On this day one year ago, I ate Chinese take-out from one of my favorite places in DC and then closed the door on the most important chapter of my life so far to begin a new adventure in Texas. I cried on the way to the airport as I watched my beautiful city go past, knowing it wasn't my city anymore. And then I cried most of the flight. And then I cried some more. Saying goodbye to my most precious and long-time friends, friends that had pretty much become my family, was one of the most terrifying and sad moments I've had.
I've thought about that day almost every day since with varied emotion. I'm overwhelmingly lonely at times but also grateful that I was able to shed the stale life I was living in DC for something new and different. I didn't know then if it would work out and I still don't. But, here I am.
Trying to replace my dear friends was the hardest. It was hard because it simply cannot be done. I get that now. The realization was, briefly, quite hopeless. But, now I try to remind myself that new friends can't be made overnight and being comfortable doesn't always come easily. That was the whole point of this move, after all, Rach. Comfort and me have always been at odds. It is one of my most devastating and delightful psychological defects.
Luckily, Austin has its charms. A city so full of music can heal even the most damaged outlook on life. I love the area and weather and calendar of events. I found an amazing man and some good friends to show me the lay of this very strange, very large land. I've shot guns, rode horses, cooked over flames, two stepped, smoked joints, and watched football, just like a real Texan. My boots are properly worn in.
I've also made my small mark. Some people in Austin now say darling with a little more daawwwwl. Folks sworn to hunting dogs have a new-found soft spot for Shih Tzus. Corn and Velveeta are becoming dietary staples. Muumuus are...um...ok, fine, still not in style, but I've only been here a year. There is hope.
One year in, I'm really happy to be here of course. But, I still miss the familiarity of my East Coast life a lot and, most of all, I miss my people. Tonight the whiskey I intend to drink will be both celebratory and therapeutic. DC may get a few drunken phone calls tonight from a happy/sad Texan.
Don't Think I Don't Think About It by Darius Rucker
Showing posts with label DC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label DC. Show all posts
Friday, July 29, 2011
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Unsubscribe
Like any sizable life event, moving brings people together. I've had night after night of meaningful connections with old friends the last couple months. I've also had a handful of random idiots contact me with hope I will carve out time for them, time obviously already booked by my true friends.
More than once, I've gotten a text out of the blue from some a-hole I dated several summers before wanting to know if i have plans my last few weeks in town. Um, yeah...i'm kinda busy. (insert clubbed head followed by braindead stare)
I kinda wish there was a way to unsubscribe from old boyfriends, drunken phone number exchanges, and overbearing people met in bars. If i could just respond to them with a "Please take me off your list," it would sure come in handy. Being in the online marketing industry makes me all too familiar with CAN-SPAM policy.
That being said, if any of those randoms wants to help pack my moving truck in 100 degree weather and a possible thunder storm, feel free to gimme a ring. I'll wait to report you to the FTC until next week.
More than once, I've gotten a text out of the blue from some a-hole I dated several summers before wanting to know if i have plans my last few weeks in town. Um, yeah...i'm kinda busy. (insert clubbed head followed by braindead stare)
I kinda wish there was a way to unsubscribe from old boyfriends, drunken phone number exchanges, and overbearing people met in bars. If i could just respond to them with a "Please take me off your list," it would sure come in handy. Being in the online marketing industry makes me all too familiar with CAN-SPAM policy.
That being said, if any of those randoms wants to help pack my moving truck in 100 degree weather and a possible thunder storm, feel free to gimme a ring. I'll wait to report you to the FTC until next week.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
I always feel the same...
I've always had a soft spot for the Lone Star state after spending my first year of college in Fort Worth. Also, I have an unexplainable attraction to men from Texas and I really like margaritas. If those aren't good enough reasons to pick up my life and plunk it down in Austin, I don't know what are.
I'm heading South (XSW) and bidding farewell to rats, douche bags, and a posse of amazing friends later this summer. I'm equal parts thrilled and terrified. Convincing my friends this was the correct decision was easy, for the most part. Austin is well-loved by most intelligent Americans and my clear penchant for all things Texas made my decision to move no surprise to most. There are a few stragglers that still need convincing however so here's a list of reasons why Austin is the best place ever.
1. Music.
2. More music.
3. Music everywhere, even in the airport.
4. Handsome, tall, polite men with accents.
5. Real estate is heaps cheaper in Austin than in DC.
6. My name will likely be changed to something like "Darlin'" or "Sugar."
7. Tex-mex pretty much is the best thing ever.
8. Warm weather and proper thunder storms.
9. There is a lake upon which i may be invited to float.
10. Did i mention handsome, charming men playing music?
Of course, there are other things like my job and my ever-growing aversion to life in DC (i.e. crappy apartment, horrible dating pool, etc.) that contributed to my decision. More on that later, i'm sure. Now all I need is a pair of boots (and NOT the Fluevog variety). Wish me luck!
I Can't See Texas From Here by George Strait
I'm heading South (XSW) and bidding farewell to rats, douche bags, and a posse of amazing friends later this summer. I'm equal parts thrilled and terrified. Convincing my friends this was the correct decision was easy, for the most part. Austin is well-loved by most intelligent Americans and my clear penchant for all things Texas made my decision to move no surprise to most. There are a few stragglers that still need convincing however so here's a list of reasons why Austin is the best place ever.
1. Music.
2. More music.
3. Music everywhere, even in the airport.
4. Handsome, tall, polite men with accents.
5. Real estate is heaps cheaper in Austin than in DC.
6. My name will likely be changed to something like "Darlin'" or "Sugar."
7. Tex-mex pretty much is the best thing ever.
8. Warm weather and proper thunder storms.
9. There is a lake upon which i may be invited to float.
10. Did i mention handsome, charming men playing music?
Of course, there are other things like my job and my ever-growing aversion to life in DC (i.e. crappy apartment, horrible dating pool, etc.) that contributed to my decision. More on that later, i'm sure. Now all I need is a pair of boots (and NOT the Fluevog variety). Wish me luck!
