In the meantime, husb and I are thinking of taking a weekend trip some weekend in November. Ideally, we’d like to be able to leave after work on a Friday, get there and check into a hotel so we can spend all day Sunday and most of Sunday in the destination. But we don’t know where to go! DC is out of the question - hello, we just spent two years living there - as are places we’ve been like New York or Philly or places I was raised to loathe like Cleveland. We’re looking for something under the radar, a place people wouldn’t normally think to visit.

Maybe Detroit? Or Toronto? Any ideas or suggestions, faithful readers?

(So, that’s my pathetic attempt at saying sorry for leaving you hanging for months on end.)

I missed blogging, I really did. Some days I would go back and read through the entries on this site and remember what I was feeling when I wrote them and feel the urge to start up again. I didn’t, because there was always a house thing to do, or a job thing to do, or a wedding thing to do.

Well, guess what - the wedding is over, the house is pretty much all settled, and the job is going great. So, I’m BACK, kids. And in honor of the occasion, I am going to do a 90s VOTW every DAY until the end of October. That is my solemn vow to you. Because we all need a little 90s music in our lives when the seasons start to change and you know winter is coming. We at least need it so we can rock out with our bad selves in chilly houses.

We just finished putting together the office this weekend, so I have a nice place to focus on writing my blog, writing my book, and working on various other projects that require my attention outside of work. So, I’ll see you tomorrow.

That’s a promise.

I’ve realized that the for-profit world is not for me. I just can’t get excited about selling stuff or contributing in any way to the selling of stuff. I think I’m realizing as I grow up that I really desire a simple life, uncluttered by possessions and distractions. I truly don’t care about getting the latest iPod or a flat-screen TV or 6000 channels. I just want to live my life with my boyfriend, in the simple old house we’ll be moving into in a little less than a month. I want to write books. I want to spend my working hours trying to advance a cause I believe in. Eventually I want to have kids and play with them in the backyard and teach them how to play hopscotch and this weird game about colored eggs I played when I was a kid.

Last week, I read this article in the New York Times about equal parenting. There are a few references in that piece about women choosing lower-paying, more flexible jobs. And I’ve heard it over and over again in the media that women choose to work at non-profits, or in areas like social work where they’re never going to make much money. But why should I kill myself working long hours, destroying any semblance of a personal life or writing ambitions, to make tons of money at a company I don’t care about and which doesn’t care about me? I’ll take the flexibility and work environment of a non-profit any day over that horrendous situation.

I’m not saying that non-profits are the most amazing organizations ever thought up by humankind. There are plenty of problems with them. In DC, I only worked for non-profits (although the last one I worked for was practically corporate) and I definitely got a sense of feeling like nothing was changing, no matter what the organization tried to do. (That non-profit, though, was trying to fight a pretty big battle.) But they definitely offered more of the things that I personally look for in a job than this corporate job I’m working now – friendlier people, flexible schedules, and interesting work.

And, oh, I will not miss being a temp. No more being addressed by my boss as “Hey” because he still doesn’t know my name after three months. No more condescending conversations about whether it’s better to file things alphabetically or chronologically or by subject or a mixture of all three. (They’re magazines, people. Let it go.) No more hushed conversations by the woman in the cube next to mine alluding to the fact that they’re hiring for the position I’m filling right now. No more unpaid holiday time, no more paying for crappy short-term health insurance, no more telling my supervisor I’m heading to the ladies’ room so I don’t get the evil eye when I walk back to my desk after being gone for two minutes. No more teaching my boss, who’s surely making at least four times as much as me, about the very complicated intricacies of a shared drive.

I’ll miss the free lunches. But I’ll be okay leaving everything else behind.

Undeterred, she found a new job and moved to a nicer neighborhood. The job was good. The neighborhood was charming. But she never quite warmed to her new city. She found that many of the people she met enjoyed talking only about how important they were working as interns in obscure House members’ offices, drafting legislation on horse slaughtering or mailing flags to constituents, and weren’t interested in talking to her once they realized they had nothing career-wise to gain from her. The hourlong commute got to her. The one hundred degree temperatures coupled with one hundred percent humidity every single August day wilted her. The studio condominiums selling at over three hundred thousand dollars shocked her. The general “just as soon spit on you as look at you” attitude of her fellow citizens dismayed her.

In short, she was unhappy. And her boyfriend was, too.

So they began looking for ways to get back to the fair city in which they met. They planned and schemed for several months, squirreling away savings, looking for jobs, thinking about the future. Soon, her boyfriend had a job offer in hand and they moved back to Pittsburgh during its most beautiful month: February. Amidst the slush and ice and blackened snow, they settled with their two cats into an apartment where the rent was less than half their rent in DC and they were happy.

Soon after this, they decided to get married. And soon after that, they applied for a mortgage and began seriously looking for a house. Three days ago, they made an offer on a lovely house in Greenfield that seemed as though it was built for them: great backyard, plenty of space, large kitchen, creative vibe. Two days ago, they learned that their offer was accepted. They laughed and hugged and talked about new paint colors for the bedrooms and generally felt very happy but also very strange at the idea of owning a house. Because that is something grown-ups do.

Nevertheless, they will hopefully soon be homeowners and spouses in the city that they love very dearly. Because sometimes dreams do come true. If you know what your dream is and you work very, very hard at achieving it, that is.

That’s me.

Eek.

The boyf and I have decided to get married and we’ve been telling family and friends the past few days. So you could say I’ve been a little preoccupied… =)