Monday, January 30, 2006


do something!!! please!!!

Almost to work, I was smiling, thinking of my random dream last night, where I met Simon Cowell, and he instantly adored me, and we had a heart-to-heart about how mean he is to people who come to him with their hearts open.

But then I passed someone on the street, and he looked miserable. And all of a sudden, accompanied by a sharp intake of air, I remembered my other dream. I was on this volunteer mission, helping out poor people. They were poor, and it was sad, but it wasn't overwhelming. But then the volunteers, and there were a lot of us, heard that there were more people around the corner who needed help.

And a bunch of us started walking, ignoring the shouts of the people in charge to turn back - I remember looking to my right and seeing people walking, some girl in a ponytail - and we turned the corner. And there were starving people, begging for help. Some were sick. Some were dying. One woman, I walked to her, and she was just crying. I wanted to help her, but I couldn't. I irrationally wanted to give her the cheap ring I wear, as if something pretty could help.

Then I walked on, and I found a dad with two little kids. And then I went to some room, looked around some more, then heard an announcement, but it was like I was the only one who could hear it, as if it was a premonition, and it said "Three people died today..." and three people were walking towards me down the hallway, and I knew they were going to die. One person was someone who I know in real life (but he doesn't read my blog, so don't worry, it's none of you guys), and that scares me.

It was such a horrible dream. I feel sick, thinking about it. It reminds me of the truth, that there are people out there who are just suffering horribly. I remember in high school, when we were diving hardcore into learning about the Holocaust, and I raised my hand and asked my teacher "But why? Why didn't anyone do anything?" And she didn't have an answer.

But there's a genocide going on, with terrors, gang rapes, burnings today in Darfur, and in other places that seem so remote and so far away from my safe apartment. Horrors we can't imagine. Babies being murdered in front of their mothers. Two year olds, snatched from their mother's arms. Shot. Knifed. Just senseless, senseless crimes.

The people committing these crimes, they are counting on our complacency. They know that we are just so far away, and feel so helpless, that we can't do anything to make a difference.

Why doesn't anyone do anything about it? How are we going on? How is the world standing for it?

Do something. Please.

Fill out this form. It's your name, street name, city and state, and email address. That's it. And I know no one likes to give out their email address, but you know we all have that "junk email" address specifically for this purpose.

Saturday, January 28, 2006



Today I met up with Liam and E on the Mall. I got there first, and was sitting on a bench, soaking up the sun, waiting for my two friends. My mind was wandering, and I thought that it would be really cool to play hide and seek with them.

Then I get a call from Liam saying that he was on the Mall, and he commented on my orange sweatshirt, wearing a white cap. I looked alert, trying to see him. I scanned the masses coming towards me, saw a few weird looking people, but no Liam.

Basically, for 15 minutes I couldn't find him, and he verbalized my every move, including when I stood on a bench in the hopes of finding him. I finally decided that I'd be able to see him better if I walked in to the middle of the grass, and began walking towards the metro. After about three minutes of walking, he said "you know, you've been walking away from me this whole time, muahaha."

I turned, and finally spotted him. He had been sitting on the bench directly across from me the entire time.

While waiting for E to arrive, we saw the CUTEST puppy. Liam has a soft spot for all things cuddly, so we decided to go over and join the adoring masses. A little kid toddled up there too. He was wearing a harness.

Personally, I believe in trussing up your precocious kid when in a busy spot, but I found the whole "dog wearing leash meets kid wearing leash" experience hilarious. I'm sure the parents were less than thrilled with having some random girl yammering on a cell phone take their kid's picture...but oh well. Public space = fair game for photography!

We played the hiding game with E once she made it on the scene, but she was decidedly less enamored with the situation, so I kinda gave up and walked out into the middle of the area, sporting my bright orange sweatshirt. She was similarly easy to find, wearing a purple fleece and carrying a big gold bag. Liam was totally prepared to the situation, wearing an outfit "the color of dirt and sand," according to E.

After we all united, E turned and said "HEY! Is that B Jones? It's B Jones!!"

And it was our CUA friend B Jones, cruising by on his bike, transporting practice LSATS to a fax machine, so that they could be scored. We stopped and chatted for a few minutes, then he went off on his merry way.

what a fantastic day.

Wednesday, January 25, 2006


Thanks, Stranger!

This morning I was waiting to cross a busy intersection, almost to work. It's a one way, and the light had turned red. I stepped off the sidewalk, anticipating the little flashing walk man.

The man came on when I was about 1/4 the way across the street, I think. But then I heard a siren start up, and a police officer turned on his lights, across the intersection, and it seemed as though he was intending to head my way.

I paused in the middle, unsure what to do. If I stopped to let the police car pass, there was a danger of me getting hit a) by the police car or b) by the other cars getting out of the police car's way. If I went, I would possibly impede justice, and the prospect of getting flattened was very likely.

A man stepped off the sidewalk on the curb opposite, and I decided to go for it, and began to run/skedaddle to safety. As he passed me, he said one word, urgently.


I kept going, and got on the sidewalk right as the police car passed behind me. Turning back at the watchful stranger, he had made it safe to other side as well. I waited, to somehow convey that I appreciated his message, but he didn't look back.