I Can't See Texas From Here by George Strait
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Sparkly Red Shoes
The last couple weeks have been ones of pretty extreme change. Not unexpected by any means, but disruptive nonetheless. Knowing a giant upheaval was coming down the pipeline, I prepared myself the only way I know how…with distractions and denial comparable to psychosis.
One of my dearest and longest-running friends moved to Sydney, Australia. We met each other at my very first job out of college. I’d been in DC not quite a month and was lonely, broke, and second-guessing my decision to move to the East Coast. She was also a gypsy new to town so we had lots in common…we had both lived in Australia, we both wanted to save the world (but were finding out it was much harder than expected), we shared a love of long lady chats, and, best of all, we shared a love of cocktails in dive bars. We became fast friends and have spent the last 6.5 years working our way through countless of life’s growing pains and celebrations.
I was so sorry to see her go in a selfish way, but also thrilled she was moving back to Sydney with a man of unparalleled fabulocity and heaps of hope, wisdom, and excitement. The prospect of spending the next summer without her gentle guidance is terrifying, to say the least. (In my personal staff of life teachers she represents sanity, thoughtfulness, and Cajun food…subjects I clearly have not yet mastered.) I foresee many melancholy nights ahead. But, I also foresee fabulous winter getaways in the southern hemisphere and the new benefit of cataloging her wise ways in carefully organized email folders, a thing I’ve always wished I could do with some of our in-person conversations. Email folder titles will be along the lines of: Inappropriate Things Exes Ask, Red Wine, White Wine, Things overheard in wine bars, Wombat Sightings, Music I should be appreciating, etc.
I cried on the phone with my mom for a long time the night she left. To make her exodus feel less traumatic, I planned a birthday party for my dog. This was convenient because it kept me very busy with things that didn’t really need to be done. Hooray!
So, now that I’ve learned to make proper cheesecake, destroyed my apartment and then cleaned it up again, and worked my way tediously through several bottles of champagne, I think I’m finally ready to wish The Shazzer the best of luck in her new home. Also, I hear that in Oz when things feel a little uncool, you just click your fab shoes together and say there’s no place like home. Evidently everything gets way better if you do that. I’ll miss ya girl!
Wish I by Jem
One of my dearest and longest-running friends moved to Sydney, Australia. We met each other at my very first job out of college. I’d been in DC not quite a month and was lonely, broke, and second-guessing my decision to move to the East Coast. She was also a gypsy new to town so we had lots in common…we had both lived in Australia, we both wanted to save the world (but were finding out it was much harder than expected), we shared a love of long lady chats, and, best of all, we shared a love of cocktails in dive bars. We became fast friends and have spent the last 6.5 years working our way through countless of life’s growing pains and celebrations.
I was so sorry to see her go in a selfish way, but also thrilled she was moving back to Sydney with a man of unparalleled fabulocity and heaps of hope, wisdom, and excitement. The prospect of spending the next summer without her gentle guidance is terrifying, to say the least. (In my personal staff of life teachers she represents sanity, thoughtfulness, and Cajun food…subjects I clearly have not yet mastered.) I foresee many melancholy nights ahead. But, I also foresee fabulous winter getaways in the southern hemisphere and the new benefit of cataloging her wise ways in carefully organized email folders, a thing I’ve always wished I could do with some of our in-person conversations. Email folder titles will be along the lines of: Inappropriate Things Exes Ask, Red Wine, White Wine, Things overheard in wine bars, Wombat Sightings, Music I should be appreciating, etc.
I cried on the phone with my mom for a long time the night she left. To make her exodus feel less traumatic, I planned a birthday party for my dog. This was convenient because it kept me very busy with things that didn’t really need to be done. Hooray!
So, now that I’ve learned to make proper cheesecake, destroyed my apartment and then cleaned it up again, and worked my way tediously through several bottles of champagne, I think I’m finally ready to wish The Shazzer the best of luck in her new home. Also, I hear that in Oz when things feel a little uncool, you just click your fab shoes together and say there’s no place like home. Evidently everything gets way better if you do that. I’ll miss ya girl!
Wish I by Jem
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Lessons Learned
I've lived in DC for 6 years this month. That makes me practically native. I've learned much in the last six years, on my own and from the graciousness of others. Below is a list of some important lessons learned for survival in the nation's capital.
1. Live in Dupont. You will likely have to deal with a lunatic landlord and the ceiling may fall down on you while you sleep and it might only be a basement with no kitchen and you might live among happy rat families, but it is still better than Virginia.
2. If you want to make friends with all your neighbors (and be accosted by strangers relentlessly), get a Shih Tzu puppy.
3. Sometimes gay men do date women.
4. Always be kind to tourists...unless they are standing to the fucking left on escalators.
5. That honors degree you worked so hard for...yeah, you won't be needing it. Nice try though.
6. Be extra friendly with the convenience store owner around the corner. You never know when you may need a post 10pm wine run or to cash a check to yourself for cab fare (but need them not to deposit until next week).
7. Bartenders, while loads of fun, do not make good boyfriends. They are best kept behind bars.
8. Don't ever fool yourself into thinking politicians are celebrities. Even in DC, dropping names in government is just silly.
9. A freezer can also be used a cupboard. A stove can also be used a drawer. A hallway can also be used a closet. A trash area can be converted into a garden patio. Front steps can also be a dining room...etc.
10. Alcohol is the answer.
1. Live in Dupont. You will likely have to deal with a lunatic landlord and the ceiling may fall down on you while you sleep and it might only be a basement with no kitchen and you might live among happy rat families, but it is still better than Virginia.
2. If you want to make friends with all your neighbors (and be accosted by strangers relentlessly), get a Shih Tzu puppy.
