Friday, June 30, 2006



* this is me breaking the fourth wall *

The Internet is down in my apartment (why?! Why?! WHHHYYY?!). That means, unless I get the shakes and need to come to work for a fix, I won't be blogging until Wednesday. And I know all of you cool people don't blog on the weekends (psh, whatever), but I thought I'd mention it. Just in case.

My fingers just might fall off.

I'm catching the DC fireworks for the 4th - if anyone wants to join me, come along! If you're legit, you know how to reach me, because you have my phone number, or you know where I live, or you have my roommates' phone numbers, or whatever.

Happy Fourth! I hope your weekend is full of apple pie, red, white, and blue, fireflies, Country Time lemonade, and fireworks (but from a safe distance)!


guess what today is...



One year, baby!!!

(I just wrote a stupid list of things that have happened in the past year, but honestly. If you want to know, you can read the damn blog.)

I have a slight confession to make. A dalliance, if you will. I guess it's a common occurrence when a relationship goes from being "just for fun" to being "serious" - something that the one year anniversary sometimes symbolizes...but that's no excuse. And here it is. (*deep breath*)

I cheated on you. I opened up a livejournal account earlier in the week, for the sole purpose of stalking one of my friend's blogs. Her entries were locked, and I could only read them if I had an account. It was just going to be an empty apartment. A body without a soul. A Reese's peanut butter cup without the peanut butter. But one thing led to another...and I've posted a couple of entries.

Short things, yes. But things that I know you would have enjoyed. Such as


And a homeless man telling me to come and talk to him, and I told him I was late for work, and he said "To hell with work!"

But that's it, I promise. And I've learned my lesson. I'll never stray again.

Forgive me?



PS - oh, and people. I just googled "growinginthegoo" and I got a few hits. (WARNING - I have NOT looked at This URL) On a sight with a URL of "" - that references my uterus post. Anyone want to check that out? JC?

Wednesday, June 28, 2006


I feel like the biggest baby...

because I'm definitely homesick. Tears in eyes, need a hug and a cup of tea type of homesick.

At first glance, it doesn't make sense, because I've been pounding the pavement in D.C. since 2001. And I was having trouble figuring out where this was coming from, but then I acknowledged that even though I've spent a lot of time here, I've always been home for the summer.

And now my internal clock is saying "school's out!" - but I'm still here.


my give a damn's busted

It keeps getting worse.

My alarm went off this morning at 6:29...and I snoozed. My second alarm went off, I snoozed. My first alarm went off again, I snoozed. My second alarm went off again, I shut it off. My first alarm went off for a third time, I shut it off.

And this isn't like in the old days, when I'd be so exhausted that I didn't even know that I was shutting off my alarm. Oh, I knew. I was being damn lazy.

I eventually rolled out of bed at 7:00. And left the apartment at 7:45. I'm supposed to leave at 7:15.

I think I need to

a) stop watching Lost late into the night


b) have some ramifications for coming in late. Once I get punished/embarrassed/put in the Dupont stocks, I'll get up at 6:25 again.

Tuesday, June 27, 2006


uteruses! (uterii?)

Alright, JC posted this as a comment:

And while I realize this is your blog, and we all appreciate your brutal honesty, I'd like to point out that ANYTHING that has to do with the female reproductive system is a guaranteed way to strike fear/paralysis/death into the heart of any male. In fact, I blacked out no less than three times just posting my replies to this...

Alright boys. How come? It's not as though you'll get me pregnant by commenting on my blog, so why the fear? I mean, yeah, I think the whole thing is totally gross. But is there another reason?

(and that said, I love the reaction that the whole thing garners. It's like a "get out of jail free" card.)

(and that said, sometimes cramps make me feel really sick. So while I love the reaction, I hate the cause.)

(and, I'm obviously immature. I wrote a whole posting without specifically saying what "the whole thing" actually is.)


I'm in a...

"I Hate Everything" mood.

This is a nice quote, though. I totally agree:

If you get a rude letter, always send a polite one back. It's much better.
- W. Arbuthnot Lane
Scottish physician (1856-1943)

****five minutes later, after visiting a friend's office*****

I feel so much better. I'm still kind of unhappy with life, but I no longer feel sick. The miracle of modern medicine! And since this is MY BLOG, I'm going to TMI. I had cramps. I wanted to die. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to lie down. I wanted my mommy.

But I popped a couple of Pamprin, attached a heating pad to my uterus...and....TA-DA. Life is good 20 minutes later. Thank goodness. Now I can finally concentrate on work.


Monday, June 26, 2006


almost. time.

