My new love

I am in love with a beautiful thing. Her name: Doreen.

What seemed like a disaster has turned into a new and exciting chapter: John's Jeep died outside of Savannah on our way back from Ellijay a couple weeks back, and then yesterday, horror of horrors...my car started to stop working. We panicked. Well, I panicked. I bawled my eyes out after we finally got her home. What were we going to do? I sat on my tiny plastic white stool in our midnight blue kitchen, staring at a cobweb on the ceiling and the perspiration on the walls and I thought, "God, help us." Obviously losing both modes of transportation isn't the end of the world. People take public transit all the time to get around. But I was so sick of things going wrong, so sick of having to shell out all our saved money. Any time we scrounge together a few dollers, it goes right to a bill, an emergency, or groceries. I just wanted to get ahead. Not knowing what to do, I wiped the snot from my face and began washing dishes.

Unbeknownst to me, my husband was looking at Carmax, trying to find out if we could be financed for a car. He had come across a decently priced car, one that would have functioned like the Jeep (low gas mileage but a lot of space with 4 wheel drive). After making some calls, he found out we could get that financing. After doing a little bit more looking, he found Doreen. A Fiat 500 Pop (in other words, the most basic of the Fiat 500s) sat in the lot of the brand new Savannah Carmax. And we heard that we could get financing...with no money down. This was beneficial because...we are broke. Again. Living day to day. Again.

Anyway, fast forward to today. It wasn't until 9PM that John finally got behind the car of our new baby, and he loved it. The Fiats may be tiny cars, but they actually have more room inside (including trunk space) than a Mini. We fit inside comfortably. But, ladies and gents, this is not a car to be a passenger in. I'm not saying the ride is bad, because it is excellent, even in sports mode (yes, I said it, THERE IS A SPORT BUTTON!!!). It just feels so tame in the passenger seat. I enjoyed watching my husband's eyes light up in the darkness as we sped through town and out to Tybee Island. I was brushing my finger over the iPod, finding songs to test out our new sound system with. It has a Bose 10-speaker system with a sub-woofer. Did I mention it's a 2012? This is the newest car anyone in my family has ever owned. And then it was my turn. I wasn't expecting much--like I said, this is the base 500 model. Cheap, but still an Italian sports car. That's right: we own an Italian sports car. She's our little Ferrari.

Okay, so the ride is great. But this isn't the passenger sort of car. I touched the accelerator and she jumped forward, orange indicator on the dash telling me that I wasn't yet above 60, but I felt every twitch of the wheel, every slight motion of the tires. My hair whipped against my face, the windows down so we could smell the salt air. My eyes ignored the speedo and I stared only at the red lights in front of me so not to crash, not that stopping is an issue. A gentle kiss of the breaks is all she needs to come to a dead stop. John bellowed with laughter as I screamed, rounding a corner too fast. We came to a red light and I looked at my husband, my hair plastered to my face, and I realized I was grinning so hard my cheeks ached. Time and time again, I stomped the accelerator, just to feel the thrill of that 0-60 in 8 seconds. This is what's laughable: my Monte Carlo can do it faster. But I've never been able to FEEL that speed, FEEL the breaks, FEEL the acceleration, FEEL the road. I've always kind of hated driving. Sure, my Monte is fun to accelerate with, but that's it. Her handling sucks. She has the turning radius of a moon and her brakes are more like weak suggestions.

But Doreen. Doreen is a different animal. She is Italian. She was made to handle. And I love her. For once, I don't want to be the passenger. As the ocean breeze knotted my bangs together, I felt my nerve endings fire like never before. Speed. As minimal as it was (I was afraid to go too fast, the cops around Savannah and Tybee have been hitting everyone pretty hard), it was there, and I felt every MPH. When the turn came for me to go home, I hesitated. My fingers clutched at the wheel, and I almost didn't push the blinker into place. The road curved before me. Go, it whispered. Just go. Forget about school, about payments, about your home, about not making friends, about money. Go.