3. Sometimes gay men do date women.
4. Always be kind to tourists...unless they are standing to the fucking left on escalators.
5. That honors degree you worked so hard for...yeah, you won't be needing it. Nice try though.
6. Be extra friendly with the convenience store owner around the corner. You never know when you may need a post 10pm wine run or to cash a check to yourself for cab fare (but need them not to deposit until next week).
7. Bartenders, while loads of fun, do not make good boyfriends. They are best kept behind bars.
8. Don't ever fool yourself into thinking politicians are celebrities. Even in DC, dropping names in government is just silly.
9. A freezer can also be used a cupboard. A stove can also be used a drawer. A hallway can also be used a closet. A trash area can be converted into a garden patio. Front steps can also be a dining room...etc.
10. Alcohol is the answer.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Don't Make Me
The other night I attempted to get dumped by inviting my beau to a folksy, estrogen-heavy performance by Toby Lightman. He usually reserves Monday nights for himself as a rule. He claims he is required by his laundry machine, though I believe he keeps his distance to avoid the inevitable CSI Miami episode. For this reason, it was particularly generous of him to drive me, in the rain, to Arlington and sit through equal parts acoustic man-bashing and sappy love ballads.
I was thrilled, giddy with her clever lyrics, thoughtful sentiment, and country/bluesy twang. He appeared to be ready to trade me in for a tattooed death metal drummer chick or throw himself from the nearest monument...i can't be sure which.
As in that weird movie Mating Habits of the Earth-Bound Human, i guess it is true that while dating it is not necessarily the activities we enjoy, but rather the company.
I did appreciate the company thoroughly. And for only a barbeque dinner in exchange, i think i made out like a bandit.
We joked that when the time comes for me to endure uncomfortable male activities, perhaps DC Meatfest or the National Beer Guzzling/Chest Beating Festival, he'll have an ace in the hole with which to convince me. In the meantime, I promise to only play the cd i bought last night solo so not to invoke any traumatic flashbacks.
Don't Wake Me by Toby Lightman
I was thrilled, giddy with her clever lyrics, thoughtful sentiment, and country/bluesy twang. He appeared to be ready to trade me in for a tattooed death metal drummer chick or throw himself from the nearest monument...i can't be sure which.
As in that weird movie Mating Habits of the Earth-Bound Human, i guess it is true that while dating it is not necessarily the activities we enjoy, but rather the company.
I did appreciate the company thoroughly. And for only a barbeque dinner in exchange, i think i made out like a bandit.
We joked that when the time comes for me to endure uncomfortable male activities, perhaps DC Meatfest or the National Beer Guzzling/Chest Beating Festival, he'll have an ace in the hole with which to convince me. In the meantime, I promise to only play the cd i bought last night solo so not to invoke any traumatic flashbacks.
Don't Wake Me by Toby Lightman
Monday, March 30, 2009
Notes from a Cathedral
I went to a fascinating lecture on Friday night by the author of the NY Times best seller Eat, Pray, Love, Elizabeth Gilbert. I knew it was going to be great…first, because it was held in the National Cathedral, a place where I expected to feel uncomfortably awestruck (like an atheist who accidently ends up in an evangelical revival) but instead felt absolutely comfortably awestruck. It is a beautiful, beautiful place. Secondly, because Eat, Pray, Love is one of the best, most honestly written books I’ve ever read; a book that clearly touched the heartstrings of American women in a way they wish their men would (there were over 2,000 people in the audience, 99% women).
Gilbert is effortlessly clever, unrehearsed, and refreshing in her honesty. She didn’t talk much about the book that made her famous. Instead she talked about being a writer and being a woman. After her journey through Italy, India, and Indonesia to try to reclaim mental health, she predictably returned to the U.S. relaxed and confused by American’s sense of unnecessary urgency, relentless self-criticism, and exhausting work schedules. (If you’re an American who has spent real time abroad, you have returned confused as well, wondering how your own priorities got so off-kilter.) She smartly disclaimed that she didn’t want to come off as one of those people who spends 3 months in Bali and then asks all her neighbors in the U.S. why they are so stressed. But she did wonder why we feel compelled to “reduce stress” or “manage stress.” Why not instead “eradicating stress,” eliminating stressful thing altogether. Easier said than done, obviously, but it is a nice mantra.
She also talked about having kids, an issue that presented itself to me several times over the last few days. My beau’s sis had a baby, I found out my ex’s family are expecting a new member, I hung out with new parents who were grateful to have a night without the little one, among other events.
I’ve always been of the strong opinion that momhood isn’t for me. Kids scare me. They have big soft heads that bobble around, swinging dangerously towards objects like the corners of tables. Not to mention being prego for ages…your body is taken over by a sizable parasite, your hormones go ape shit, and you can’t even have a drink to calm yourself. All that work and what do you get for it? You get flipped the bird by an angry teenager and sucked dry of money. Then you get a mother’s day card. My terror of childbearing is real, however misinformed and dramatized.
According to Gilbert, 10% of women historically don’t have biological children. Though these women don’t leave a genetic legacy, they support those that do financially, emotionally, babysitter-wise. More than once an aunt has saved the day by sending money to an impoverished college student. More than once a godmom has been the understudy of the lousy babysitter who canceled last minute. It seems that those women who don’t have their own kids might be an evolutionary requirement, vital to the survival (or at least, the mental stability) of the species. That takes a load off me. Just in case I really can’t swallow the jagged little pill that is motherhood, I can still be a kick-ass godmom and Auntie Rach. It isn’t selfish and it isn’t abnormal. It is just a decision like any other.
Also, Gilbert said that she saw a study that said that women who don’t have kids are actually just as happy as those who don’t in their old age. Turns out, the things that really determine a women’s happiness in old age is poverty and health. So as long as I save for retirement and eat healthy, I should be fine either way, thank goodness.
Anyway, whether you’ve ended up on the bathroom floor in a puddle of your own tears before or not, I highly recommend reading Eat, Pray, Love.