The American Art Museum—National Portrait Gallery opens July 1.

I cannot wait.

I hope they have extended hours, so I can go after work. All the time. I hope tons of people come, so that it shows the powers-that-be that this is an exciting and worthwhile thing, but I also hope that no one is there when I'm walking around. I need my elbow space when skipping around like a little kid.

Saturday, June 24, 2006



I just read "he's just not that into you" and....

I loved it.

I should have read it years ago. It was so helpful. So frank. So obvious. C-note was preaching the wonders of it back in good ole' 2005, and I wasn't listening to her. I thought that it was anti-woman, that it was sexist, that I was the exception to the rule. I was in denial. I was hurting.

C-note. Read this loud and clear:


So much of what guys say are based on playing off our insecurities, knowing that we squeeze every little last mile out of hope. They'd rather get dragged over tacks than outright reject us (God, what if we Crrryy?!), when really, it's the most freeing thing in the world.

If a guy likes you, he'll let you know. If he likes you, nothing will get in the way. No excuses. Go big, or go home.

My goodness. I hope I stay this pragmatic and clear-headed. Well, we all know I won't, but it's good to think that I will.

From now on, no more crap. As the vendor at Eastern Market said to me, way back in March, "Don't settle for anything LESS than a guy climbing PIKE'S PEAK for you."


guy talk

So I took myself out on a date this afternoon, as in, I went to the movies by myself. I spoiled me (what's new?) getting popcorn, pepsi, and milk duds. It was a perfect time. I had gone to the theater feeling anxious, worried, nervous, irritated, sad...I was a real treat. But then the wonder that is "The Lake House" healed my angst, and I left a better woman, equipped to handle life as it's thrown to me in all its glory.

E met up with me post-flick, and we went for a multi-cultural experience, shunning Noodles & Co, and opting for Lebanese food instead. We're so cool. And now I'm lying here on my bed with about 15 pounds of delicious bread and garlic in my stomach. And that makes me extremely happy.

The point of all that was to set the scene, okay?

A guy called E around 5:30 to "see if she still wanted to meet up." Since we were in the process of stuffing our faces, she missed the call and we had the opportunity to analyze his voice mail ad nauseum. I thought his proposal sounded...okay, and E was less than enthused, especially since he asked her if she wanted to get drinks. We're on the same page with the drinks situation. That's not a date, okay? At any rate, so she called him back, and he said he didn't know what they should do, and long story short, they might meet up later at our usual bar.

So after hanging up, E said that she was annoyed, because he's the guy, she's the girl, and he should have a plan and be wooing her with it, dammit. After asking her which god's ass she was shat out of, I agreed with her, citing an example from the movie I just saw.

For those unfamiliar with the ridiculous premise, Sandra Bullock is in the year 2006, and Keanu Reeves is in 2004. Through the miracle of the movies, they exchange letters via a mailbox on a piece of property on which they both had lived - aka the Lake House.

(and yes, I know they're acting parts, and it's not really "Sandra" and "Keanu" doing these things, but I don't feel like using their characters' names.)

Even though they're two years apart, they manage to forge a connection. Keanu makes a map so that Sandra can see all his favorite spots in the city, and she finds some graffiti that he had sprayed on a wall for her (so, his current time, aged two years by the time she sees it). In one letter, SB (who lives in the city) mentions that she misses the trees by the lake. Keanu, upon reading that letter, goes to the place of her future apartment building, and plants a tree. Her apartment building isn't built yet, but he knows that in two years (as in, during her life that is currently going on), it will be a full grown tree.

She's outside, picking up keys that she had dropped, and a two year old tree magically appears next to her. It's raining, of course, and the tree's branches block the tempest.

As E put it, SB didn't say "Gee, I miss those trees. Here's some seeds, a shovel, and some water. Get on it." He surprised her. He made effort. He did something for the pure joy of making her happy.

So, I don't know. Is it ridiculous to hope for/expect some wooing? I tend to be rather easy on people when it comes to my expectations of them spoiling me. I can't blame this on my parents, because they've always put me first. But I find that, over and over, I make excuses for guys, saying stuff like "well, they're not mind readers," "we can't expect people to act like in the movies," "he's busy...," etc etc.

At the moment (and I really do mean at the moment), I think that if a guy really likes a girl, he'll pull out all the stops. Flowers, phone calls, plans amazing dates. Therefore, if a guy can't even be bothered to call before 5:30 on a Saturday, or to email sometime during the day, then he's not that into you, therefore not worth any worry or effort. Because it's just not gonna happen. And he's not going to be "the one."

