"I'm in a New York state of mind..."

In less than 34 hours I will be on an airplane headed to Albany, NY, where my boyfriend will be waiting for me. This is extremely exciting, as I have not seen Andy in two months. But even more exciting is the surprise he's had planned for months, which he just told me about last Sunday.

On Friday, we will be taking a train to NYC, where we will be staying in the Hilton New York for two nights. Saturday night, we are going to see "The Phantom of the Opera" on Broadway. Needless to say, this trip is shaping up to be very romantical and fun. The best part, though, is that Andy planned everything and has already purchased tickets to "Phantom" as well as the American Museum of Natural History. He's kind of a keeper.

However, as usual whenever I’m anticipating a big trip, all my weird little travel rituals are in full swing and they're making me look neurotic to anyone who comes into contact with me.

For the past week, I have been checking the Hilton New York website every day and taking the photo tour. I have spent hours looking up interesting restaurants, cool old bars and pubs, and ticket prices and directions to museums and other attractions. I already had a detailed sightseeing itinerary written less than 24 hours after I found out about the trip.

I've been obsessively compiling to-do lists for days, trying to make sure I have enough time to get everything done in between going to work. I was feeling pretty good about everything yesterday morning and thought I would have plenty of time as long as I followed the list. But of course, soon after I got to the office, I found out I have to take my car into the shop that afternoon.

See, back in August, a moving truck smashed my driver's side mirror to smithereens, and I'm just now getting everything worked out with the company that owns the truck. I'm very glad to be getting this finally fixed, as now I won't have heart palpitations anytime I think a cop may have seen my duct-taped mirror. It's just that I had to redo the whole list. Not a big deal, but for a girl with a plan, this caused some irritation.

When I got home from walking the Ravenel Bridge faster than I thought possible, I hit a new high of planning obsession: I scheduled all my outfits for each day of my trip so that I could pack as efficiently as possible. By this morning, I'm already halfway packed, and I've already gotten everything I need from Walmart. I have planned everything out, down to when I need to shave my legs and dye my hair. But the more lists I make and itineraries I plan, the more of a neurotic person I realize I am. Whatever. I have to have things to do to keep from exploding with excitement.

I was exploding with excitement on Friday night, that's for sure. Only it wasn't for good reasons. I'm not sure if anyone else caught the "special" that ABC did on poverty in Appalachia, but let me tell you, it was one of the most insulting spectacles I've ever seen. Somehow, ABC managed to squeeze in every stereotype of mountain people they could possible fit into an hour. There was incest, toothlessness, meth, alcoholism, guns, coal mining, poverty, teen pregnancy, a little girl singing gospel music, black lung, sleeping in cars, "hollers," banjos, baptism, fat people and more. All they really left out was moonshine, snake handling, the KKK, militias, and, as a friend reminded me, potato guns.

The worst part of the whole show was the decision the producers made to subtitle EVERYTHING anyone from the mountains said. It didn't matter if you could understand them perfectly: just the placement of the subtitles implied that people from Appalachia can't speak properly. I'm sorry, but I don't remember ever seeing subtitles when a guy from Brooklyn is talking.

The ABC special was just more evidence that the NY media elite has their own ideas about the way the rest of us --the common people-- live. They took no time to highlight anything positive about the Appalachian mountain region. Diane Sawyer didn't talk about the tens of thousands of people who come from around the world to attend Merlefest, a bluegrass festival, every year. She didn't explore the strong family and community ties people who live in Appalachia value. There was no mention of our rich heritage and culture. ABC just decided to exploit a few people who have rough lives in order to demonstrate their views on the ignorance of "hillbillies."


I'll tell you what, though, I've never been happier to be a "hillbilly" than I was on Saturday when I took a road trip to Sweatman's BBQ with a bunch of my fellow tweeters. Although the day was cold and rainy, I drove an hour to Holly Hill, where the famous BBQ joint is hidden in the middle of nowhere.

The restaurant itself is located in the old Sweatman family home, and as soon as you step inside, the smell of slow-cooked pork hits your nostrils. For $10, you have access to the all-you-can-eat buffet, which includes rice, hash, light and dark pulled pork, ribs, two kinds of sauce, pickles, white bread, coleslaw, and sweet tea. For someone like me who could eat BBQ every day and be happy, this was a dream come true.

After devouring two plates of food, Chrys, a fellow tweeter who operates under the name lowcountrybbq and who helped organize the trip, came by my table with a tray of banana pudding. Okay, I'll go ahead and say that as a southern girl from SC, I have eaten my share of banana pudding. It's pretty much at every church function, potluck dinner, 4th of July cookout, etc...But Sweatman's banana pudding is the best I've ever eaten. Ever. In fact, it was so awesome, that for $3.50, I bought a pint before I left. I ate the whole thing at work later that day.

As I am a huge fan of Anthony Bourdain (and I really hope I get to go to his restaurant Les Halles in NYC), one of the cool parts of the trip was seeing his note to the staff of Sweatman's that he wrote after visiting in 2007. I actually found out about Sweatman's from the Charleston episode of "No Reservations." The picture's a little blurry since I had to take it with my phone.

It was a cool weekend, but this weekend is going to be even cooler. I can't wait to step out onto the streets of New York!

