Favorite Things 1

Try not to die of shock at my unexpected/unusual optimism...

I thought it might be nice to occasionally write about things i am NOT complaining about for a change. So i’ve initiated a new project to point out things i like in the world.

Favorite Thing 1:
You know that strange sensation you get when you are laying quietly next to someone, a bit tangled up and half asleep, and you can’t really tell your own arms and legs from their’s.

I like that.

Girl Scouts Confirmed as Public Enemies

Girl Scouts are clearly bloodthirsty torturers who have been sent to my neighborhood to dissolve the last shred of self-control I had left from my New Year’s resolutions. They are clearly evil.

Whatever happened to keeping to themselves and getting some sort of knitting badge or campfire qualifications? I thought I had immunized myself from these little beasts when I moved to a scary urban area where no sound-minded parent would ever set their kids free to knock on doors asking for money. But now, parents and scouts are setting up shop outside Metro stops so that, in my Crystal City-induced delirium, I am forced to walk past their piles of delicious Samoas and Do-Si-Dos.

If I was a terrorist, I would infiltrate the Girl Scouts because that way I could easily use poison to take out the whole country in just under a week. No one would suspect a thing because I would have already earned my "Smug-faced I-know-you-can’t-resist" badge.

Damn it!

Riding the wave

Last night, having no Valentines Day invites from anyone I would actually consider spending time with, I treated myself to a long, fabulous yoga class. The teacher always encourages us to create an intention for our practice that we can think about whenever our minds start to wander to things like "Ouch...How many freaking Chaturangas do we have to do?" or "I’d rather be on a barstool instead of in chair pose." She confessed that she had had a rough week and that she knew that many of us in the class had a shitty week also. She mentioned being able to "ride the wave," however rough or stormy things might get in life.

It was a fabulous metaphor that really got me thinking...Am I good at navigating through the rough waters of life? Can I ride the wave?

One of my favorite quotes is:

Great events make me quiet and calm; it is only trifles that
irritate my nerves. ~ Victoria, Queen of England

I like this quote because it is exactly how stress/change/caffiene-withdrawl affect me. Breaking up with my boyfriend of 4 years and learning to live alone...I didn’t shed a tear. Picking up my life in Boulder and plunking it down, all alone, in Washington, DC...no problem. My office moved from downtown to Crystal City...I didn’t stop crying at my desk for weeks. Clearly, I was not able to ride that wave so why were other, more monumental events so easy?

Perhaps it is denial or some sort of delusional self-medication. Perhaps it is necessity. Perhaps Crystal City really does just suck. I’m not sure of the reason, but I am going to practice taking the little things with a little more grace, a little more acceptance. After all, however irritating my commute is or how much boys suck or how much I wish I had more money/time/energy or less boredom/work/inches around my thighs, my life really isn’t that terrible. In fact, I wouldn’t trade it, ever.

I’m going to ride the wave. And not let it sweep me away. And not let it pull me under. And not let it bash me up against a coral reef or any other unseen solid landmass, culminating in massive head trauma. I guess I’ll just ride it and see where it takes me.

Spoiled Children in Grown-Up Clothes

Forgive my use of run-on sentences and harsh words but this topic has evoked such emotional backlash that punctuation and tact seem trivial.

Boys in DC suck.

When I say "suck," I mean they suck in the most callous and ignorant way possible. I know I speak for at least a significant percentage of the unfortunate women of the non-state when I say that these socially-inept cowards have ruined far beyond their share of nights out. They make promises they have no intentions of keeping; they get too drunk and act like criminals; they lie and cheat; they are intellectually and emotionally challenged by any sort of self-assured women they meet; they are lazy in the sack…they are worthless, at best. Most of them think that the only thing they need to impress women in DC is a bit of money, the ability to get into bars after hours, and a mediocre comment about politics over a dinner severely lacking in conversation. Sadly, they are unaware that I make plenty of my own money, have had better times with senior citizens, and have a vibrator that can do their job in a fraction of the time and with much better technique. Then, they wake up in their 30s, wondering why they are alone, with a gut and an STD. I mean, honestly?! I'm clearly better off alone.

I have given my fair share of chances to these imbeciles and, frankly, I have run out of motivation and patience. I don't need an alcoholic, unimaginative loser or a spoiled, bratty child to question my fabulousness.

So, piss off DC boys. Please don't speak to me again until you can act as old as your gray hair and your tired suits make you look.

(Disclaimer: There are a tiny handful of fabulous, grown-up men in DC and they are, of course, exempt from this rant. They know who they are.)