Gilbert is effortlessly clever, unrehearsed, and refreshing in her honesty. She didn’t talk much about the book that made her famous. Instead she talked about being a writer and being a woman. After her journey through Italy, India, and Indonesia to try to reclaim mental health, she predictably returned to the U.S. relaxed and confused by American’s sense of unnecessary urgency, relentless self-criticism, and exhausting work schedules. (If you’re an American who has spent real time abroad, you have returned confused as well, wondering how your own priorities got so off-kilter.) She smartly disclaimed that she didn’t want to come off as one of those people who spends 3 months in Bali and then asks all her neighbors in the U.S. why they are so stressed. But she did wonder why we feel compelled to “reduce stress” or “manage stress.” Why not instead “eradicating stress,” eliminating stressful thing altogether. Easier said than done, obviously, but it is a nice mantra.
She also talked about having kids, an issue that presented itself to me several times over the last few days. My beau’s sis had a baby, I found out my ex’s family are expecting a new member, I hung out with new parents who were grateful to have a night without the little one, among other events.
I’ve always been of the strong opinion that momhood isn’t for me. Kids scare me. They have big soft heads that bobble around, swinging dangerously towards objects like the corners of tables. Not to mention being prego for ages…your body is taken over by a sizable parasite, your hormones go ape shit, and you can’t even have a drink to calm yourself. All that work and what do you get for it? You get flipped the bird by an angry teenager and sucked dry of money. Then you get a mother’s day card. My terror of childbearing is real, however misinformed and dramatized.
According to Gilbert, 10% of women historically don’t have biological children. Though these women don’t leave a genetic legacy, they support those that do financially, emotionally, babysitter-wise. More than once an aunt has saved the day by sending money to an impoverished college student. More than once a godmom has been the understudy of the lousy babysitter who canceled last minute. It seems that those women who don’t have their own kids might be an evolutionary requirement, vital to the survival (or at least, the mental stability) of the species. That takes a load off me. Just in case I really can’t swallow the jagged little pill that is motherhood, I can still be a kick-ass godmom and Auntie Rach. It isn’t selfish and it isn’t abnormal. It is just a decision like any other.
Also, Gilbert said that she saw a study that said that women who don’t have kids are actually just as happy as those who don’t in their old age. Turns out, the things that really determine a women’s happiness in old age is poverty and health. So as long as I save for retirement and eat healthy, I should be fine either way, thank goodness.
Anyway, whether you’ve ended up on the bathroom floor in a puddle of your own tears before or not, I highly recommend reading Eat, Pray, Love.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Going out of style
I'm all for public access to information. Everybody should be able to read books for free, which is why I’m so disappointed in the DC Public Library system.
Today, in an effort to renew some interest in my job, I decided I should read some books related to my field. I have a list of recommendations from numerous conferences and seminars and some of them even sounded interesting. So, I went to the public library’s website. I was thrilled to find they had an online search option. This would save me from hauling it all the way over there if they didn’t have what I was looking for…brilliant!
One of the books I wanted was an interesting twist on how to change public attitude with simple marketing schemes: The United States of Arugula. I searched for “Arugula.” Sorry, term not found. I tried “United States.” Nope, never heard of that either. I search for some other books with no luck. Already irritated, I call. The man who answers is able to look up the books effortlessly and promises to hold them for me. I give my name with a sigh of relief. Things are looking up.
I head over after work to pick up my books. I stop at the information desk and ask if my books are there. With an annoyed pencil tap, an evil librarian, the likes of which stereotypes about cranky librarians were created, snapped that NO, my books obviously weren’t there and that I should try another identical information desk.
I get there, hand over my library card, only to be told that I haven’t returned the Amy Sedaris cookbook I had loaned over the summer. I am instructed to find the missing book on the shelf or be turned over the to the authorities for book theft. I frantically find cookbook and return to desk. Strange…turns out the book was returned after all. Woman shrugs.
May I please have the books saved for me? Certainly not! They are no where to be found. But, I can have another ignorant shrug. Perfect!
Dismayed, I walk back to the original desk, the one with the smug librarian. There are the books with my name in bright purple marker rubber banded around them, right next to Evil’s mouse pad.
If it wasn’t for my pre-existing soft spot for librarians (thanks to three years living with an actual smart one), I may have strangled someone. I grab the books, check out, and vow never to set foot in that shame hole ever again. No wonder there are only homeless people sleeping on all the tables instead of real patrons. Where are the days of helpful librarians, cheerful book displays encouraging reading, and book drops that don’t have electric fence around them? Shame that even information, it seems, is going out of style.
Today, in an effort to renew some interest in my job, I decided I should read some books related to my field. I have a list of recommendations from numerous conferences and seminars and some of them even sounded interesting. So, I went to the public library’s website. I was thrilled to find they had an online search option. This would save me from hauling it all the way over there if they didn’t have what I was looking for…brilliant!
One of the books I wanted was an interesting twist on how to change public attitude with simple marketing schemes: The United States of Arugula. I searched for “Arugula.” Sorry, term not found. I tried “United States.” Nope, never heard of that either. I search for some other books with no luck. Already irritated, I call. The man who answers is able to look up the books effortlessly and promises to hold them for me. I give my name with a sigh of relief. Things are looking up.
I head over after work to pick up my books. I stop at the information desk and ask if my books are there. With an annoyed pencil tap, an evil librarian, the likes of which stereotypes about cranky librarians were created, snapped that NO, my books obviously weren’t there and that I should try another identical information desk.
I get there, hand over my library card, only to be told that I haven’t returned the Amy Sedaris cookbook I had loaned over the summer. I am instructed to find the missing book on the shelf or be turned over the to the authorities for book theft. I frantically find cookbook and return to desk. Strange…turns out the book was returned after all. Woman shrugs.
May I please have the books saved for me? Certainly not! They are no where to be found. But, I can have another ignorant shrug. Perfect!