One word, one instance of caring, had such an impact. I hope he somehow knows that it meant something to me...the stupid girl, stopped in the middle of the street.

Tuesday, January 24, 2006


Misss Ameerriiccaaaa

I'm watching Miss America right now, after stumbling upon it while waiting for Scrubs to begin. Ordinarily this is when I'd watch House (and yes, I complained about this last week), but since FOX treats its loyal viewers like one show I watch is thrown out the window.

Oh, and E just told me that Miss America is actually a repeat, and she knows who won. I do love suspense, so I hope no one tells me the winner within the next two hours. Otherwise there is just no point in listening to the all-important Q & A period.

Anyhow. Back in the day I used to get super excited about Miss America, for several years a friend and I would make sashes out of old nightgowns, and we were glued to the TV. I don't think I ever pretended to be Miss America - like those stupid stories they tell in their little camera moments - but I definitely had a good time.

So, they just had the intros for all the girls, and I realized that I'm older than, oh, almost all of them. Some of them are 24 or 25, but those are the old spinsters. You can almost see their crow's feet, good God!

Naturally, I'm seeing how I stack up against all these "lovely ladies." And honestly, I don't feel like we're even the same species. They're all made up, tan, perfectly coifed. They have movie-star hair. Impossibly small waists, long slender legs, and big boobs. And those teeth! They all have perfect teeth!

oooh, swimsuit competition, and they're playing an instrumental version of "Sway" by Bobby Rydell.

Camera then pans to me. Sitting at the dining room table, typing away with three fingers (because those touch typing classes never did stick). Wearing blue snowflake pajama pants, a green fleece top. Hair half up, red nail polish chipped. Pale. No impossibly small waist, no perfect legs, definitely no big boobs. Sitting with one foot beneath me, chomping on harvest cheddar sun chips. And my hair resembles the unkempt strands on the floozy's head starring in the Morphoplex commercial.

I'm like the typical mess/work in progress/fixer upper, they are like those girls you see on commercials...only they're real. Such a contrast.

But you know what? Even though I'm not a Miss America contestant, my life is pretty darn good, and more in line with what my 8 year old self wished for. I have a job in the writing/editing/magazine industry, in my favorite city. I work at a non profit, which was a dream that I didn't think that I'd be able to work out - at least not right away. Because, let's face it, I was at the mercy of those who were doing the hiring. One would like to think that they pick the company, but when you're without a job, it's the company that picks you. What were the odds that it would be perfect?

And hell, I clean up good.

And now an eHarmony commercial is on, and it reminds me of a conversation I had with my boss today. She told me that a family friend had died yesterday, the woman was in her late 80s, and she and her husband had been married for 63 years. My boss has been married 25 years this upcoming April, and I asked her if it made her excited to think that she was part of something that's heading toward 50+ years. And she got this big smile on her face and said that it makes her very excited to think of it.

And I told her that even though I'm single - with no prospects - it still makes me excited to think of being part of something that will last for 50+ years, God willing. The thought of it just makes my eyes shine.

okay. enough rambling. a sign in the office says:

"if you never go in tangents, you're doomed to traveling in circles."

(oh, and now that there's only 20 minutes left and they're down to five, my money is on Miss DC. Goooooo Caps!)

Monday, January 23, 2006


Wicked (plus tangent on life and such)

Right now I'm listening to the soundtrack from the musical Wicked. And I'm bouncing along in my chair.

My older bro and his girlfriend bought me and my mom the same gift for Christmas - both of us got the book Wicked, and tickets to the musical, for when it comes to Boston in April. Wicked is the back story of the Wicked Witch of the West, and it is written by Gregory Maguire. Let me say right here that no matter what I say about the book, this is a great gift. I love to read, I love musicals, and I love spending time with my mom. And she loves all of the above too, except substitute "with meghan" for "with my mom." (Although she loves spending time with her mom too, but I digress.)

On that note, the was okay. It's well-written, and a pretty grabbing read, but I have a history with the Wizard of Oz and the Wicked Witch of the West. In short, it scared the crap out of me when I was younger. I clearly remember hiding my face in the cushions of my babysitter's sofa, covering my ears from the frightening cackle of that green-faced horror. It is seared in my memory, along with "Babes in Toyland" (that snowy accident scene? anyone know what I'm talking about? anyone?).

Since this person babysat me when I was three to four, hiding from the witch could possibly be one of my first memories. (Suddenly everything is coming together...)


So I approached this book with trepidation. And it's a good story! But the witch's life is just so sad, so that tainted it a bit for me. I appreciate the quality of the writing and the plot, but it's so hard for me to truly love something that is rather depressing. For example, The Kite Runner. I read that during the summer, and it's a fascinating read. And gripping. And totally worthwhile. But I didn't enjoy it. It was kind of like a cross that I had to carry.

Back to Wicked. It was neat to "learn" about the Witch's life. How she tried so, so hard, but she just ended up doing the wrong thing all the time. How she was smart, and hurt and scared, and really not wicked at all. How hard her life was, how lonely she was. So my mom and I decided to watch the Wizard of Oz when I come home for the weekend in February, so that we can see it all with a new point of view. Maybe all of her previous evil actions will look not-so-psychotic because we've taken a walk in her pointy-toed shoes.