Because if you chase after this guy, or put up with his lack of attention, you're settling. And that's a huge mistake.


Friday, June 23, 2006


why I'm poor

I got paid yesterday. Immediately I thought of all the fun things I was going to do with my money:

- get a pedicure
- buy a new perfume (White Linen, by Estee Lauder...a sample is in Vanity Fair. If anyone has a copy, can you smell it and tell me if it's too old lady for me? I like it...but I don't want to smell like a 35 year old.)
- go to the movies
- buy white pants
- buy a white cardigan (to go with cute summer dresses)
- buy some summer work skirts
- get a subscription to Glamour (finally!)
- get a subscription to Vanity Fair (why the hell not?)
- get a subscription to The Economist (will raise my IQ and global awareness in one go.)

I knew I had bills, but it always seems like I have a lot more money to spend than I do. Then I realized...this is going to be a rough two weeks. Especially because the fourth of July is in there, and I have Monday AND Tuesday off (yes!).

- rent (51% of paycheck)
- cell phone bill (3 days overdue) (5% of paycheck)
- student loan (4% of paycheck)
- parental loan, the result of a frantic phone call Sunday at 9 a.m. (20% of paycheck)
- groceries (5% of paycheck)


Thursday, June 22, 2006

I have the best friends in the world. CP looks at me when I'm choking, guiding me through the living process. After, she grabs my face, and says "I will never. let anything bad. happen. to you. Ever."

They take deep breaths, and tell me bad news that they don't want me to hear, but know that I'd rather hear than go on in ignorance. And then when they tell me that news, I say it's alright...and they say that it's alright if it's not alright.

And then, when I tell E & C-note what's wrong, they write me a love letter. And not just a love letter, but the best letter that I could ever get, and exactly what I needed. A perfect mix of indignation, humor, and confidence. So ridiculous, so perfect.

And guy friends say nice things like "the guy is foolish" and "his loss." Stuff that they usually don't say.

Maybe... all this wasn't about "getting the guy" - but rather...knowing that I've already "got the friends." And I have a feeling that may be a sweeter ending than any happily ever after I could have imagined.


final destination

So after our softball game last night, seven or so of us went out. CP and I split mini burger and chicken fingers...

We got the mini burgers, and began to eat. They were a weird size, and I commented how big the bun was. That was prescient of me, because my second bite became lodged in my throat in an alarming manner. It was so weird, it felt so blocked, it as if I could see a diagram of a blocked throat. All food, jammed in. I made a weird little noise, and CP looked at me, worried, and asked if I was okay. I made another weird noise, and the guy next to me said my name. I stood up, and after some esophagus gymnastics, I got it down.

I sat down, and I was shaken. I don't know why. I think mentally, I was fine, but physically, my body was like "OH MY GOD I ALMOST PERISHED!" Or perhaps physically I was fine, but mentally, subconsciously, I was really really freaked out. But for whatever reason, I couldn't stop trembling. And the mood of the night really changed for me after that. CP could tell, and others could too.

Walking to the metro this morning, I realized the scariest point of all. When I got up, it wasn't to call attention to myself, or to drop onto the back of the chair and do a dramatic, cinematic self-Heimlich - it was to run to the bathroom, in my vanity, and gag my heart out where no one could hear, or see. That was a very dangerous reflex, and I suppose at the heart of it lies two factors.
1) I didn't want people to see me making disgusting noises.
and, therefore,
2) I believed that I could save myself if it came down to it.

I don't know. It was scary.

E and I met up a bit after that, and went to the T spot. Played a couple of rounds of pool, etc etc, then we drove back to the apartment. I was driving, because E has a fractured/sprained right ankle, the product of a jogging mishap on Sunday. So I'm driving along, la la la, and this red pickup truck (before, just ugly, but now, SINISTER!), starts to drive into our lane, and us! My reflexes hopped in, and I braked and blared the horn, twice.

The honk, unfortunately, made the guy on our right drift into our lane because of fright, but he quickly corrected himself. And I'm pretty sure the guy in the pickup truck crapped his pants, and rightfully so. After that bit of driving ridiculousness, he stayed securely in his lane.

So now I'm a bit paranoid. Well, not really. But I have my necklace looped three times around my neck, and two of the loops were really tight this morning...and I confess. Devon Sawa's beautiful face floated to mind.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006


opening up

This evening I was descending some steps, and there was a homeless man at the bottom, holding a nearly empty cup. I wore my usual look of concentration and somewhat severity, though for once, my mind was full of things that I was worrying and thinking about. And shooting straight to the top of that list, at the moment, was regret at not having money for yet another poor person in the path.

