Wednesday, May 31, 2006


Shocking changes!

Jeremy and Sara broke up!! Is the split for real? Will they get back together? How is Jeremy taking it?


Elizabeth is moving back home and her boyfriend might apply for a transfer to be with her!! Will he really try? Are they going to end up together? Or will she come home and get caught in the web of the older man, Anthony?!

For Better or For Worse

Tuesday, May 30, 2006


Saw Doctor Scary, dum dum dum dummm....

Seeing my pepsi fizz and jump in my new beautiful mug (purchased at the Christmas Tree Shop) reminds me just how bad Pepsi is for my teeth.

No joke, I just paused to take a sip.

This past weekend I realized that I have a nice little budding obsession with mugs. And as far as obsessions go, why not? They're portable, useful, share a bit of my personality with the outside world (aka my two office mates) and I seem to have a penchant for cheapish ones.

Anyhow, so I saw Doctor Scary today. The nurses did all the pre-flight checks - and remarked that my weight, height, and temperature were all exactly the same from the last time I was there, two months ago. That's pleasing, because I feel like I've gained ten pounds, and I've only worked out three times (three times more than usual!) it's nice to know that maybe it's all just in my head.

Of course, the fear of settling into life as a lipidinous blob did inspire me to go to the gym, so hopefully I won't lose that drive. Or you know, stunt its timid growth.

So Doctor Scary came in, and seemed a bit more friendly this time. But maybe that's because she sensed my vulnerability, clad only in an "open-front" gown. What a load of crock, that open-front gown. I mean, really.

We had some chitchat, she asked me about my habits, and I realized that I felt a heavy pride in saying that I don't have any medical allergies, and no, I haven't had any major medical procedures. As if I had any control over that! I shamefacedly admitted that I exercise "occasionally" (the definition of "occasionally" is up for debate), and I only wear sunscreen on my face. Oh, and I lied and said that I only drink one caffeinated drink a day. Sometimes it's totally two.

Then she shut off the light, and used her little flashlight to burn a tunnel through my retinas. Since she told me not to blink, all I wanted to do was...blink. But I held strong, and won the staring contest with the wall.

Turning the light back on, she told me that I have extremely large pupils. A strange thing to say, it had a whiff of an insulting air, but then she followed it up with "That makes it easy for me to look into them. And, you know, people find large pupils to be very makes them think that the person is very sympathetic."

(I realize as I'm typing this that it sounds like she's hitting on me, but she totally wasn't.)

I stared into her own tiny pupils...much resembling little grains of sand...and wondered if that had contributed to my earlier assessment of her. She continued by saying that we're actually animals, so things like dilated pupils do have an effect on the way we think and act.

CP is always saying how fantastically good looking I am. I don't believe her, because that's what friends say to make their friends feel good. But maybe she's been seduced by my cavernous pupils!

Anyhow, so after the eye-to-eye moment, my appointment went well. I threw some more grease on the wheels with an inappropriate and self-deprecating joke, and a good patient/doctor relationship was formed.


Friday, May 26, 2006


Big Purchase Ahead!

I'm thinking of buying a MacBook.

I don't want to become of those hoity toity self-important "mac users" - but's looking like the best option. Supposedly it will last years, be fast, have enough memory and whatnot for all of my pictures and music. My Gateway has been gathering dust, and has been the subject of many an evil thought over the past few months. I hate change...but it may be time to move on.

Since apparently I do things by committee...does anyone have anything to offer as insight?

I'm balking at spending the money - it will come to about $1400, including the insurance. I think "oh, but I should save for a car, and for travel and...other things!" But the truth is, I've been in the working world for eight months, and as you all know, I haven't saved a penny. May as well purchase a fantastic laptop, and then start saving...

Just think. I could be blogging again on my own computer in a couple of days. AND enter edits and corrections for papers on my own computer. And check my email without bothering E and C-note. AND! GO ON AIM!!! AND DOWNLOAD MUSIC!

Time to pack and maul some McDonald's with C-note.

Home Sweet Home for the weekend!

Thursday, May 25, 2006



One of my executive editors is from England, and I met him last night for the first time. He was in the office for a couple of hours this morning, and he just left.

While he was waiting for my boss to gather her things, he said "thank you so much - I even got to check the cricket score, something that you probably don't know a thing about," then laughed in a jolly manner.

His jaw DROPPED when I started going on about wickets and the Ashes and whatnot. I even showed him the link that Wombat had sent me!