That's one thing that I love about the story; getting behind the motivations of someone who has been so maligned since the original book was published in 1900. As Alanis Morisette once said on a VH1 commericial that I randomly remember from when I was a sophomore in college, "Anger is an extension of hurt."

The Wicked Witch of the West, ladies and gentlemen, is one hurt individual. And it's so hard to remember that and apply it to everyday life. Not to be all Dalai Lama, but often when someone lashes out, it's due to hurt feelings or insecurities or from being scared. And if you remember that, and address that as the root of the problem, instead of reacting to the anger, a connection is truly made.

But when all that is said and done, her life still stunk. And that's a total downer.

Yesterday afternoon we (we being me, E and DV) went to Borders. DV suggested we split up, we agreed, so he went to the right, and E and I made a beeline together to the cards section. There we pondered the fact that we had said we would split up, then didn't. Especially since we had just gone on for about five minutes about how we're natural loners, that's why we get along so well.

Serendipitously, there was a Wicked soundtrack right on top of some of the cards. Since I have zero self-control, and I've been wondering what the musical will sound like, I decided to buy it, once I got over the (repeated) embarrassment of buying a CD in a bookstore.

I listened to it during work while entering corrections and sorting mail (don't be too jealous now!). And I know this is rather basic, and shows a lack of common sense on my part, but I was delighted to find that the Witch has this ridiculously amazing voice. I expected some sort of scratchy nasally barely tolerable sound, but it's just like, "wow." And the main guy has a very hot voice. I also thought that all of the music would be really glum. Funereal. But there are tingles and pianos and light violins. It's kind of a Phantom of the Opera meets Rent sound. Sort of dark and intense, but with soaring upbeats.

The soundtrack has it all. Love songs. Hate songs. Sad songs. Songs for friends. Songs for singing and dancing to when you're in your room.

And so I suppose it was a successful book in terms of winning me over, even though I claim to have not truly enjoyed it. Afterall, I dropped $15 for the soundtrack and I've put quite a couple of songs on perma-repeat. (in case anyone is wondering, "As Long As You're Mine", "I'm Not That Girl", "Popular", and "What Is This Feeling?".) I've made great strides - I'm going to re-visit that which scared me as a child, and I'm writing a blog entry about it.

"Kiss me too fiercely
Hold me too tight
I need help believing you're with me tonight

My wildest dreamings
could not foresee
lying beside you
with you wanting me"

Does the Wicked Witch that you thought you knew sing that? I think not!

Thursday, January 19, 2006


viewer warning

the second I posted the below entry, I felt instant blog remorse. I'd delete it, if I didn't feel like that was cheating.

it's standard whiny blog "this is my day" fare. And for that, I apologize.

off to bed.


running on 4 hours of sleep

"you pretend it doesn't bother you, but you just want to explode." - metallica (cover)

I've been bad at pretending lately, it's like I've become too comfortable and I've forgotten how to mask my feelings. You are surrounded by people who tell you that you're the bomb, that what you have to say is important, and that little sensor that is in your head gradually shuts down from too little use.

But really, people don't really care to hear what you have to say, a lot of the time. Or, what you have to say isn't worth the pain it inflicts. To quote my horoscope from today ( Impulsive planets drive you. Following your whim can be nice, but even nicer is the effect you have when you remember to think before you speak. Keeping regrets at a minimum helps you better enjoy your own company.

Take from that what you will.

On a sidenote, I'm absurdly over-excited about wearing jeans and sneakers to work tomorrow. I think it's because getting dressed this week has been such a struggle (ooohhhh my lifee is sooo hard!). Tuesday I was worried about the rain, so I couldn't wear my boots. It didn't rain during my commute, those jerks. Yesterday (was that only yesterday?) I wore an almost pajama-like outfit, pulled together by a jean jacket. Yes, I relied on a jean jacket to pull an outfit together. How professional.

Today I woke up AN HOUR early because I wanted to get to work by 8:10. Well, I tried on several different outfits, each one missing an integral piece, either because it was a) dirty beyond redemption or b) not in my closet because I don't own it, I just wish I did. I tried on a black skirt with a cardigan (with boots and fishnets...hmm. POLL: fishnets - appropriate or inappropriate for the workplace?), also gray pants, then settled on an outfit that didn't look half bad, if you ask me.

Brown pants, teal camisole, ummm...I know I wore a shirt over that camisole, can't remember which one..., and muted gold shoes.

I am clearly. Clearly losing my mind. So tired. What the hell did I wear as a shirt today?

I just sunk to the depths of patheticness, and had to look in my closet for the answer. I wore a deep purple cardigan with three quarter length sleeves.

So uh, yeah, perhaps now it's obvious why I'm looking forward to the jeans, sneakers/no-thought combo. Oh, and I forgot to mention that since I was such a mess in the morning, I got to work only 10 minutes early.

sorry this stinks. it's totally the equivalent of having a girlfriend whine at the end of the day about completely un-important things. or having a friend just blab blab blab when all you want her to do is shut up so you can enjoy life in peace.