I looked up, and the homeless man looked at my face and asked me what was wrong. Surprised, I said that it was nothing, that I was worried about tripping on the steps. I may have been imagining it, but it almost seemed as though his face fell a bit - whether it was because he had cared about someone thinking something stupid, or if it was because he knew I wasn't telling the truth, I don't know.

Then, at the library, I got a book to check out (The Hunchback of Notre Dame), and then I went to the book sale carts. After looking through, I picked out three. According to the price tags, the total should have been $3.50. I got to the counter, and gave a $10 bill to pay (because I'm such a high roller), and the guy went to get change.

He came back, changeless, and told me that I could have the books for free. I asked him if he was sure, and he said yes, and sorta gruffly pushed the bundle to my side of the counter. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I took them, thanking him profusely.

Monday, June 19, 2006


read this one second!

I was thinking about this while editing (and yes, I edit my blog posts. We all do.), and i just wanted to mention that my life up until now hasn't been "crap and not important," or whatever I said. It's all how you look at it. I was looking for grand achievements like Nobel Prizes and Pulitzers, and other things seemed to pale in comparison. How can I talk about summers in Maine when there's so much to be done?

But...I've had a kickass life/childhood. So while it isn't spectacular in the bestseller, walls lined with trophies way, it's been an amazing time. Almost perfect, actually.

So I guess I revisit the question that I was worrying about last summer: What is success? Do I want anything more than the joy that is a healthy and happy family? If not, is that so wrong?

Or am I wrong to want something more, without even knowing what it is? Do I want to change the world, or do I just want some adventures to blog about in a giddy fashion?

And...I'm off to bed with these questions rattling in my head.


About that...

Last week a shipment of books came to my office. It was a fairly large box, full of copies of one book...a biography of a guy who has been connected to the magazine. Bored, and looking for an excuse to procrastinate, I began leafing through the wonderfully fresh smelling pages. There were chapters for different parts of his life, such as...the undergrad years, meeting his wife, doing great stuff abroad, acting as a professor, etc etc.

I, of course, zoomed straight to the juicy stuff - the story of meeting his wife, and their courtship. They met at a party, and bonded over their shared love and admiration of Quakerism. He liked that she was "almost as tall and slender as he." No good love story is without heartbreak, so I was psyched to find a piece about him going off to WWII. I thought there would be some scandal when he returned, since Anne traveled to NYC to welcome him back, but the book was quick to say that she had gotten him a hotel room, and she crashed with a friend.

At any rate. All this leafing through someone's life made me wonder what the book of MY life is going to say. As of yet, it's rather unextraordinary. I mean, I've liked it, but it could be summed up in five pages. I obviously find enough to gab about on a fairly regular basis, but it's all crap and not important in the grand scheme of things. It's like...grew up in Massachusetts, went to an all-girls high school, moved to Washington to attend college, was editor in chief of her school paper, found love/had her heart broken (mentioned because the masses LOVE heartbreak!), is living in Maryland and works for a publisher.

There. A cursory description of my life. I'm not doing a lot of things justice, but still...

And this is an optimistic view, because I'm counting on filling tons of pages with scintillating stuff that some editorial assistant in the future will idly pick up, flip through, and then become fascinated by my successes, failures, and adventures.

I'm just so bewildered. Still trapped in the damn goo. What do I want to do with my life? I don't mind if it changes, if I decide that I want to be a stevedore on the docks of California, or a brilliant soapmaker in the flower-scented gardens of Japan, I just want to want something.

I want fire. I want to feel passion. I want to want something so badly that it drives me to do whatever it takes to get it. I need to do some soul-searching, which is always easier said than done. I need a plan.



The curve being...hating on smug little twits marketing for Apple.

Slate ad report card

Sunday, June 18, 2006


So many questions

What am I going to do with my life?

Does Hooters know that its "delightfully tacky, yet unrefined" motto doesn't make sense?

Does God mind that I've been going to Church on Monday instead of Sunday?

Is it a problem that programs "unexpectedly quit" on my computer?

How can I fix what's making me unhappy? (cause of distress is remaining nameless...for now.)

Thursday, June 15, 2006




Yesterday FedEx tried to deliver my Mac Book. I had called the Resident Manager (aka the person who sits at the front desk) in the morning, alerting her to the incoming package.

I checked the FedEx website around noon, and it said that they couldn't deliver the package, because "no one was home, or business was closed." I called the resident manager, and left a message with someone asking to be called back.