JC! Your Participation is Crucial. :-)

JC commented on my last entry:
At the risk of opening a whole other round of comments (or perhaps another post)...isn't the appeal of leaving before things get tough part of human nature?

If I want something right now (be it beer, raw meat, or scantily clad women) I shall continue to search until I find it, rather that spend my time trying to conjure it out of nothing.

Humans, just like all other animals, are really just here to mate and pass on their genetic material. The concept of "love" is a nice thought...but in reality, it's just an attempt to justify monogamy.

There, I said it...let the hate-mail begin.

I don't know, I think leaving things before it gets tough is smart in the most instinctive way - why would you want to suffer? But tough experiences do bond people together, to the point that people often create those experiences (eg, hazing) to forge something and, in theory, make them tighter.

Personally, I think most types of hazing are stupid and almost amount to brainwashing. But I do agree with the premise that working hard and sharing experiences creates a tighter bond, which is why I advocate groups doing community service projects together.

Obviously I haven't been in some long 30 year relationship that I can point to as absolute proof that love exists...and maybe I'm picturing some sort of ridiculous Nicholas Sparks novel...but I definitely think that love exists, especially the kind that is tested and is all the better for it. And I know that you never know what goes on in peoples' lives, but I picture my parents, and my grandparents. And my boss, and her husband. These people literally are "the other half" for each other.

I don't want some light marriage, there for sunshine and money, and pretty dresses and hot bodies. I want a man that I know I can count on. And he can count on me. And sure, maybe there's some pain in there, and tough times, but that's the price I'm willing to pay. I think the rewards are greater than the cost.

And the definition of love changes. Sometimes it will be someone in the most basic, common terms of love - passion. But other times it will be a friend, a guiding hand, someone who wants the best for me. I can't trust someone if I don't think they want the best for me.

JC, your thoughts on love kind of worry me, especially since I have met your girlfriend. Does she share the same ideas? Or do you say this stuff and not mean it? How do you reconcile feeling this way and being in a long term relationship?

Tuesday, May 23, 2006


worship from afar

Every day for the past week I've walked by a certain storefront and stared enviously within. Resting in a shining bright case is my weakness. Now, for some, a weakness may be alcohol. For others, drugs. For me, pocketbooks. I have way too many, most bordering on the super big variety. And for all the beauty sitting in my closet, this week I'm using one that resembles something that 50 year old teachers would schlump around. A tote bag that I got for free, from my dad, who got it from Lord knows where. It says "C.E. Unterburg Towbin" on it, in green stitching.

There it was. A good size - not too big, not too small. White, with red trim, red handles, red clasp over the top of the bag. A perfect summer accessory, if you will. Big enough to carry a book, a camera, my wallet, sunglasses, glasses, cell phone, lip balm, tissues, bandaids. Not a lunch, though.

Yesterday I was feeling down in the dumps, so I decided to stop in that certain store. I dove through the narrow, crowded aisles, searching for The One. And I didn't find it. So I asked the harried (actually, bitchy. There, I said it.) saleswoman for help—I think she responded "What do you want?" when I said "Excuse me..."—she looked for the bag in the aisles, then came to the same conclusion that I had. It wasn't there. So she went to some mysterious door, popped up in the display (nothing like a little reality to ruin a summer fantasy land), and came back. For some unknown reason, she didn't have the bag with her, though she said she saw it out there. I told her that I was possibly interested in buying it, so she went back, got it, and unceremoniously dumped The One into my waiting arms.

Resembling Aladdin in the Cave of Wonders, I turned it in the light, felt the fabric, tested it on my shoulder. And I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but that emotion quickly rising in my throat tasted a lot like bitter disappointment. And sadness, even.

The red was a bit too orange, the white a bit too dingy. The price was $59.99. Not so expensive that if I loved it, it would be a hindrance. But it was expensive enough that warranted a true love to purchase. I almost felt pressured to buy it, just because the sales lady acted as though I had imposed a Sisyphusian task upon her, but then I decided not to buckle.

I brought the bag to the counter, kind of made a face, and she looked at me and said "You're not going to buy it" - in this tone that made me feel as though I was being selfish and stupid for not completing the transaction. As if I had enjoyed making her do something for me while she was busy breaking down boxes. I responded with honesty, "No, I can't afford it." And walked away.

What a disappointment. Although, I think it's best that I looked at it. It's better to check things out and find out they're not what you think they are, instead of wasting time that is better spent checking out The New One.

This morning I glanced in the window as I passed. I've found that habits are tough little suckers...but eventually they break.