Epiphany! Perhaps this blog is my problem, the thing that has made my sensor shut down. Because I definitely said at the beginning that I have to start keeping my mouth shut, and then I wrote about the most insignificant thing ever.

maybe something ridiculous will happen to me tomorrow, and I'll blog my heart out about it.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006


An Ode to Bubba

Today I started thinking about why my younger brother is the best. It all started because I walking behind the White House (and yes, I'm a monument name dropper whore. But it relates to the story), and I thought about last week, when I called him. The convo went something like this -

Me: Hey Bub, how are you? Is mom home?
Bub: Yeah, I think she's taking a nap though...
Me: Why?
Bub: She has a headache -
Me: Oh. Guess where I am?! Behind the White House. It's so pretty! And I look super sketchy because I'm trying to kill time because I'm supposed to meet someone in 15 minutes and I'm early.
Bub: You're behind the White House? Bomb. Kill. Allah. I'm a terrorist, how are the plans coming along? Is everything in place? Bomb.

Bub is also the greatest because he pretty much always humors me. (so basically, he lets me have my way. All the time.) He comes to all the weird movies that I drag him to, like that random one during the summer that was about boar-hunters in Corsica. They really killed boars! And showed it!! He doesn't complain when I drag him to the plaza with me, and then mull obsessively over which pocketbook purchase is wisest. He even offers to pay for my sub addiction, when I loudly sigh and say "I WISH I could have a chicken cutlet right now!" And you know what? Sometimes I take him up on it and accept his money, the rotten person I am.

He also generally puts up with my warbling in the car, along with the songs on permanent repeat. Some people may say "Oh Meg. Don't you think fifteen times of the acoustic version of 'You'll Think of Me' is enough?" I've even caught him singing along sometimes, especially to "I Hate Everything" by George Strait. But for some reason, he never puts up with "You're So Vain" by Carly Simon.

He's also an HTML/Flash/Photoshop genius. He's a pro with everything on the computer, except writing in his blog. But then again, maybe he doesn't want to show his sister up. :-)

Even though he's six years younger, he's also protective. He says stuff to my mom like "If he hurts her, I'm going to wring his neck" (yes, I know about that!) and worries about me when I do stupid things.

Bub also has convictions, and isn't afraid to speak out about them. Which is super cool. And he reads stuff for school, and thinks about what they're saying, and what people mean. And when he has questions about things, he doesn't just wonder, he investigates. And he keeps his brain sharp, by speaking in french at the dinner table, and laughing at me when I mess up. And by learning that useless of tongues, bob-talk.

I miss you Bub!! I am so going to dominate on the slopes in February.


And pick a darn date to come visit me!!!

Tuesday, January 17, 2006


my brain...turning to mush...

Right now I'm watching American Idol with C-note, and I feel my brain turning to mush. I was hoping to see House tonight, but apparently my man is taking the week off. Which is definitely disappointing. I'm slightly embarrassed to admit it, but I was looking forward to watching House for a good part of the day.

My younger brother pointed out last week that it's the same plot, every week. And well, it's true. Someone has some sort of collapse

(and oh goodness. I just told C-note that a guy is cute on American Idol, then he said that he's 17. So I'm checking out guys my brother's age. Wonderful.)

anyhow, someone has some sort of collapse, they end up at House's hospital. They go through the "writing the symptoms on the board" montage, it's either something or something, and then the drug chosen will either heal or kill the person. And then generally the person survives (after they flatline as the doctors search for the tumor, tear in the organ, parasite in the blood, etc), although sometimes there is a little twist here or there. And occasionally there's a little romantic sideline, to keep those of us who live life vicariously happy.

The point is, the plot is not the point of House. I know what's going to happen, I basically know how it's going to end. There aren't any big surprises. Oh well.

"House" is all about the journey. The little quips along the way. How insensitive House will be, how arrogant, emotional or insensitive his underlings will be. They don't rely on flashy special effects, or super duper tension. I love the language and the conversation. It's all about the dialogue.

And that heart of gold lurking under House's arrogant, scruffy, be-caned exterior... *swoon*

Monday, January 16, 2006


before I forget (again)

There's this phenomenon going around, and I don't know if it's unique to DC, or to the South, or if it's in Mass too, and I just don't realize because I haven't been there during this special time for quite some time now.

What is UP with those football flags that people put on their cars? They are so funny. Some people have only one (although most go with the symmetrical "one on each side of the car" look) others have like, 15, one stuck in every nook and cranny of their vehicles.

Is it just a DC thing? I don't think so, because I've seen cars with flags supporting teams other than the Redskins, such as the Steelers. But maybe it's a DC thing to sport the flag, and they make banners for many teams, in order to feed the geographically-based addiction?

Or are there silly looking cars driving all around Boston as well?

I don't know, when I see them, I just laugh. It's a shame that the Redskins lost...the goofy flags are going back into hiding until the next season.

Sunday, January 15, 2006


only 12:30, and already two lessons learned


it's been a rollercoaster of a half hour. (I got up at noon)

First, I woke up, and glanced at Major Tom's bowl, since I figured it was time to feed him. Weekends are rough on the poor guy - during the week he first gets fed at 7:30. On the weekends, it's anyone's guess when I'll wake up and tend to the whole "meal" thing.