Dismayed, I walk back to the original desk, the one with the smug librarian. There are the books with my name in bright purple marker rubber banded around them, right next to Evil’s mouse pad.
If it wasn’t for my pre-existing soft spot for librarians (thanks to three years living with an actual smart one), I may have strangled someone. I grab the books, check out, and vow never to set foot in that shame hole ever again. No wonder there are only homeless people sleeping on all the tables instead of real patrons. Where are the days of helpful librarians, cheerful book displays encouraging reading, and book drops that don’t have electric fence around them? Shame that even information, it seems, is going out of style.
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Baby, It's Cold Outside
Mix equal parts gin, walnut cream sauce, and good friends. Garnish with sleep deprivation. Shake well. Serve over Dean Martin Christmas music.
This delightful little concoction will knock you on your ass and make you wish you had a sugardaddy instead of a job at work the next day. Trust me.
Fascinating conversation though. The trials and errors of finding one's soul mate are one of my favorite topics, one that often pops up if you hang out with lots of 28-year-old single women, which i do. Last night's convo had a twist though.
There we were...three slightly toasted souls just trying to make sense of it all. The one thing we had in common was that we all came from long legacies of hereditary soulmating. What i mean is that all of our parents, grandparents, and for all we know Neanderthal ancestors, had found a life partner to love wholeheartedly and depend on really, truly forever. We had all seen it. We would all recognize it if it happened to us. Because we had been witness to it in our own families, we would accept nothing less than the genuine, the certified, the absolute real thing.
My grandparents ages ago.
This is cause for some concern. What if the kind of love and commitment we've seen doesn't even exist anymore? What if it just went away like dinosaurs or Vanilla Ice? What if expectations, roles, and responsibilities are just different now? What if the whole thing was a sham set up by our relatives to confuse us? Perhaps they thought it would be funny to watch us constantly search for love like a mouse in a mirror maze. Yeah, hilarious.
I'm clearly blessed to have had such amazing relationship role models. But, have they ruined me for the reality of modern dating? It is entirely possible that the ideal has become an impossibility and that pickiness will be my downfall. But, i'm not entirely convinced that pickiness is my problem. Hand in hand with my mid-week drinking partners, settling is simply not an option. My friend made a very valid point..."I'm not even able to BE picky. There aren't even any losers around to turn down."
Fair enough.
My two lovely companions, let's hope that our genetic pre-disposition for successful relationships doesn't end up being some kind of auto-immune deficiency. Let's not give up on history quite yet. It can be done after all. We've seen it.
This delightful little concoction will knock you on your ass and make you wish you had a sugardaddy instead of a job at work the next day. Trust me.
Fascinating conversation though. The trials and errors of finding one's soul mate are one of my favorite topics, one that often pops up if you hang out with lots of 28-year-old single women, which i do. Last night's convo had a twist though.
There we were...three slightly toasted souls just trying to make sense of it all. The one thing we had in common was that we all came from long legacies of hereditary soulmating. What i mean is that all of our parents, grandparents, and for all we know Neanderthal ancestors, had found a life partner to love wholeheartedly and depend on really, truly forever. We had all seen it. We would all recognize it if it happened to us. Because we had been witness to it in our own families, we would accept nothing less than the genuine, the certified, the absolute real thing.
My grandparents ages ago.
This is cause for some concern. What if the kind of love and commitment we've seen doesn't even exist anymore? What if it just went away like dinosaurs or Vanilla Ice? What if expectations, roles, and responsibilities are just different now? What if the whole thing was a sham set up by our relatives to confuse us? Perhaps they thought it would be funny to watch us constantly search for love like a mouse in a mirror maze. Yeah, hilarious.
My grandparents after 50 years of marriage.
I'm clearly blessed to have had such amazing relationship role models. But, have they ruined me for the reality of modern dating? It is entirely possible that the ideal has become an impossibility and that pickiness will be my downfall. But, i'm not entirely convinced that pickiness is my problem. Hand in hand with my mid-week drinking partners, settling is simply not an option. My friend made a very valid point..."I'm not even able to BE picky. There aren't even any losers around to turn down."
Fair enough.
My two lovely companions, let's hope that our genetic pre-disposition for successful relationships doesn't end up being some kind of auto-immune deficiency. Let's not give up on history quite yet. It can be done after all. We've seen it.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Shih Tzus for Obama
I was afraid to be so bold as to say that i just helped make history, but, really, didn't i?
Today might not go down as the most important day in the history of the universe...perhaps the Big Bang and that day when the first fish to haul herself from one puddle to another lived supersedes today by just a hair. But today may very well turn out to be the most monumental event in contemporary history. I'm simply thrilled to be 1. old enough to participate, 2. legally protected to do so, and 3. in DC to celebrate with a bunch of crazed political junkies afterward.
I just voted, got my free coffee from Starbucks, and am reveling in the excitement of my second election in DC. No one is doing any work at my office and it is only a matter of time until we all just surrender the fantasy and start streaming CNN.
Though it hardly needs to be said, i hope that all of my fellow Americans who still have voting rights get their tails to the elementary school or church or police station or VFW and cast their vote. If you're still undecided or haven't been paying attention, just vote for Obama. Actually, if you have any sense at all, vote for Obama. And, as if you still needed reasons, i just heard that Nebraska, my mega-Republican home state, is predicted to award Obama 1 of their 5 electoral votes. If that isn't monumental, i don't know what is.
Today might not go down as the most important day in the history of the universe...perhaps the Big Bang and that day when the first fish to haul herself from one puddle to another lived supersedes today by just a hair. But today may very well turn out to be the most monumental event in contemporary history. I'm simply thrilled to be 1. old enough to participate, 2. legally protected to do so, and 3. in DC to celebrate with a bunch of crazed political junkies afterward.