Monday, May 22, 2006


*Lean on Me*

I'm sorry this blog has been LAME. Work has been busy/dramatic. And I'm going through a writing slump. And we'll find out in the upcoming days if I wasted $215 on a monitor. I may have been given bad advice...and I may have lost the receipt. Time will tell.

Please send any prayers that you can spare to my uncle - he's very sick, and the next few days are extremely important.

Here's something to ponder:

If someone says "Sometimes girls take things as hints that aren't meant to be hints."

Would you see that as a hint, or is taking that as a hint be taking something that isn't meant to be a hint as a hint?

I'm going to trivia night tonight at a local bar. I'm prepared to a) feel extremely dumb and b) learn at least five new facts.

Anyone have any esoterica that may come in handy tonight?

Wednesday, May 17, 2006


Even though...

I have zero — no, a negative amount of — talent in softball, I somehow end up playing. As if embarrassing myself in the lunchroom wasn't bad enough, here's to praying for a lack of balls flying in my direction.

Although, when I played three weeks ago (before that, it had been 12 years), I got on first base. That hasn't happened in kickball since February or so. Maybe I'm secretly a softball prodigy?

I love free t-shirts :-)


Bank of America, you're letting me down

Let's be frank here. I have very little money in my bank account at the moment. So little that the ticket I bought yesterday for going home on Memorial Day weekend just about cleaned me out.

So before I bought the ticket, I checked the balance. Just enough. Good. I bought the ticket, checked my balance again, and the amount had been subtracted from my account. Painful, but well, it was what I was expecting.

So this morning I checked my account to see if my mom had deposited a check of mine that she had been carrying around. And no, she wasn't just giving me money, it was payment for freelance work that I had done for a friend of hers.

And the ticket and the check are for about the same amount, so the amount in my checking matched up with what I was expecting. Except for two things:
1) I had given my mom my savings account number, in the naive hope that I would actually save it.
2) There was about $20 too much in there.

I checked, and the ticket hasn't been posted to my account. WTF? Before it would be listed, and the amount would be subtracted, and I wouldn't be in danger of overspending. Now they subtract the amount for a brief time, put the amount back in, and the transaction isn't posted until a later date?

I noticed this dangerous discrepancy last week as well. It worries me. It's a ticking time bomb. A powder keg, if you will.

It might be time to get a credit card, and start keeping track of purchases. Egads!

Tuesday, May 16, 2006


"I didn't mean to break your heart"

Yesterday I rediscovered the Barenaked Ladies song "Break Your Heart" - I love's such a great story, and there is so much depth for a short solo. Okay, apparently the song is five minutes, but it feels short.

It's about a guy who is with this girl, and he's totally not feeling it, but he's staying in the relationship because he doesn't want to hurt her by leaving. One of my favorite lines is:

And if I always seem distracted
Like my mind's somewhere else
That's because it's true, yes it's true

The first time I heard it (four years ago? five?), I was like "ouch. that's great."

And then partway through the song switches points of view to the girlfriend, but it's still the same person singing (it's the same guy for the whole song). And the girl responds:

What'd you think that I was gonna do,
Curl up and die just because of you?
I'm not that weak, you know
What'd you think that I was gonna do,
Try to make you love me as much as I love you?
How could you be so low?
You arrogant man,
What do you think that I am?
My heart will be fine
Just stop wasting my time

Her heart is breaking, but she knows that she deserves someone who wants to be with her, not someone who pities her.

So, in the end, the guy feels bad, because he broke her heart - but she gathers her self respect and her broken heart, and moves on. She's not going to try to force it.

I loved it even before my life sort of resembled it. Only, you know, I wasn't half as strong as her. I love how the guy thinks, I love how the girl responds, I love how they both are sad when the song ends, but are able to do the things necessary to become happier people.


"poor, poor, pitiful me"

- some country song

Yesterday I got back from work, feeling sorta crappy. C-note came back from work, and I gruffly (none too graciously) agreed to helping her carry stuff in from her car, items like the ironing board that I will be using quite frequently.

I turned on the stove to heat it up, and smoke was pouring out within five minutes. I called my mom to see what I should do. I sat on the sofa. Scratched my arm. Talked for five minutes. Got off the phone, realized that there were little bugs, like dust mites, on my arm.

Freaked out. Looked with C-note for bugs, both on my person and in the apartment. Including my bed. Didn't find any more, but stripped my bed of sheets and began to look in bags for my random other sheet that I have lying around. Couldn't find it.