So his bowl looked all bubbly and weird. I went over there, and Major Tom was at the bottom, all pale and transparent-like. I stuck my finger in, and it came out practically frostbitten. Going immediately into crisis management mode, I flew to the bathroom with the bowl in hand, poured out half, then added hot water in its place.

The water pressure made Mjr. Tom spin around, but I figured that could be a way of reviving his little heart. Then I brought his habitat back to its place on my bureau, re-attached his little plant, and I thought the water still felt too cold. So I emptied four shot glasses of it, and added some more really hot water. Then I finally fed the little guy.

LESSON ONE: Although the room may be too stifling for my (or anyone's) taste, parking the fish bowl in front of the wide open sliding door may not be the best plan of action for Major Tom's vitality.

So, I got an IM from a friend this morning saying something along the lines of "I was in DC yesterday and I didn't see you! I called and texted you, but...nothing."

LET ME ENGAGE IN SOME SELF-FLAGELLATION RIGHT NOW. This friend. We were super tight freshman year (memories!) but he decided that he hated Catholic, and left after that year. We've kept in touch, mostly via IM, but we haven't seen each other since that tearful (well, on my part, haha) goodbye.

And I was an IDIOT and forgot to tell him that I had changed my cell number after my previous phone had stopped working. So, he had tried the number that I had had for four years, but no dice. He was at GW! And "where everybody knows your name!" Like, 4 miles away from me!


LESSON TWO: Even if you haven't talked on the phone with someone for like, two-three years, give them your new number. You never know when they'll be five miles away.

Tian. If you read this. Come to our party. There'll be sheet cake.

Saturday, January 14, 2006


No, I wouldn't like to hear the specials...

Last night E and I went to...well, you know where, and we had a great time. Towards the end of the night, I started talking to this random guy who went to my school. I recognized him, but I didn't know his name, year, or any other information (and still don't, actually, except for his first name.) He looks like a total dork, and he works the image for all it's worth. He's so dorky that all the super duper "cool" guys love him.

Apparently this was on his mind, because out of the blue he asked me if I smoke pot. I replied in the negative, and he said that smoking it would make me philosophical. I replied that I'm already philosophical enough, thank you.

He asked me why I didn't want to try marijuana, and I responded that I simply did not want to, and did not have interest in it. Quite basically, I've never had the urge.

He then went off on a semi-tirade, designed to help me throw off the oppressive shackles of society's laws. Said that alcohol is more potent, that it's not crack, that the only reason I don't smoke is because it's illegal. I told him that there are plenty of legal things that I could do, but choose not to. For example, bungee jumping. Or skydiving. They are out there in the realm of possibilities, but I have zero desire to partake in the joys. Same with pot. It's out there, I could get it...but I just don't want to.

I have to wonder if he's like a child, that if something is an option, he'll automatically try it. Perhaps he's adventurous, the "I'll try everything once" sort.

Me? Naah. I'm the annoying, provincial person who gets the same thing every time I go to restaurants. At Luna, I get the open-faced turkey sandwich. At Richardi's, I get the large chicken cutlet sub, with mayo and a little bit of lettuce. At most Asian restaurants, pineapple fried rice (sans shrimp). And all with Pepsi, please.

I'm not opposed to trying new things, but I generally get the same thing for a couple of reasons. The first is that, well - to clarify, when I eat something that I enjoy, I have a great time. I'm sure it's the same for everyone, but I want to point out that if I love to eat a certain meal, the meal experience is just fantastic. And this may be a sign of an eating problem, but it makes me happy, dammit. Truly happy.

So, back to the reasons. Good pineapple fried rice is delicious. There may be other things on the menu that sound vaguely appealing, but I've found something that works, and I'm going to stick to it. You may be thinking... "well meg, what if there's something better there and you're not trying it?" I'll definitely try it...the day that I don't want pineapple fried rice.

Also, since I'm in relatively a low notch on the socio-economic scale, I don't want to waste money on a meal that could be a disappointment, especially when I have a sure bet right in front of me. There's nothing more frustrating than choking down a nasty dinner.

Please don't get me wrong - I do try new things. For example, Thursday night I had duck for the first time. It's been on my mind for quite some time, but I hadn't either a) been someplace that serves it or b) felt like missing out on a classic fav. But I went to a new (to me) restaurant Thursday, and since it was for Restaurant Week, I felt as though the cost wouldn't be a big loss if I found the entree disgusting.

Well, the word that came to mind was "succulent." And it gave me pause to think of eating one of the little guys. I love ducks, they're so plump and cute. And it was weird to be chomping on the plumpness. I'll certainly be eating it again, although probably not very often. Along with the duck came sweet potato fries, and they were FANTASTIC. I'd actually take those over the duck any day.

And today I had Pad Thai at Noodles & Co, something else that I've never had before. And sprouts. They were delighfully watery, although the taste left something to be desired.

(and isn't it funny how I'm insecure about this, so I feel it necessary to list in detail every recent new thing that I've tried?)

So, I used to feel sheepish and loser-like for always getting the same thing, especially when others extol the virtues of sampling the smorgasbord in front of them. But my little conversation with my fellow bar-goer helped me to realize that knowing what I like is not a bad thing. And that just because something is an option on the menu of life, I don't have to feel guilty about not trying it.