I just voted, got my free coffee from Starbucks, and am reveling in the excitement of my second election in DC. No one is doing any work at my office and it is only a matter of time until we all just surrender the fantasy and start streaming CNN.
Though it hardly needs to be said, i hope that all of my fellow Americans who still have voting rights get their tails to the elementary school or church or police station or VFW and cast their vote. If you're still undecided or haven't been paying attention, just vote for Obama. Actually, if you have any sense at all, vote for Obama. And, as if you still needed reasons, i just heard that Nebraska, my mega-Republican home state, is predicted to award Obama 1 of their 5 electoral votes. If that isn't monumental, i don't know what is.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
It's about time
I've been living in DC for almost 5 years now. Many of my friends and family members from the Heartland are convinced that bullets wiz by my head constantly, but i never feel unsafe. However, i was mugged on Saturday.
Even though it is often bragged about as the murder capital (both literally and metaphorically since Bush has been in office), DC has always seemed quite charming to me...narrow, tree lined streets, dog parks, standard coldness to strangers, etc. It is a city, without doubt, but it always seemed kinda small and harmless. I walk Olive at all hours of the day and night by myself and stumble home in questionable states of sobriety several times a week and have never gotten so much as a dirty look.
Walking home from Adams Morgan on Saturday, i was actually on my very best behavior...only a little tipsy and with two friends. It was just my time, i guess.
The most interesting thing i noticed is one's natural reaction to danger. My friend didn't make a sound...I screamed like a crazed lunatic. My friend laid down on the sidewalk armadillo-style to protect herself...I became enraged and fought back resulting in a rather painful head injury. Neither of us gave up our purses, despite common knowledge that it is the best way to escape unscathed. Neither of us remember making a decision to react one way or another.
The most comical thing about it is that the attackers would have been quite disappointed had they managed to wrestle our purses from us. As usual, between the two of us, we had around $0.80. I don't carry cash, which is why i often find myself walking for lack of cab fare.
I couldn't call myself a proud Liberal if I hadn't spent years in college researching the social implications of capitalism so, really, i don't feel anger toward these men. They probably needed some money and figured it would be easier to score some off me than find a job, which in reality may be just the case. That being said, I could have done without that punch (so much for all those boxing lessons, right?). Either way, they were caught just 2 blocks away.
After recovering from minor heart failure and brain damage, I am able to see happiness in the situation. For one, I'm alive. Also, if only to appease my worried parents, I shall probably take more cabs, a very fabulous DC thing to do anyway.
Get Over It by OK GO
Even though it is often bragged about as the murder capital (both literally and metaphorically since Bush has been in office), DC has always seemed quite charming to me...narrow, tree lined streets, dog parks, standard coldness to strangers, etc. It is a city, without doubt, but it always seemed kinda small and harmless. I walk Olive at all hours of the day and night by myself and stumble home in questionable states of sobriety several times a week and have never gotten so much as a dirty look.
Walking home from Adams Morgan on Saturday, i was actually on my very best behavior...only a little tipsy and with two friends. It was just my time, i guess.
The most interesting thing i noticed is one's natural reaction to danger. My friend didn't make a sound...I screamed like a crazed lunatic. My friend laid down on the sidewalk armadillo-style to protect herself...I became enraged and fought back resulting in a rather painful head injury. Neither of us gave up our purses, despite common knowledge that it is the best way to escape unscathed. Neither of us remember making a decision to react one way or another.
The most comical thing about it is that the attackers would have been quite disappointed had they managed to wrestle our purses from us. As usual, between the two of us, we had around $0.80. I don't carry cash, which is why i often find myself walking for lack of cab fare.
I couldn't call myself a proud Liberal if I hadn't spent years in college researching the social implications of capitalism so, really, i don't feel anger toward these men. They probably needed some money and figured it would be easier to score some off me than find a job, which in reality may be just the case. That being said, I could have done without that punch (so much for all those boxing lessons, right?). Either way, they were caught just 2 blocks away.
After recovering from minor heart failure and brain damage, I am able to see happiness in the situation. For one, I'm alive. Also, if only to appease my worried parents, I shall probably take more cabs, a very fabulous DC thing to do anyway.
Get Over It by OK GO
Monday, August 4, 2008
Maybe, but Probably Not
I went to a house party on Saturday with one of my girls. I don't normally try very hard to make it to parties where i will know no one, but I like one of the girls who lives there. And, more importantly, she promised we'd be entertained by a smorgasbord of handsome, Spanish-speaking men.
The party actually became fun after my girl and I dominated the beer pong table, much to the shock and horror of the many drunk (and just barely out of college) boys who opposed us. Turns out, you ought not be fooled by the rocks that the overdressed chicks in platform shoes got when it comes to college drinking games.
I chatted up a boy near the pong table. On first glance, he was kinda cute and my friend was too busy rattling on in Spanish to be much company to me. I gave him my email address. Then, he informed me that i should try brushing my hair. Whoa! I didn't realize that I was so openly soliciting beauty advice from Polo-wearing oafs with their collars up. Furthermore, I do brush my hair. I excused myself promptly.
Very little time passed and my friend was under attack. This time he asked why she only dyed her roots. This guy really knew how to impress the ladies.
The best thing is that I got an email today from Mr. Charming. He went on about how if i get back to him right away, MAYBE he'll allot some time for me this week so that i can try harder to impress him (and presumably look a little less Medusa-esque).
Maybe i'll email him back. Maybe, but probably not.
:-)
The party actually became fun after my girl and I dominated the beer pong table, much to the shock and horror of the many drunk (and just barely out of college) boys who opposed us. Turns out, you ought not be fooled by the rocks that the overdressed chicks in platform shoes got when it comes to college drinking games.
I chatted up a boy near the pong table. On first glance, he was kinda cute and my friend was too busy rattling on in Spanish to be much company to me. I gave him my email address. Then, he informed me that i should try brushing my hair. Whoa! I didn't realize that I was so openly soliciting beauty advice from Polo-wearing oafs with their collars up. Furthermore, I do brush my hair. I excused myself promptly.