Went back to the kitchen. Smoke still flowing steadily, but at a less rapid pace. Took out the chicken, realized that I had bought the wrong kind, due to deceptive picture on front of bag. Cooked chicken, burned it.

But at least the bread for my sandwich was tasty. C-note and I ate our dinners under the neon palm tree and tossed around names for the guest list for our upcoming party. E came in, and we all chatted.

Made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. (alright, to be fair, it was a mix. I wasn't much vested in this project.) Burned half the batch, accepted that our new oven runs hot.

Went back to my room, searched for a half hour for the sheet, finally found it, but it on my bed, went to sleep. Got up this morning, took a shower. Made my lunch, and stuck my thumb into the jar of mayonnaise by mistake.

Nothing too big, or tragic. In fact, all very small stupid things. I'm aware of that. But I'm just in this state of mind where I want to weep pitifully and crawl into someone's arms. Chalk it up to exhaustion. I'll be my resilient self after I get some more sleep.

Monday, May 15, 2006


*Physical Address has Changed*

We moved this past weekend. Saturday involved me driving a 17' U-Haul, with E as my voice of encouragement ("you totally can fit!") and alarm ("Ah! SIDEWALK!").

My bedroom is a mess, which is always distressing, but so it shall remain until I get fed up enough to put together my bed. My comfort is that I always think putting things together will be harder than it is. And then I feel a swelling surge of satisfaction for doing something that I've a) never done before and b) doing it well.

The good news about the new place: there's a Loft-like convenience store "on campus."

The bad news about the new place: no balcony. :-( I'm so distraught that if we did have a balcony, I might have thrown myself off it...

Depending on my mood, and time on my hands, I might post an entirely negative treatise on why I didn't want to move, and why I'm unhappy that we did.

Because I hate change. At all levels. Changing channels on the radio drives me insane. Changing where I live, when I really don't want to leave, causes much distress and sadness. If I had felt an overwhelming need/desire to move, and if we were going to be in the city, I would not be minding this change. But it's when I'm leaving, and continually checking the rearview mirror for "one last view of the Capitol" that I hate it.

But then again, is it any different for anyone else?

Despite this massive aversion to switching things up, I also adjust relatively well. So if my adjusting kicks in before I get a chance to post about hating change, it will totally lack the spirit that is integral to an angry post.

(Speaking of radios, I'm listening to NBOX KMGX Radio on Itunes right now - and I love it! There are all these random 90s songs that I never knew I missed, like "I know" by Dionne Faris, and some other things that I've promptly forgotten again.)

*anger and turmoil reluctantly melting through the magic of music*

*Oh, and for the record, we moved about nine miles. Certainly not a cross country move, like some bloggers...*

Thursday, May 11, 2006


Why I love Thursdays

1) The Style section in the NYTimes
2) A new 'Ask Prudence' on

and, as icing on the cake...

3) It's payday every other one

What day of the week do you love? Frivolous reasons, such as my numbers 1 and 2, will be treasured.

Monday, May 08, 2006


Cart before the horse! Cart before the horse!

A little online advice from D-man.

D-man: meghan joyce
D-man: you need to hold your horses and put them in the stable


how pedestrian

I've had three near misses (four, if you count almost being hit by two cars while crossing one street) with cars in the past four days. Some might take that as a hint to learn how to cross a street...I take it as a sign that there are crazy drivers out there.

(Okay, so I shouldn't have crossed the street while the light was green. But in my defense, the first car turned the corner, sped up the street, then ACCELERATED when he saw me. And the second car was double parked, and then started driving after I left the sidewalk.)

(I don't remember the second incident. But it was the morning after my near-death. I must be suppressing that memory.)

(Alright, so this morning I WAS reading while walking. But I was alert. And he took the corner into the alley way too fast. In fact, maybe reading saved me, because it slowed me down. If I had been walking faster, I would have been hit! *and a foolish action is thus justified.*)

Sunday, May 07, 2006



"God, I gotta get over the fact that I can't be you." - E

sorry, that's not related to my post, but E just said it and I thought it was hilarious.

On to business.

So C-note was at her computer an hour or so ago, and I was at the kitchen table devouring the June Glamour. C-note exclaimed "Oh!" and told me that she just read that the oldest American living survivor of the Titanic, who could remember the no longer living. The woman's name was Lillian Gertrud Asplund and she was five at the time. Her dad and three of her brothers died - she survived along with her mother and a younger brother. You can read about it here.