Friday, January 13, 2006



I'm thinking of staying in and watching Mr. and Mrs. Smith, followed by the usual with E, when she gets out of work.

if anyone wants to join me for a relaxed movie night + dancing like a goofball, let me know!

Thursday, January 12, 2006



and a little bit insane...

tonight I walked back to the apartment, via the National Mall. I was tempted to multi-task, pick up the cell and call my parents, but then I thought "NO! Take time to think."

I didn't think about much, to be truthful, but I was surprised to feel the swelling of my heart, brimming over with happiness and a feeling of being blessed. I began my walk by cutting through the near-deserted Ronald Reagan Center. White Christmas lights were up, and my heels clicked noisily on the cobblestones. Underdressed for the weather, per usual, but it's a balmy 45 degrees or so.

I walked along Constitution, jumping up on the stone wall and skipping across the gaps where the sidewalk cut through. I navigated around a shrub, saw two guys, tripped, then gave them a natural smile because I felt like the biggest fool. Cutting through the skating rink, some Latin music came on, and I danced a bit in the shadows and travelled along the semi-darkened path.

(but don't worry all of you, I kept looking behind me in a paranoid manner, and my pepperspray was at the top of my bag.)

Getting to the Mall, I did a couple of twirls, thinking about the wonderful co-workers (fast becoming friends) that I had just parted with in front of the restaurant. Thinking about my supportive family, thinking about my fantastic friends who have stuck by me, through thick and thin. Waiting at a stoplight, a mysterious figure in a returning fire truck raised a hand in salutation, I waved back.

After crossing the street, I took in the view that still makes my heart skip a beat. The Capitol, a turn, then the Washington Monument. I stared at the point and steadily flashing red light, wondering why it makes me stop so. What does it represent to me? America? Patriotism? Really big cool buildings? I don't know, but the drug that grabbed me during my 8th grade field trip still does its magic.

I left the Mall and began the final journey to my warm apartment, passing the friendly security guards along the way.

It's been a rough week. But at the end of it all, I was able to reflect, smile and realize how wonderful my life is. What a gift.

Wednesday, January 11, 2006



Tonight the neighbor dinner was moved to The Melting Pot, in honor of Restaurant Week.

My word. I started off the night all peppy, energetically diving my food into the cheese, then moving on to the entree, dipping meats in oil. I was in my element. Fresh off from work, I was ready to stuff my face. And then it all hit me, like a ton of lard. My shirt, tight to start with (what one gets when they buy their clothes in "Paris" of Busch Gardens) was becoming unbearable underneath my sweater. My skirt was feeling too high on my waist. My legs, encased in boots, were begging to be stretched.

In between the "fried meat" course and the "dunking everything in chocolate" period, I sashayed to the bathroom, where I removed the tight faux parisian shirt, and felt a sigh of relief as I just wore my sweater back to the table. I sat down, pushed my chair back, and slouched in true well-bred style. Matt, sitting next to me, did the same. He made the observation that we seemed to be the only ones hurting, as Alex exclaimed that he wanted more food, but he was all out of spears. (he was "out" because they were both frying something at the time.) I saw Alex reaching for vegetable after vegetable, and although I knew that a vat of chocolate was coming up, I was fantasizing about magically arriving at my bed, and crawling in wearing my loosest pajamas.

I then took it easy, only having half-strawberries dipped in chocolate, then got a slight second wind while paying the check, and had two little pieces of pound cake, with chocolate on top (and the sides, and the bottom). Then we rolled out of there, me feeling like I needed to be pushed up the stairs and that I had eaten enough to fill up the capacity of a whale's stomach.

It was a total bargain. God bless restaurant week and the good times it brings. (and will bring, since I'm going out with girls from work tomorrow.)

oh my goodness. I haven't been this stuffed since Christmas Eve. And yeah, I know that wasn't even a month ago, but times get pretty lean when I'm living off the CVS Lean Cuisine selection.

So yeah, not that I'm a restaurant critic, but if you want a good time...go to the Melting Pot.


as a sidenote...

Anyone can become angry - that is easy, but to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way - this is not easy.
- Aristotle
Greek philosopher (384-322 BC)

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


I'm sorry...what?!

Today CP and I went to Lawson's for lunch. Great food, and randomly an amazing amount of eye candy. It's honestly ridiculous.

So, I was waiting behind an older man, he was ordering and I was next. Two reasonably attractive semi-youngish men (24-28ish?) were standing to the left of me, gabbing and waiting for their food. The woman behind the counter shouted out the younger one's number and he reached up to grab his sandwich.

I wasn't paying attention, I was squinting at the board, trying to read what exactly is in the Sesame Ginger Chicken wrap. And then I heard a rolling, and the sound of change dropping. I looked down at my feet, and the tip jar (a plastic container) was resting there, along with two ones and some nickels.

I paused, then bent down to pick it all up, while the two guys stood next to me, still gabbing, and waiting for the second guy's sandwich. CP came up from behind me, and goes "oooh look who is causing trouble!" (because you all know me. Knocking over a tip jar isn't entirely unlikely.) and I said "oh, it wasn't me." and discreetly pointed to the two guys.