One good thing is...

...that I've lost about 5 pounds or so in the past couple of weeks. I can fit back into those pesky jeans that have been a little snug since Thanksgiving, and I'm wearing a shirt that didn't look so great a couple of months ago.

I'm planning to walk the Ravenel Bridge after I get off work in an hour or so, which I've been doing on a pretty regular basis for about three weeks. It's just the best way to de-stress, walking over the beautiful Cooper River, and today will be so beautiful. Plus, it's a great way to get in shape. I even got to watch dolphins playing below me last week.

The bad news is that I'll probably need to walk an extra mile or two after tomorrow afternoon. I'm heading up to Holly Hill, which is about and hour outside of Charleston, to the famous Sweatman's BBQ with a bunch of fellow Tweeters. This is exciting for a few reasons.
1. I am completely obsessed with barbecue.
2. No, really, I am obsessed with barbecue.
3. Sweatman's offers a buffet of barbecue.
4. Anthony Bourdain ate there when he came to the Lowcountry and absolutely loved it (he said).
5. I get to meet new people.

As Bourdain so eloquently said, “Most people get off on watching porn, I get off on watching men chop pork.”
So how better could I spend my lonely Valentine's Day?

Okay, here goes...

So here it is. My first blog post.

I’ve been meaning to start blogging for a while now, but I’ve always been intimidated by the whole process. I mean, who really wants to hear what I have to say? However, a good friend of mine recently suggested I start doing things that make me uncomfortable, so blogging will be one of those things.

I don’t intend for this blog to have any one focus. It’s really just a way for me to write about day-to-day things going on in my life: what I’m reading, where I’m going, how I feel, etc...Lately, I’ve really been feeling the need to write more often, and I think this is a great way to do that.

Ever since I graduated in May 2007 (from Appalachian State), I’ve really missed what I thought was unmissable: writing. You know, in college writing papers on the symbolism of the furniture in “The House of Seven Gables” could be a pain. But now that I haven’t had the chance to write about literature in two years, I really miss it. I guess the grass really is always greener.

Now I work as an editorial assistant with the Post and Courier in Charleston. When I started here last January, I thought I wanted to become a copy-editor. I changed my mind a long time ago.

Over the past 13 months, I have been watching the newspaper industry go down the toilet. Just last Friday, the P&C laid off 25 people. One of those people was my roommate. Now I’m trying to hold onto the job I wanted to quit six weeks ago. Go figure, right?

Not that I have a bad job. Not in the least. I compile calendars, write obituaries, review books, and do anything else someone asks me to do. I get along with my co-workers, and I’ve gained valuable work experience and writing clips. But now I want to move on. The problem is, I don’t know where to go or how to get there.

I moved to Charleston in September of 2007. Before that, I lived in Boone, NC, for 10 years. Boone is a small, hippie, college town where anyone can do/say/wear/be whatever or whoever he or she wants. There, I was the straight-A student, the “ambitious one,” the “girl with the eyes,” a big fish in a little pond. But I was so eager to escape my past, escape the trap that so many fall into after college --staying in Boone-- that I ran off to Charleston as soon as I graduated. I didn’t research the town, didn’t find out what life was like here, just packed a moving van and drove away from Boone on August 31.

I really knew only one person in Charleston: my boyfriend, Andy, who was stationed at the Naval Nuclear Power Training Command about 30 minutes away in Goose Creek. From September to July, I was only able to see him from around 5 p.m. on Friday until 2 p.m. on Sunday. Not so great. But I made great friends with his Navy buddies and became one of the guys.

I found a job at a local coffee shop, where I was barista, bartender and sandwich-maker, and I made a couple of friends there. The work wasn’t too bad, but I couldn’t make any money --even working 60 hours a week I couldn’t make my rent a couple of times. By November, I was absolutely miserable and determined to get a better job. I knew two people --family friends-- who worked at the Post and Courier. They managed to get me an interview, and I got a job as an editorial assistant.

The year I’ve spent here isn’t really worth talking about in detail. I’ve gotten to write a couple of articles, I’ve made friends with co-workers, yada yada yada . I’m living in a great house in Mt. Pleasant with three other roommates, and we all get along really well. My boyfriend was transferred to Albany, NY, in July 2008, so that’s really not cool. And all my Navy buddies left with him, which lowered my friend count in Charleston significantly. I usually go up to see Andy and the guys once a month, but as of now we haven’t seen each other in two months.

I guess the way I feel right now is that I don’t have a bad life. I have a job, some friends, a boyfriend, a nice place to live, and so on. But I just feel like I’m existing. Not living. I feel like I’m waiting for my life to start. I’m terrified that I’ll wake up in three years and be at the same job, living in the same place, doing the same thing. The worst part is that I have absolutely no idea what I want to do. None. So I don’t know in which direction to go.

Andy surprised me on Sunday by telling me that next week when I fly to Albany to see him, we’re taking a train to NYC, where we will be staying for three days at the Hilton New York on the Avenue of the Americas. Maybe when I get there I’ll remember why I always said that NYC was where I wanted to move after college. I keep hoping that while I’m there, I’ll realize that NYC is where I need to go, and I’ll start doing anything I can to get there. I guess we’ll see.