Okay. I don't know about you guys, but I did not think that any survivors of the Titanic were still kicking around. Much like I did not know that Jacqueline Onassis was still alive until she died, and Rosa Parks too. If I had known, I would have written letters! Tried to hang out! Become bosom buddies! When I read about their deaths, I felt so...cheated.

And Ms. Asplund! You know where she lived? IN BOSTON!!!!! YES. I had been no more than 30 miles from her for EIGHTEEN YEARS OF MY LIFE. I have this rosy picture in my head of me knocking on her door - her coming to answer it. It's a big old house, Victorian style, with a white wraparound porch. She's a frail old lady, but scary and stern and perfect in appearance. I'm there because I'm trying to earn money for some unattainable inspirational dream, and I want to clean her house to get some extra cash. She used to have an unattainable inspirational dream, so she decides to give me a shot.

I work there for a couple of days, and she warns me to never go in the East Wing. Or you know, the attic. Since I'm willful and sprited (and mourning the loss of my freedom at the cost of saving my old french father) I decided to go in there as soon as she is distracted by the magic mirror on the wall.

So I go into her attic, and I stumble upon a bed with a man's skeleton in it, with an indent on the pillow next to him.

Just kidding. (bonus points if anyone knows that short story reference!)

I find a beautiful old chest full of Titanic clippings, old photos, some yellowed lace, maybe some sort of dinner menu from the ship. Oh, and an old skeleton key. And a heart charm bracelet that says "Papa loves you." I hear strains of haunting classical music echoing in my head. I become totally engrossed in snooping, she of course catches me, and is extremely angry. I kneel there on the floor, clutching my dusty (yet cute) maid's uniform, looking frightened and alone. But then she sees the wonderment and respect in my face, tears come to the corners of her eyes, and she spills her story.

Now that opportunity is gone, before I even knew it existed.

*tears out her hair in distress, much wailing and gnashing of teeth*

Saturday, May 06, 2006



God bless Gmail, for turning my inbox into IM. My friends and I sometimes match each other's messages, just for kicks. And because we're fun.
The other day, we had:
Me: Love is not a game.
Anon: Love is gamey.
E: Love is a game, and I'm the winner BIATCHES.
C-note: Love is a bitch.

E and I have the same debate every couple of months: Is love a game? What's the line between being coy, and pretending to be someone you're not? This wasn't prompted by heartbreak on our parts - you might say that we don't have any pieces on the board at this time - but rather is a genuine debate over something that is never resolved, no matter how many times we mull it over.

E's (married) cousin has something called the 70% rule. When she started dating her now-husband, she decided that she would only be available 70% of the time when he asked her to do something. While I am completely in support of being busy, and not being at someone's beck and call, I abhor the thought of saying you're busy just because you don't think you should be free, or because you want to make him want you more by being unavailable. To me that smells suspiciously of messing with someone's head. I'm okay with saying that you're unavailable because you want some alone time. The motivation behind being unavailable shouldn't just be to manipulate him.

I think people should be genuinely busy. They should have stuff that they do, random interests that take up their time. After a dry spell during which I was the most boring person on the planet, I think I'm finally becoming busy. There are books that I want to read, I want to start making beaded jewelry (yes, I DO know that's an old lady thing. ), I'm getting more hours at work, I play kickball, Nats games are calling my name. Hell, to complete the picture of lameness that is me, I have the LOST Season 1 DVD set, and I really want to watch it. That's a time investment!

Not that anyone has asked me on a date, but if they did...there's a strong possibility that there would be a couple of days that I couldn't hang out. And yes, not being able to hang out the very next night may build anticipation, and he may think "cool, she has a life" - or something, I don't know what he'd think - and that's a good thing. But I just hate hate hate to think of someone lying right off the bat. I don't know.

For example, say if someone asks me on a date for Tuesday night. I'm free, but I don't feel like going out on Tuesday, whether it's because I want to read, watch a movie, or maybe I'm just tired, whatever. It doesn't matter why. So I suggest Thursday. He agrees. I don't consider that to be playing a game.

But if the guy asks me out for a Tuesday and I think "DON'T Agree to the first night he says!", so I say that Tuesday isn't good, and I suggest Thursday, and he agrees...I consider that to be playing a game.

So basically. I don't think one needs a reason, excepting that they're avoiding following a goofy rule, whether for reasons of manipulation, or because they're afraid what he might think if she's too available.