She called back, saying in this apathetic, lackadaisical, not-sorry-at-all voice, "Meghan. I am so sorry for my faux pas. The FedEx guy came in, but he didn't say anything to me, and it didn't look like he was carrying a computer, so I didn't ask him about it. I figured it was a different delivery guy. I'm used to the UPS guy talking to me."



That's what I wanted to say. Instead, I said something along the lines of: He will come again tomorrow, please sign for it, and put it in my apartment. Thanks.

So I called FedEx, got things squared away for a redelivery. This morning I left a note on BETHANY'S desk (oh snap, I said her REAL NAME!), asking for her to call me when it got in. It was a very nice letter, beginning with "Dear BETHANY" and ending with a "Thanks!"

Around 12:30 today I checked the tracking site. It said my computer had been delivered a good half hour before. So I call BETHANY. She says "oh, I was just about to go to lunch, and was going to call you after." I cut through the bullshit, and asked if it was in my apartment. She said it wasn't, but would be in an hour.


This is where I should have been a bitch, and insisted that it go in my apartment right then. But I didn't. I went on my angry and frustrated way, and bought a Spinach empanada.


So about a half hour ago, my lovely roommate, C-note, gave me a call. Worried, she knew that my computer was supposed to come today, but it wasn't in the apartment, and no one was at the front desk.

I call BETHANY. She sounds mildly concerned, which is several steps above her previous indifference. She says she has to call the "porter" to see where it is. I ask for her to call me back.

She calls me back, tells me that the people are making deliveries. In my attempt to channel all the bitchiness that my friends are offering to call and give to BETHANY, I say "Why did you say it would be there at 1, over two hours ago?" BETHANY says something about new people, blah blah blah. I told her that if it's not there by 4, I'll be calling.

About five minutes ago I got a text from C-note, saying:

"The eagle has landed. Got the goods. It's on your bed."

So, the wind has been a bit out of my anger sails since I got that, knowing that the eagle is safe and sound. I have a hard time carrying anger. For the most part.

BUT honestly. This whole process has been rife with incompetence. I made this SO EASY for BETHANY. Gave her a heads-up about a delivery, left her my phone number, and apartment number. This is a service that my complex offers. If they can't DELIVER the service, they should not offer it.

And I know I've been a high-maintenance customer. Yeah, there are few things more annoying than a micro-manager. But as someone who has been burned by package delivery in the past, I know what needs to get done.


(But much love to Mel, C.P., and C-note for offering to call and be mean to them!)

Tuesday, June 13, 2006



Sent to me by D, my co-worker

Hilarious Horoscopes

key phrase: Be like a vast, pristine empire that's immune to soul-deadening crap.


Injuries are HOT

Due to an unforeseen set of events, E and I ended up at the Jefferson Memorial last night. I think we really wanted to see (or, rather, I really wanted to see) the World War II Memorial, but unfortunately, there isn't any parking over there, so we settled for what we could.

Observing the darkened parking lot and similarly deserted-looking circuit, I grabbed my pepper spray and cell phone. E took her camera with her, and I told her that, in case of emergency, she should be prepared to surrender her camera, and I'd give away my phone.

Best to be prepared, right?

So, we ignored the "SIDEWALK CLOSED" sign, and "jumped the fence" (aka, walked through the gap in the barrier). Literally stumbling upon a bulldozer, we stopped to pose for pictures in the giant bucket thingy. We got grease on our hands, but it was okay in this "we're so adventurous and fun" way.

Going around another fence (why were all these places closed off?!), we walked along the semi-pitch darkness along the water, on the paved path. A group of tall guys passed us, going in the opposite direction.

E was zooming along, and to my left, I caught the reflection of the Washington Monument in the water, and realized that we should be enjoying the walk, not working our asses off. I told her I wanted to slow down, and we lessened our speed by about five knots.

And then.


I received a vicious blow to the right side of my head.

Well, perhaps "received" is the wrong word, seeing as how I had obliviously walked into a hefty low-hanging branch that crossed over the path, elegantly drooping to the water. Staggering to the trunk of the tree that had felled me, I leaned on it for support and gasped "Thank. God. we. slowed. down."

E came over to offer a shoulder to cry on, and I basically pushed her away and said that I couldn't be touched. I then wailed, through the tears that were coming to my eyes unbidden, "Why didn't those guys tell us?! THEY WERE TALL. THEY KNEW!!" Looking up the path about 25 feet, I saw someone dart into the shadows, and noted it.

Meanwhile, E was snapping pictures of my distress. Not sure why, other than to document the trip in the most thorough manner possible.