And then I hit the blinker.

An update

Things at the carriage job are going pretty well. Not only do I have a pretty rockin' farmers tan going on, but I'm finally speaking the tours while my trainer drives. I'm happy to have a break from the driving because honestly, I can't feel my right middle finger any more. I didn't realize how much strength was required to handle a couple of one-ton horses, so let me tell you--you need a lot. It's nice to feel muscle building back into my body again. My husband said I've finally stopped giving 'girly' massages. Apparently my job is also enabling me to give 'man massages.'

While I despise the nights I have to work as a groom (which means taking the horses temps--that's right, I'm getting horse farts on me all night long; dumping the diapers--the memory of which is enough to make me want to hurl; and watering the horses--or rather, getting soaked while the horses splash the water around like a couple of babies in a bathtub), I am actually gaining some valuable skills. Like speaking. If you know me, it's hard to believe that I took a job that requires me to be communicative at the top of my lungs all day long. I'm a listener, an observer. It's what I do best. I think my husband is pleased that I am having to learn how to talk to different groups of people, figuring them out and adjusting the material I spew accordingly. Honestly, I hope I can learn to do that well. I've never been the most verbose, and that usually works against me.

My first time speaking was this morning, the 9AM tour. I had my notes sitting next to me for a tour that I knew how to drive the best, and my throat began to close. I drank almost a whole bottle of water before the tour even began, because my head began to pound and my hands began to shake. I was scared. This is about as out of my comfort zone as I've ever been, and that's including the time I had to walk around the Berlin airport with a huge allergic reaction on my face that made Elephant Man look handsome. I stumbled over my words, every syllable clutching to my dry tongue and birthing through my mouth like that alien bursting through that chest. I'm pretty sure that if I paid enough attention, the looks on the tourists faces would have been akin to Sigourney Weaver's as she dreamed about the alien in her own body. I tried not to stare at my notes constantly, but it was almost impossible not to. Finally, about twenty minutes in, my throat had enough. I croaked out a final word before asking my awesome trainer, Beth, to continue while I tried to regain composure, and my voice. I was pretty upset with myself at this point. I felt like nothing I said made sense, and I was pretty sure that the people in the back row couldn't hear me at all, though that seemed more like a plus for them. At the end of the tour, Beth looked at me and smiled, "You did great!" I stared at her, uncomprehending. Obviously she had been on a different tour, and I told her as much. She laughed and said that I did fine, though I needed to learn to project my voice more. She said that obviously I would learn the tours better as I gave them. The second tour we gave was to a group of young Girl Scouts (Savannah is the home to Juliette Gordon Low, the founder of the Girl Scouts of America; Savannah is like Mecca to them), and I found myself having fun. The young girls wouldn't question anything I said (though I do try my best to sort out fact from fun tales in my tours, I refuse to give false information), and their leaders were very lighthearted. I enjoyed talking to them, and I gave the whole tour myself, Beth only chiming in when I couldn't answer a specific question. I found myself looking less and less at my notes, giving them a few more romance and ghost stories than I normally would. It's fun when your audience shrieks at the idea of bloodletting and skeletons being discovered in the walls. My third tour didn't go as well, and Beth had to help out again, but I am definitely feeling better about talking to complete strangers. By the fourth tour my throat hurt so bad that I asked Beth to do all the work so I could relax and take in more of her tour stories.