Other things that reek of "game" to me: purposely waiting to respond to emails, the whole concept of an "upper hand", the three day call rule.

Even to me, it seems that my view is harsh, and as E says, "different strokes for different folks." And maybe two people think the same way, and that's the way that it works for them. Some guys probably don't want a girl that isn't into playing. They think she's too simple, and too unsophisticated.

I don't want those guys. And they don't want me, so I suppose E is right. I guess I should amend my statement to: Love is not a game - for me.

Friday, May 05, 2006



I got a promotion! And this is the quote of the day from!!

Inspiration is to work every day.
- Charles Baudelaire
French poet (1821-1867)

Thursday, May 04, 2006


me me me me me

** psst I have a lot of blog entries mentally stacked up, but due to stuff, I haven't been able to dive in. Expect a rant on love soon enough. But, I'm sorry to say, it's not a juicy tale of lust and betrayal. (sorry Wombat!! :-( ) It's more just a general feeling towards love and games. **

With that aside, I just want to say...that sometimes I love myself.

Reason # 1
Yesterday I was completing a photo order that I had started a few days ago, but then had put down for various reasons. There was a lot of hoopla surrounding this order, and my boss asked me about the number of images we needed. Knowing all the work I had just done to smooth the hoople, I responded with a sure answer. After I got off the phone, I realized that I wasn't so positively positive afterall. In fact, I was positive that I been careless and screwed it up. And screwing it up would mean diving back into the hoopla.

I went to double check it (the info was on someone else's desk) turns out...that I had been totally correct. I HADN'T been careless a few days ago! I had been thorough, and careful, and I was reaping the benefits of it at that moment. I know this is a bad thing, but I was so proud of me.

Reason # 2
In accordance with my blog promise, I wore sneakers to work today, and brought "nice" flipflops in my bag. I wore the FF for a while in the office, but then decided to go back to the sneakers. I looked like a total moron, but at least my bloody feet weren't being torn into and ripped freshly asunder.

While kicking around under my desk. I noticed a pair of high heels thrown against the wall. I kind of rolled my eyes, and thought that I shouldn't treat my desk like my closet. I don't remember forgetting them - it must have been yesterday? - but there they were.

Well, later this afternoon I was called into the big boss's office. This is something that has NEVER happened. Thank the LORD that I had left my high heels under my desk. I took off my sneakers, socks, put on the heels...and everything was A-OK.

This is not to say that I know everything and I never make mistakes (I'm trying to avoid smiting here for being an annoying braggart), but I must say. I'm quite pleased with the lucky turn of events.

And if you think about it (but, why would anyone? It's the most pointless story ever), it was being both careful AND careless that saved me. If I had been careless with the photo order, I would have created a lot more work for several people. If I had been careful with my shoes, I would have been wearing sneakers in the office of the Big Boss.


Wednesday, May 03, 2006


I firmly believe that...

Love is not a game.

Tuesday, May 02, 2006




From now on I will only wear sneakers while commuting. I can't take it anymore. My sandals are cute, but my feet look like they've been jabbed with the business end of a cigarette. Repeatedly.

What's hotter: a girl who looks stubby because she's wearing sneakers with a skirt, but is walking confidently and smiling


a girl who is wearing cute shoes, but is hobbling and tottering, has her hands balled into fists and is smushing her lips together to keep from screaming. (AKA me this morning.)

This isn't just a "how others think I look" thing - I enjoy wearing shoes that I think are fun, and cute, and add a certain pizazz to an outfit. I have a bit more swing in my stride when I feel good about how I look. But when that swing becomes a stumble, something has to be done.

Monday, May 01, 2006


bombs away!

I went to a Nationals game last week with C-note and the neighbors. I was a bit late (due to hilarious reasons that may be blogged about in due time), so I met C-note at the gate...she was coming down from our seats with my ticket. She was wearing beautiful high heels, and our seats were all the way across the stadium, so she was taking a bit.

I stood at the gate, with my big pink bag over my shoulder. The bag was jam-packed, with my wallet, key, phone, lip balm, court's flipflops, a sweatshirt, two umbrellas, and other goodies.

While waiting by security, an older security guard came out. About 60? He said, in this flirtatious tone, "Are you loitering? Uh-oh, do you have a BOMB in that bag? Are you carrying a BOMB?!?!"

I laughed uneasily and said "oh no, just sweatshirts!" To be honest, part of me was dying to say "YES! A-HA!"

Are guards allowed to joke about bombs?! The b-word is a dirty word now, especially in DC...we all know that.

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