I stopped my whining, and we soldiered on. God must have had pity on me, because after walking for about 10 seconds, I intuitively froze midstep, and said "Puddle!" E said, "What?" as her foot splashed through four inches of watery grossness.

Determined to reach stupid Jefferson, we kept walking. E was slightly ahead, and I heard her gasp "ugh! bugs!" And then it hit me: a wall of gnats that just would not end. We began running, waving our hands in front of our faces. I thought it would end when we broke out onto the pavilion, but they continued for about 20 more feet.

While flipping out, I thought of the shadowy figure cutting across the path, and felt a sort of kinship with him. The person wasn't being sketchy, he was trying to escape an Amazonian mess.

Jefferson finally reached, we sat for a few minutes to recover from the emotional trauma of the previous four minutes. My head felt weird, so I asked E if it was bleeding...and it was. We found the bathroom in the basement of the monument, and I looked at myself in the mirror.

Hair a mess. Grease on my nose from the bulldozer. A bloody forehead.

All in all, a pretty alluring package, in a way.

Monday, June 12, 2006


Two Things

1) My baby brother is going to China tomorrow for five weeks. I'm going to miss him terribly. And I know it's going to be an amazing experience. Getting martial arts training in the land of...martial arts? Exploring Shanghai and Beijing? Camping on the Great Wall? Holy Crap! Be careful!! I'll miss you!! And I'll be the annoying sister sending the letters. I already have a nice card picked out for mailing #1. :-)

2) Season 2 of Hell's Kitchen begins tonight. Since our cable isn't hooked up yet (WTF, Verizon?!), I can't watch it. But please. How can one resist a show where the head chef calls one of the contestants "an overgrown muffin" and tells a customer to go back to plastic surgery when she complains about service? Watch it, and be prepared to be extremely entertained. It's going to be good - this morning (via a radio commercial) I heard him yell "YOUUUU DONNKEEEEYYYY!!!" I only wish I could see Chef Ramsey's face turn purple as he flips out in a ridiculous rage. Next week, God willing.

Friday, June 09, 2006


advertising. CP put it...I've made my first big girl purchase!

I got a Macbook. MacBook? Mac Book. And it should be delivered Thursday or Friday of next week, hopefully. When I told E, she crowed that I finally broke down and became a Mac User.

I'd like to take this moment to make clear that I will not be a Mac User, but rather, I will be someone who uses a Mac. I hate the whole "Mac is God" culture. The one that says that Mac Users are better because they're smart enough to buy a Mac. And cooler than others because of a certain purchase.

And before I get accused of being judgmental, or of jumping the gun, or of reading too much into things, look at the gift to my cause that was posted on the Apple website.

What is that saying? That dorky older pudgy guys who wear (DEAR GOD!!) suits are PC Users, and cool, laid-back, totally "in the know" guys use Macs. I mean, sure, the pudgy guy looks like he might trap you in a corner and babble on about economics for 45 minutes, but "Mac" looks like such a know-it-all that I want to smack the smirk off his face.

So. I'm a person, who happens to have just bought a Mac. Just so it's clear. Please don't let advertising make you feel as though you can judge me on my possessions!

Thursday, June 08, 2006


Just call me Cruella

I'm pretty much an evil person at work now. Yesterday in the lunchroom one of the guys mentioned his 91 year old grandfather. As if on cue, all the girls melted into little puddles of love, murmuring a collective "awwwwwwwww," and saying stuff like "that's so cute!" and "I love old men!"

That is, all the girls except for one. Me. I made the mistake of confessing "You know, I'm not really into old people." Judging from the awkward silence that followed, I may have well said that I think we should load up all the soon-to-be elderly on their 66th birthday and push them out to sea, taking their dentures, depends, and disposable incomes with them to Davey Jones's locker. Or maybe that we should make lovely coats out of their soft, aged skin. A way to recycle our resources, so to speak.

The thing is, contrary to what others may think, it's totally not like that. I think old people are really interesting, fun to talk to, etc etc. In fact, I'm that annoying girl that wants to know all about what life was like in the 20s, and 30s, and 40s, and 50s, and 60s...and they're like "leave me the hell alone." And then I keep going, and say obnoxious things such as "What were telephones like when you were my age?" So basically, I love to use them for fun historical information.

And I actually see it as sort of belittling to call an old person cute. We all have cute moments, or moments that others see as cute for some reason or another, but to call someone cute just because they're old and feeble is a bit insulting. They're not cute! They're people! I don't want anyone to call me cute when I'm 75, just because I'm seen as "stubborn" and "set in my ways" and "a bit batty." Calling them cute seems to me like you're saying "Oh, good try. You've ALMOST got it!" And that's not fair.

