hospital (and even more specifically, pediatric hospital) communications, aka PR. So right now I'm only applying to health care organizations that have openings in my field, but I am pretty much applying to anywhere in the southern two-thirds of the country. I'll stop being picky about geographic location if nothing comes up in say, two months. After that, I'll have to settle for a different industry of PR - maybe non-profit, government or the arts. But I really don't want to work in an agency or corporate setting, but I will if that's what it comes down to...

Hire me!