I still have a long way to go, but my initial fear is gone, so now I can go back to focusing on learning the history of the city. Not all of the horses are my biggest fans--Beau and Flynn seem to have it out for me, though I have fallen for Jeb and Murphy, a couple of misfits that actually seem to enjoy snuggling. And in fact, the hardest part of this job, aside from the memorization of dates and names, is working with very large, very alive, animals. I've never worked with horses before, so I'm trying to learn the characters of each horse I work with, as well as what spooks them. Jeb has an intense fear of tarps. We even have a horse that is a little racist. Murphy likes to dance on the way home. I'm not kidding, he actually dances. It's the most hilarious thing I've ever seen an animal do, aside from O'Shea's tendency to flap his lips after drinking water, making a great popping noise. Most days I really enjoy working with the horses...but then there are days that make me want to shoot them. Beau and Flynn were a nightmare one Saturday, literally trying to poop on me whenever they had the chance. By the time I got home, I had to go directly to a shower and scrub scalding water over my body. I was covered in almost every fluid a horse can excrete. I was in tears, wondering what the hell I was doing...but it made me more determined than ever not to let them push me around. Though I have become convinced that owning horses is more trouble than it is worth, I'm definitely having an interesting experience. Maybe I'll even have some great stories to write about by the time it's all said and done.

Looking Up from the Bottom of a Well

We're broke. Plain and simple. But, things are starting to look up.

One day two weeks ago, sitting in the Video Production office, I was stressing over finding a summer job. I had applied to God knows how many stores, restaurants, hotels, ect. And no one had replied. No one. Not a one. I was talking to my friend and coworker, Jess, and though I'm not sure what made me think of it, I said, "Wouldn't it be awesome to be one of those carriage tour drivers in the Historic District? Seriously, talking about history and playing with horses, what could be more fun?" And then it hit me. Just because I haven't seen a job posting ANYWHERE on the internet, it couldn't hurt to email one of the many and ask if they were hiring. So, I did. Instantly, I got a reply.

"Hey Kristen! We are always hiring. Why don't you come down to the stables for an interview?"

-Cara

My heart stopped. My one act of silliness, one act of bravery, whatever you want to call it; did I just land myself a job?

I did. I went in for the interview, and I loved my future workplace instantly. Not only are the stables less than a mile away from my home (biking distance!), but when I drove up the dirt road, a goat was staring at me. Just saying hi. I'm still not sure what his name is, but I pet him all the time now. A goat. I've never pet a goat before. He's adorable, with his alien looking eyes. And there are two beautiful dogs that love playing with me.  And two cats I just saw today. And a number of horses, of course. I've only really met about four of them so far, and they are such characters! And everyone I've met so far is really great. Cara, my boss, is awesome. She's a powerhouse of a woman (a single mom) and the kindest person.

It's day three. There is a month and a half of training before I get to go out on my own (fine by me, I've never worked with horses before!), which is most of summer. Today I got to practice driving the carriages around the historic district, Liz, a very sweet woman, teaching me. I sometimes forget which command to use and I need to learn not to be as jumpy as my horse (a semi passed us on the way back to the stables and Flinn, my horse, reared in fear and I almost screamed--oops), but things are going well so far. The funny thing is that I've got more of a handle on the history speeches than I do on the memorization of the harnesses and how to put them on and take them off. I'm not so worried, I mean, it's only my third day.

As fun as it is to sit in the sun (or shade if the roof is on the carriage) all day and listen to history, the process to getting my tour guide license is a huge process. I've got to pay to get a background check, a 7 year driving history, and a $100 test for the license itself. But I've got about 43 more days to it all. I've already started studying. Savannah has such a rich history that it doesn't feel like work, it feels like reading a really good book.

My biggest problem, by far is: what's going to happen once school starts again. Not only do I have an internship this Fall, but I'm going to be going back to video production and having a full school schedule. I really really want to keep this job, and told Cara that when she hired me. Though there is a night shift, it would seriously limit my availability for filming for my school job, not to mention seriously limit my husband and homework time. I would have dramatically less hours, but the money would still be good (and needed!). I'm really hoping that as the summer goes on I'll be able to iron our my schedule and work with Cara to find a way to keep working hours without killing myself, and still helping her company. Anyway, that's a future concern.

For now, I'm just basking in the Savannah sun, eating up the sights, and learning as much history as possible!