Very little time passed and my friend was under attack. This time he asked why she only dyed her roots. This guy really knew how to impress the ladies.
The best thing is that I got an email today from Mr. Charming. He went on about how if i get back to him right away, MAYBE he'll allot some time for me this week so that i can try harder to impress him (and presumably look a little less Medusa-esque).
Maybe i'll email him back. Maybe, but probably not.
:-)
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
10 Block Radius
The other night, I had plans with a boy. I had boxing first so i rushed home to hose off. Tick toc, tick toc...he finally calls and ditches me, giving some lame excuse typical of crooked politicians, Enron execs, and single men in DC.
I was bummed, partly because i was now without plans and partly because i could have stayed at boxing and talked to another, cuter boy i have my eye on at the gym. This boy has done this so, so many times before that i have difficultly even being angry with him and am instead furious with myself for even trying.
So, after making a grand statement about how i certainly wouldn't find love sitting on my couch, I invited Olive on a walk. This was a solution i knew would appease both my dog and my disappointment.
Upon reaching Dupont Circle, who do i see giggling with another chick at a crosswalk? Yes, that's correct. I was ditched for a girl in a buttondown. Muttering "You've got to be f*!king kidding," i approached the lying jerk. I got the usual sleazy load of crap.
I was not amused.
I made my exit by explaining to Beige Buttondown that Asshole must have mistakenly made two dates...in the same night...in the same neighborhood.
And you wonder why i'm bitter...
Go Ahead by Alicia Keys
I was bummed, partly because i was now without plans and partly because i could have stayed at boxing and talked to another, cuter boy i have my eye on at the gym. This boy has done this so, so many times before that i have difficultly even being angry with him and am instead furious with myself for even trying.
So, after making a grand statement about how i certainly wouldn't find love sitting on my couch, I invited Olive on a walk. This was a solution i knew would appease both my dog and my disappointment.
Upon reaching Dupont Circle, who do i see giggling with another chick at a crosswalk? Yes, that's correct. I was ditched for a girl in a buttondown. Muttering "You've got to be f*!king kidding," i approached the lying jerk. I got the usual sleazy load of crap.
I was not amused.
I made my exit by explaining to Beige Buttondown that Asshole must have mistakenly made two dates...in the same night...in the same neighborhood.
And you wonder why i'm bitter...
Go Ahead by Alicia Keys
Friday, July 11, 2008
Ladylikeish
Last night, after a strenuous yoga class, I went to the Madhatter, our usual watering hole (with an emphasis on the hole), for a few cocktails with my best girl. I've grown to like the Hatter over the years, despite the risk of infection from the ladies room and hideous music. Like a really bad episode of Cheers, there is something kinda comforting and easy about hanging out in a dirty pub, stumbling distance from my house, where everybody really does know my name. And sometimes i'm almost glad i came.
However, last night i experienced one of the most revolting things that can happy to a girl in the city...
I ran into a rat upon stepping off the curb in the back alley. The dirty little (and by little, i mean huge) beast ran right into my platform shoes, tripped around under my feet for a while, and then ran off.
I realize that hanging out in the alley behind a bunch of dive bars may put me at risk for certain horrible experiences like crackheads, sewage leakage, drunken urinators, and rats. The fact that i know how disgusting it is makes me even more irritated with myself for doing it.
After my male companion recovered from a fit of uninhibited laughter at my misfortune, i informed him that i was a lady and therefore should not be subjected to the likes of back alley rat collisions. But, even as i said it to him, i began to question just how ladylike i really am. I'd like to think that i'm infinitely civilized, complete with embroidered hankies and stemware and good posture. However, i clearly don't behave very well and have most of my fun in a drunken, rowdy stupor. In fact, some of my most cherished moments in life have resulted in my awakening at 6am fully-clothed on the Love Sac with Olive looking at me shamefully.
The only redeeming quality of the night was that after a good long scream and a short trip onto the back of my male companion, i was able to laugh about my intimate moment with one of DC's finest. I was a bit surprised myself! Even though i usually pout about why i always end up in rodent-infested bars instead of immaculate, posh lounges, i was able to see humor in this situation. Perhaps that is the most ladylike behavior after all...perhaps maintaining fabulocity against all odds and in every environment is the epitome of a lady.
I won't be so bold to call myself a lady quite yet. If i do, i'm afraid i'll have to also call myself old. But, in the meantime, i'm relieved to discover that even if i find myself in a thriving dumpster community of all things sick and wrong, i can still hold it together (pretty much).
P.S. If i suddenly die from Black Plague, please send the lovely folks at the Hatter my regards.
However, last night i experienced one of the most revolting things that can happy to a girl in the city...
I ran into a rat upon stepping off the curb in the back alley. The dirty little (and by little, i mean huge) beast ran right into my platform shoes, tripped around under my feet for a while, and then ran off.
I realize that hanging out in the alley behind a bunch of dive bars may put me at risk for certain horrible experiences like crackheads, sewage leakage, drunken urinators, and rats. The fact that i know how disgusting it is makes me even more irritated with myself for doing it.
After my male companion recovered from a fit of uninhibited laughter at my misfortune, i informed him that i was a lady and therefore should not be subjected to the likes of back alley rat collisions. But, even as i said it to him, i began to question just how ladylike i really am. I'd like to think that i'm infinitely civilized, complete with embroidered hankies and stemware and good posture. However, i clearly don't behave very well and have most of my fun in a drunken, rowdy stupor. In fact, some of my most cherished moments in life have resulted in my awakening at 6am fully-clothed on the Love Sac with Olive looking at me shamefully.