Don't get me wrong, picking it up was not a problem. I had already figured out what I wanted, the line wasn't moving, I had nothing better to do. But they didn't even make a move to help, or mention the clutziness. Ordinarily, I might think that I had caused the commotion. But my limbs had been securely by my side, and I was a good four feet from the counter.

The only way I can fathom someone dropping a tip jar, and then not saying anything as someone else picked it up is if they didn't notice the mess they caused. But was that possible? I mean, most people feel it when they knock something over, right? And movement catches one's eye, right? I don't know.

People these days.

And the other day I was going to the ATM. There are three, two were being used and one was out of service. A woman finished up, so I went up to the ATM. Because you know, that's what one does when they're going to the ATM.

A strange, yet familiar message was on the screen. "Would You Like Another Transaction?" I hit "No" and a card popped out. I was in total shock, and turned around and yelled "Ma'am? Ma'am!" She waddled along, oblivious to her obliviousness. I caught up to her at the light, and said "Ma'am, you left her card in the ATM."

And she turned, and said "ohhh. thanks," in this "I do this all the time and it's nothing big" voice.

I looked at her as if she had three heads, and then went back to the ATM to start and finish my business.

WHAT the Hell?! What?! What?! It's not that she didn't fall down at my feet, because that would have been awkward, and would have held me up. Being late to work as it is, I didn't have time for adoration. But it was the fact that she did not seem to realize the severity of the situation. I could have cleaned her out!! I could have taken out $200 bucks! I honestly felt like giving her a good talking to about the responsibilities that come with owning an ATM card.

(and yes, I know this is all very judgmental.)

Sunday, January 08, 2006



I knew the collection guy at church gave me and Liam a signifant look as he passed by, without a contribution from us.

I just didn't expect him to come back 30 seconds later, and ask us to bring up the gifts. You can't really say no in the heat of the moment. And how do you reject Jesus?

Me in capris (the middle of the winter, mind you) and one of those oh-so-flattering sweater coats, Liam in comfortable sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and mocassins. This church has the longest aisle in the world.

We carried up the gifts, and at the foot of the altar the priest said "Thank you for doing this, I know you didn't want to!" and we smiled weakly. We walked back (me trying to project the image of a humble and serene wine carrier), and sat down.

Saturday, January 07, 2006


All hail the smoking ban!

Sitting here, post Times. Exhausted, so nothing really to say. Lounging on the plaid sofa, I'm perfectly comfortable, except for one thing: the lovely aroma of stale smoke is wafting off my clothes.

Last week I was told that DC will be smoke free in 2007. I am personally ecstatic.

I know that others think it's hating on personal rights, and maybe it is. But I am sick of coming back from bars, smelling like smoke, and being faced with the option of a) hanging my clothes on the balcony to air them out or b) actually washing them. I don't smoke. I don't want to smell like smoke. I don't want secondhand smoke. Me, me, me.

So, smokers, I am sorry that you will now have to go outside to light up. Really. It stinks to be inconvenienced. But I am totally looking forward to the day when I leave the Times and I still smell like me (something like a mix of shampoo, cookies and orange blossoms from the Gap), and not smell like...The Times.

Wednesday, January 04, 2006


My earth. Is Shattered.

"Maybe they're right. Maybe guys do have everything figured out, and we're the insane ones. Isn't that the scariest thought?!?!" - C-note.

Holy Crap. Right now I'm reading an article from MSN about dating, and guys, and the lies that guys tell for the sake of their women. (and yes, I know I'm pathetic for reading about this stuff, but who cares.)

While reading about the lie "I tried to call you" my earth and the bubble that surrounds it was shattered. I realized that I may be living in the Matrix, a world where women are rational, and men are the ones who don't get it. I realized that actually...the real world may be the other way around.

Here's the explanation for that little lie, and ones similar:
"Essentially, lying is damage control: When we sense undue distress, we assume our petty crime can't account for it all. Rather, your complaint must be the tip of an iceberg of criticism, and a simple apology may be admitting to more than we bargained for. If we confess to forgetting to call you when out with the boys, will you take it to mean we didn't think about you once all evening, or that we were glad to be away from you? Far safer to simply pretend the phone went inexplicably dead."

In a word, Yes. If you don't call me, I do, and most girls do think, that you did not think of us. It seems elementary. I think of a guy, I call him. And therefore, it goes to follow that if a guy I'm seeing is thinking about me, he'll call me. But's not as black and white? Apparently the guy did think of you? The writer says it so matter of factly, as if it's totally ridiculous that a woman would think otherwise.

Is it totally ridiculous? Is that an illogical leap?

And then...there was the lie about ex-girlfriends.

"My wife asked me if I'd ever cheated on a girlfriend," says Bob, 32. "I did, once, but it was an isolated thing. I'd never do it again. But women think 'once a cheater, always a cheater,' so I told her no. I hated lying, but I felt like what she was really asking was, 'Would you ever cheat on me?' And that question I answered truthfully."

As someone who abhors the thought of being lied to, my entire inner being rails against the thought of someone lying about an indiscretion. I try to live my life with pride, and with thought of the future, and I think it's important to know if you're with someone who doesn't (or didn't).

But really? She was actually asking if he would ever cheat on her. She wanted to know if she could trust him. And if he truly, really, knew that he would never, ever cheat on her, or on anyone else ever again...maybe he was spot on. Because knowing that he cheated on a past girlfriend would cause her so much anguish and over-analysis.