And just in case word gets around that I hate all things beloved, I'd like to say that I love babies. So much. I think they're perfect, with their fat cheeks, and cute little mouths with drool, and their nonsensical babblings. And their little clothes! Babies. can. do. no. wrong.

Tuesday, June 06, 2006





A resolution, of sorts

So there's this guy at kickball. We had one magical moment at the flip cup table, oh...months ago, and since then, it's been one long, drawn-out process. The process finally came to an interesting head, with an unexpected twist, this past Sunday.

Welcome to the story of Meg, and a guy we'll call MS—for "Mixed Signals," of course.

MS is fairly tall, with dark hair, and a bit of extra weight. But it's cute. He's kind of a weird mix between Vince Vaughn and Carson Daly. Is quiet, but is loud and fun around people he's comfortable with.

So the moment months ago wasn't that magical. But there was definitely a moment. There was some flirting, helped along by a raucous game of flip cup. We talked a bit, and it turns out that he went to Catholic, and he's going there for grad school right now. We talked about his work, and where he lives. As I was leaving, he looked - dare I say it? - sorta bummed, so I told him that we were going to a concert at the 9:30 Club, and he should come along. MS said he'd think about it. I've heard that line before, so I didn't think much of it.

E and I went to the concert...well, we went and stood in line in the freezing February cold to get our pre-ordered tickets. A brief phone conversation revealed that the main attraction wouldn't be showing up. No, not the singer/guitarist/tortured soul, but the guy who was the reason for our attending the concert. Since you can't stalk someone who isn't there, we decided to ditch that popsicle stand, and scalped our tickets to the college-agey couple on a first or second or third date making awkward conversation in front of us.

(The boy was cheap. We wanted to tell the girl to take off ASAP, before it was too late, but we had other priorities.)

At kickball the next week, MS and I had a brief conversation. It turns out that he had gone to the concert. Whoops. I never expected him to show, for two reasons: 1) the singer was pretty obscure and 2) did he actually go to see me? Would someone do that? Nah.

After that almost promising start, things kind of fizzled. His team wasn't into league spirit, so they never went to the bar after the games. About a month into the season, MS came to the bar. We chatted for a bit...a very small bit...and I said something along the lines of "you never come to the bar!" He said "no, but I go to the happy hours during the week. You should try to make those." I told him that I would.

So, the next Thursday, I went to a kickball Happy Hour. This was actually the Thursday before tax day, in case anyone is interested in the timeline. It was also, quite inconveniently, a Holy Day of Obligation (Holy Thursday, actually). So I left work, went to Church, met up with Nata, went to the Front Page, talked with a bunch of kickball people, drank a bit too much, kept an eye out for MS, left at 9 p.m. to go to H & R Block to get that pesky thing called taxes sorted out. After I left the Front Page, Nata called me to tell me that MS was there, at the bar. My hopes raised, I finished my taxes by 10 p.m., and went back to the bar. Most of the people were gone, including MS. I did wonder if MS had ever actually been there, since I didn't see him, and Nata wasn't quite clear on what he looks like.

So I basically forgot about it. And by "forgot about it" I mean that I "happened" to ref a couple of his games, and we chatted a bit on the field, but that was it. It went from being a possibility to me wondering if I had imagined the happy hour encouragement. It was just something that made kickball a little more interesting.

So life moved along, as it does, and it came time for kickball's Halfway to Home party. This was...probably a little over a month ago. Our team got really dressed up, and we looked fantastic. Hurray! And MS was there, with some members of his team. He was spending time at the little golf arcade game in the corner, so I made my move. Well, it wasn't much of a move, but I went over, and chatted, and he encouraged me to hit a few of his balls.

I did quite well.

(and get your minds out of the gutter!) I jokingly mentioned that I had gone to a happy hour, but he wasn't there - and he said sorry and that he must have been travelling that week.

Throughout the night we kind of smiled, made eye contact, blah blah blah. I went off to dance with my friends, and this awesome guy who was a fabulous dancer, and he spun me around. It was great fun. While having the time of my life (la di da) I noticed that a girl was pretty much sticking to MS's side. I had never seen her before, and it added an interesting new facet to the situation. They weren't touching, and didn't seem to be very affectionate - were they brother and sister? Teammates? Friends? Girlfriend and Boyfriend? I pretty much decided that they were bf and gf, just because of the way she didn't leave his side. I mean, I had probably misunderstood his intentions, and I'm not the type of girl to encroach on another girl's guy. Better to be safe than sorry.