The only redeeming quality of the night was that after a good long scream and a short trip onto the back of my male companion, i was able to laugh about my intimate moment with one of DC's finest. I was a bit surprised myself! Even though i usually pout about why i always end up in rodent-infested bars instead of immaculate, posh lounges, i was able to see humor in this situation. Perhaps that is the most ladylike behavior after all...perhaps maintaining fabulocity against all odds and in every environment is the epitome of a lady.
I won't be so bold to call myself a lady quite yet. If i do, i'm afraid i'll have to also call myself old. But, in the meantime, i'm relieved to discover that even if i find myself in a thriving dumpster community of all things sick and wrong, i can still hold it together (pretty much).
P.S. If i suddenly die from Black Plague, please send the lovely folks at the Hatter my regards.
Monday, June 23, 2008
Never again...
I was nice to the woman who gives parking tickets in my neighborhood this morning. She noticed Olive and I kindly informed her that my dog was friendly and would gratefully accept an ear scratch. I don't have a car so I figured she meant me no harm. Even though she terrorizes my friends and neighbors I assumed she was only working through several past lives of bad karma to procure such a profession and would perhaps respond amicably to a friendly face for once.
I was wrong.
She scowled at me and Olive, pretending to be terrified of my clearly ferocious (possibly rabid) Shih Tzu. Olive and I don't use a leash when we're just doing a quick pop around the block so the woman proceeded to lecture me on mandatory leash laws. She then stomped off, probably to report me and my feral, bloodthirsty companion to someone with more authority than her.
I have one comment and one question:
Comment: This evil woman deserves all the frowns and cold-shoulders she receives. She is clearly mentally ill and was mistakenly given a cushy city job instead of the straightjacket and shock therapy she needs to get better. If my dog, who is barely pushing 13lbs. and was idly sniffing flowers when approached by this maniac, is a threat to public safety, I may need to be locked up myself. The lady should be made to live the rest of her life in a cube in Crystal City for being so foul and miserable.
Question: If children are allowed to walk on the sidewalk without a leash, why isn't my dog? I think it is a safe assumption to say that most dogs are better behaved than most children. I know I may be a little bias, but I think I can confirm that Olive, a teenager in dog years, is less capable of destruction of property and physical harm than a human her same age. In fact, Olive and I run and hide from the brats that walk down O Street during the school year, throwing eggs, yelling obscenities, littering, and starting fights.
After the interchange with mega-bitch in uniform, Olive and I stared at each other blankly, both wondering what the hell we were doing in such a strange town...one in which you can't even walk on your own block at 8:30 am without being accosted by some crazed stranger with ill-intentions.
Then Olive wagged her plume at me and went back to sniffing flowers. I never stop learning things from her...bad people don't deserve much time...it is better to just keep doing what makes you happy.
I was wrong.
She scowled at me and Olive, pretending to be terrified of my clearly ferocious (possibly rabid) Shih Tzu. Olive and I don't use a leash when we're just doing a quick pop around the block so the woman proceeded to lecture me on mandatory leash laws. She then stomped off, probably to report me and my feral, bloodthirsty companion to someone with more authority than her.
I have one comment and one question:
Comment: This evil woman deserves all the frowns and cold-shoulders she receives. She is clearly mentally ill and was mistakenly given a cushy city job instead of the straightjacket and shock therapy she needs to get better. If my dog, who is barely pushing 13lbs. and was idly sniffing flowers when approached by this maniac, is a threat to public safety, I may need to be locked up myself. The lady should be made to live the rest of her life in a cube in Crystal City for being so foul and miserable.
Question: If children are allowed to walk on the sidewalk without a leash, why isn't my dog? I think it is a safe assumption to say that most dogs are better behaved than most children. I know I may be a little bias, but I think I can confirm that Olive, a teenager in dog years, is less capable of destruction of property and physical harm than a human her same age. In fact, Olive and I run and hide from the brats that walk down O Street during the school year, throwing eggs, yelling obscenities, littering, and starting fights.
After the interchange with mega-bitch in uniform, Olive and I stared at each other blankly, both wondering what the hell we were doing in such a strange town...one in which you can't even walk on your own block at 8:30 am without being accosted by some crazed stranger with ill-intentions.
Then Olive wagged her plume at me and went back to sniffing flowers. I never stop learning things from her...bad people don't deserve much time...it is better to just keep doing what makes you happy.
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Working from the outside in
I had a fabulous dinner party last night with some of my Latino (and Latino wanna-be) friends. If you have friends of Spanish decent, you understand why i am clutching my coffee with a death grip this morning.
I'm proud to say i kicked ass in the vegetarian Italian cooking realm and we had a lovely Salsa lesson. We also managed to finish off several bottles of wine and Cava, which may have contributed to the impossible task of arriving to work on time today.
Awakening, bleary eyed, to an apartment littered with champagne glasses and wine bottles this morning was simultaneously shameful and fabulous. Shameful because there really is no good reason to drink that much on a random Tuesday. Fabulous because i'm glad i don't feel too old to drink that much on a random Tuesday.
I dressed in my most professional gear today. My colleagues must think I have a job interview. I don't. But there is something about looking like a grown-up that balances out completely not acting like one.
Thanks for all the fun Simon, Colleen, and Gabriele! I appreciate you speaking English all night just for me.
I'm proud to say i kicked ass in the vegetarian Italian cooking realm and we had a lovely Salsa lesson. We also managed to finish off several bottles of wine and Cava, which may have contributed to the impossible task of arriving to work on time today.
Awakening, bleary eyed, to an apartment littered with champagne glasses and wine bottles this morning was simultaneously shameful and fabulous. Shameful because there really is no good reason to drink that much on a random Tuesday. Fabulous because i'm glad i don't feel too old to drink that much on a random Tuesday.
I dressed in my most professional gear today. My colleagues must think I have a job interview. I don't. But there is something about looking like a grown-up that balances out completely not acting like one.
Thanks for all the fun Simon, Colleen, and Gabriele! I appreciate you speaking English all night just for me.
Monday, January 14, 2008
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.)
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