Someone once said that he thought that people lied to me, because they didn't want to hurt me or to dampen my enthusiasm. About stupid things, like whether or not they liked a movie that I loved. I thought it was ridiculous, and said that people didn't love me so much that they would lie about how they really felt, in order to protect me.

But do guys really know what's going on, and they coddle our sensitivities because they love us so much? Are they really going the extra mile and we just keep asking for more and more, thinking that they aren't trying? I know we can be emotional, but are we emotional to the point of a handicap?


Tuesday, January 03, 2006


What's right for me

"I want ---' She did not know what she wanted, so that she could not finish the sentence; but her lip quivered."
- the voyage out

It's funny how I allow some simple things to be complicated, but I want the complicated things to be utterly simple.

For example, a Friday. Something that should be relatively simple. Instead, I joyfully micromanage, plan tons of stuff out - get up at 7:10, go in shower, mentally plan outfit during the shampoo + condition process, brush teeth and tidy up at the same time (all the while checking my watch obsessively), go to work - while reading on the train, go to the bank during lunch, get lunch, meet up with CP, hit up a happy hour, walk back to the apartment, take a nap, do nails, hang out with E at the times, go to wawa, hit the hay around 4 - all may not be accomplished as sketched out, but I have way too detailed of plans for the business of the daily life.

But when it comes to my future? I expect that for some reason, it should be resolved as easily and neatly as "Live in DC for a couple of years, head back home, and ta da!" And when I find myself pondering life and the choices that I'm possibly making, I get insecure and kind of freak out.

For example, several of my good friends have grad school in their forseeable futures. To be truthful, I'm not really feeling the GS option, at the moment. But I'm wondering if I'm wasting my talent and opportunity if I don't go, or if there is something wrong with me because I'm not shooting for that path. I feel lame, walking around with just my B.A degree.

Same for moving around. L is going to England. E is heading somewhere, possibly Texas. C-note's ultimate aim is the glittery streets of NYC. Lord knows about everyone else. And part of me wants to be the wild little leaf blowing in the wind, landing wherever my heart guides me on a whim...but another part of me - I think the real part of me - just wants to visit these places, while celebrating my home base in Massachusetts.

Don't get me wrong, I want to visit a lot of places. In fact, Texas and England are at the top of my list, so this can actually work out for me. I also want to see Prague, finally walk the streets of Pompeii, see the romantic cafes of Paris, the aurora borealis, the cobblestones of St. Petersburg, the jungle in the Amazon, the pyramids in Egypt, to appreciate the real sights of India, to travel on an old Agatha Christie-like train.

Why do I doubt myself? Why do I have such little belief in my wants? Why do I feel as though what I might want is the loser thing...the stupid possibly shoot for? Why do I give myself the impression that I'm settling, instead of pursuing my dreams, however unformed they actually are at the moment?

How do I get strength in my convictions and learn to feel that what I want is the right thing for me, even if it's not what's right for other people?

Monday, January 02, 2006


Moral dilemma

How does one determine a greater or lesser evil? Today we wandered into a new store called American Apparel.

Now, lately I've been bemoaning the state of my wardrobe. Everything is so drab...I have colors, but nothing bright. Reds, blues, greens, they're all kinda blah shades. Except for the blinding orange zip-up sweatshirt that I bought at the Gap Friday evening.

So, when we wandered into American Apparel and our pupils closed up in shock, it seemed perfect. Bright, non-fussy clothes! T shirts, every bright color imaginable. And reasonably (enough) priced. Walking out, I resolved to come back, soon, and purchase quite a few things. Then a picture on the wall caught my eye and jogged our the words of C-note, it looked like "white trash porn."

Familiar white trash porn, since I had sent C-note a link to the American Apparel website last year. She had done some googling at the time, and discovered that the CEO, a guy named Dov Charney, has been sued multiple times for sexual harassment and is known for general sketchiness. Since I'm not a big proponent of sketchiness, I was disappointed and decided that, even though the clothes are close to wonderful, I couldn't contribute to a sexual harassment cause.

So I came back here and some googling of my own, and found an article about the company on

How creepy is he, you may ask? Well, I feel kinda skeevy writing about it...but he uses employees as models (while taking pictures himself), and has been accused of exposing himself to various women, and engaged in sexual relations with quite a few underlings. He also purportedly asked for Asian women to be hired, ones that he could have sex with. Among other accusations.

But while the guy is totally one hundred percent creepy, it seems as though he has some good ideas about how to run a show.

To quote the article, "Charney promotes his business as "sweatshop-free," and to back that up he pays his mostly Latino factory workers nearly twice the minimum wage, throwing in health insurance, subsidized lunches, and paid time off to take English classes on the premises."

Double the minimum insurance...subsidized lunches...English classes.

So, dilemma. Avoid because of sexual harassment, or support because of his labor policies? And yeah, I must confess, the vision of beautiful ts and cute skirts are dancing in my head. Is that influencing my "patronize or not" decision?

Because right now I'm leaning towards buying the shirts. Have I been seduced by the muttonchopped Charney as well?

Sunday, January 01, 2006


current frame of mind:


This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?