But they were so unaffectionate - no touching, not even really any smiling. The girl seemed miserable and out of place, in fact. She was a total sour puss. And I'll call her Sour Puss from here on in.

So MS, Sour Puss and their crew took off from the party. I was near the doorway, playing darts, or something. I obviously saw MS leaving (and he was the last in the line of his friends), so I said a brilliant, "oh, you're leaving?" He stopped, and said that he was. He then said AGAIN that I should go to the happy hours on Thursdays. I asked where the one that week would be, and he said he didn't know. He asked me if I'd be going, and I said "maybe!"

Since he added another happy hour hint, I decided that it was decidedly flirtatious, therefore he must be single. Why else would he push for the happy hours? And since I'm a sucker for hope, I went to the one that next week, even though it was the week we were moving, and it was horribly inconvenient. He wasn't there.

I alerted E and C-note to the new girl angle, and we surreptitiously observed Sour Puss during the next few weeks. MS and Sour Puss seemed to come to the game together quite a lot. But once at the game, she'd collapse on the sidelines (I don't think I ever saw her play?) looking quite sick and out of sorts. And he'd go out and play, and be loud, and fun, and good humored. I heard a rumor that their team goes to a bar beforehand to get all-you-can-drink vodka for $10, which explains her absurd behavior.

This Sunday the game I had been waiting for finally arrived. We were playing MS's team for the first and only time. Walking to the field from the parking lot, I told E and C-note that my modest goal for the game was to talk to MS. Tell him I'd been to the happy hour. Either make some progress, or stop this happy hour nonsense.

So the game is about to begin, and MS is on the mound. There are a couple of players on the sidelines, mainly Sour Puss, sitting with a look on her face, and a friend who is talking to her. I'm standing on the sidelines, all ready for the game to start, roster in hand, and E is next to me. MS yells to the girl talking to Sour Puss, saying, "KATE!! GET on the FIEEELlllllllllD!"

and she yells back, with a bit of an attitude,

"Well, cool it, BECAUSE I'm tending to YOUR WIFE!"

I look at E. She looks at me, and says,


I can only imagine that the shock on her face mirrored my own. I looked down at my roster, completely surprised, and E looked over at Sour Puss - excuse me - Mrs. MS. At that moment, E claims, a sunbeam broke through the clouds, and a sizeable sparkle shot up from Mrs. MS's left hand.

I just couldn't believe it. E couldn't either, so she went over to one of our teammates to spread the great story. E called me over, because we needed to confer. E said "Did you see the ring?" and I think responded with something like "They're really married?"

I looked over, and there was definitely a ring on Sour Puss's left hand, and it was definitely a diamond. I looked at MS, drunk and pitching. Through the muddle of his ridiculous, clumsy, ball throwing motions, I saw a ring on his finger.


Friday, June 02, 2006


Walks Away, Lock Doors

I was just walking the home stretch to work...kind of like a Downtown Crossing area, for you Bostonians.

So, I don't know what I was thinking about, but I was lost in my own world - oh wait, I was thinking that I look tres American today - and I see this guy walking on the sidewalk, towards me. Well, not towards me, but in the opposite direction I was heading, you know?

So he's all sweaty, and big muscles, and has headphones on, is kind of zigzag walking - at one point I think "oh goodness, I hope he doesn't try to hug me!" - just because he was so sweaty and seemed a bit off-balanced, like someone who would hug random strangers on their way to work.

I pass by him, and he looks at me, and leers

"I see you evvvvvvvvvvery day!"

I don't know if he saw my eyes widen like saucers, but if he must have been quite gratifying.

Thursday, June 01, 2006



- My bracelet looks like a candy necklace. I salivate every time I look at it. Therefore, I avoid looking at it.

- I saw a banker skateboarding to work today. I promptly fell in love.

- I love going to work early because it has enabled me to avoid the oppressing swampy heat that has descended upon Washington. I imagine that it will get super hot super early soon enough, but for now, my 7:15 commute is working out just fine. And I love leaving work come evening time to enter a hazy summertime city. It's so beautiful and warm.

- I'm a bad roommate because I forgot to leave my rent check this morning. C-note is meeting up with me so that we can exchange the goods. Or rather, so that I can hand it over.

- CP has moved floors and now she's diagonally across from my office. We're working on a fun intra-floor communications system. Current ideas: a string with a can on each end, climbing through the ceiling tiles, and communicating via flashlights. Or maybe we can work on a system of coughs and sneezes. Like morse code.

I have a feeling that this is going to be a multi-post day...

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