Thursday, September 28, 2006


hanging curtains is harder than it looks

While lounging in the living room tonight, E asked me if I had a dream last night in which I was a cheerleader. As far as I know, I hadn't, so I asked why.

Apparently I had been in bed for about a half hour, and E was in her room on her computer. She heard me yell (and she really emphasized the "yell" part):

"Give me a C! C! Give me an R! R! Give me a P! P!"

I'm accustomed to answering my own cheers, I guess.

Oh, and today I was in Bed, Bath & Beyond ("don't go in the 'beyond' section!"), and they were TOTALLY playing a breakup mix. The selection was quite laughable, in this it's so pathetic that it just cheers you up sort of way. I don't remember all of the songs (I was in there for a quite a while, though), but they played:

"Runaway Train" by Soul Asylum
So tired that I couldn't even sleep
So many secrets I couldn't keep
I promised myself I wouldn't weep
One more promise I couldn't keep

"Everywhere" by Michelle Branch
Turn it inside out so I can see
The part of you that's drifting over me
And when I wake you're, you're never there
But when I sleep you're, you're everywhere

"Aint it Funny" by J-Lo
Sometimes I think that a true love can never be
I just believe that somehow it wasn't meant for me
Life can be cruel in a way that I can't explain
And I don't think that I could face it all again

"Superman" by Five for Fighting
Wish that I could cry
Fall upon my knees
Find a way to lie
About a home I'll never see

and others that had messages like "This was a mistake," "I love you, Whhhhhyyyy?" and "I don't need you, scumbag." There was a catchy one that sounded like it was by Wilson Philips, but I can't remember anything else about it. I wonder if studies have shown that depressed people buy more household items? I definitely contemplated purchasing some random prints that I didn't need, but walked away, just in the nick of time, I suppose.

And speaking of the nick of time, I apparently entered McDonald's after some shit had gone down. There were seven police officers in there interviewing people, and some fine citizens were corralled in a corner. With booths, of course. But I didn't let a little crime get in the way of the first nuggets I've had in a while. They were delicious.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006



Written last night, but blogger wouldn't let me post...

1. The first Scuba class was great. True to my prediction, there's only one other person in my class - a 45 year oldish guy. The teacher is awesome, and pregnant, so we're going to have a second teacher for the pool days. The teacher and I bonded over our shared clutziness. Although I don't want to wait, I'm going to do my Open Water Certification Dives in the spring, with the other classes, so that I'll be able to (hopefully) meet people. And trick someone into being my lifelong dive buddy, muahaha.

( they do underwater wedding ceremonies?)

After class I bought my mask, booties, fins (flippers?), snorkel, and a bright yellow net bag to put it all in. I lugged it to the Metro, and was secretly hoping that someone would approach me, and say "So, what's in the bag?" and I'd reply (with the hard-to-achieve perfect mix of sangfroid and snug achievement) "My scuba gear."
No one asked me, of course. But E and C-note were eager to see the ensemble when I returned to the apartment, so I suited up and paraded around for a bit.

2. I ran into that guy today, the one that I think was cursed to always see me since he had avoided my call, and never acknowledges me. We were both waiting to cross the street, I looked behind me (fate? to see why that car was going on the median? who knows?), and saw him. My immediate reaction was to say hi, since I didn't have time to compose my features into stony vagueity. He said hi back, and, confirming my suspicions, immediately said "Umm...did you call me like a week after we had met? My roommate and I were sharing a phone and uhhh" and sort of trailed off. I pretended to think, or something (oh, my feminine wiles!), said yes, and that it was no problem that he hadn't called me back. You know me, easy and breezy. We small-talked until we went our separate ways, then peaced out to our respective work places. Hopefully I've lifted the curse, and he'll either a) never see me again or b) not feel incredibly awkward if he does.

3. Mel and I hung out today after work - we stopped at Safeway to pick up strawberries and doritos, and I spontaneoulsy bought a pumpkin with a scary/flirty face on it for her roommate. We got to her apartment, picked out beers, melted chocolate, fought with the patio chairs to try and open them (and failed), then set it all up on her wonderful balcony. We had been sitting out there for about 20 minutes, gorging ourselves and having a grand ole time when her fiance came home. He joined us on the balcony, shutting the door behind him. Gotta keep the bugs out of the apartment!

And somehow, the door locked. The lock hadn't been set, but somehow...the latch was down. After our dramatic rescue, we staged several experiments to attempt to reenact the door locking, and it wouldn't. At all. So...we don't know what happened, or why it happened. But it had.

And by "dramatic rescue" I mean that her roommate came home (the one that I had bought the pumpkin for) and he opened the door for us. Thank goodness. While the balcony imprisonment would have been a tad inconvenient if I had somewhere to be, I didn't.

Therefore, it was positively delightful sitting out there with Mel, Pat, beer, doritos, strawberries, and melted ghirardelli chocolate. It was pretty much a dream come true.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006


aaah hahahahahahahahahhaa

Why I hate Zach Braff, by Josh Levin

(sorry, Mel!)

Monday, September 25, 2006


AIM conversation

pat: So tonight it's a set up Windows party
pat: For a little while
meg: nice!
meg: I'm trying to figure out what to blog about
pat: Blog about how much ass New Orleans is kicking tonight in their first time back in the Superdome since Katrina
meg: I'm not watching it
meg: so it wouldn't be a good entry
pat: So turn it on
pat: You're not watching anything, so even football would be better than that
meg: you're saying that any TV is better than no TV?
pat: Just to annoy you, yes
meg: (are you just giving me a subject to rant on?)
meg: hahaha
pat: I knew you'd have a problem with that


I was in a contrary mood after work today - I didn't want to go back to my apartment (it would have felt like I was giving up on the day), but I didn't particularly want to go anywhere. Facing that dilemma, I decided to just walk in the direction of Metro Center. Getting to the White House, I plopped down and just sat on the curb for a while. I think I probably looked pretty despondent, but it was one of those times that I wasn't thinking of anything in particular, just watching the ants on the ground (and wondering, "AH!! Did I sit on a nest?!" Three ants do not a nest make. And why does "nest" seem like such a disgusting word now?), listening to a faraway harmonica that reminded me of a goose honking, etc.

A couple of girls jogged by, and I thought about how cool it would be to have a workout partner. Someone who happened to go at the same pace as me, but would inspire me to go faster during those rough moments/inspire me to, you know, to work out regularly. I heard the girl gabbing as she jogged by, gasping for breath at the completion of every couple of words. It reminded me of high school, when Katie and I had to jog for volleyball. To pass the time, we'd talk about homework, and I'd sum up the chapters we had to read for English. I particularly recall analyzing Silas Marner.

After looking sketchy for what I felt was an appropriate length of time, I got up and walked away from the strongly setting sun. Tooling by some motorcycles, I saw a guy loading up his Vespa. He was skinny, nerdy, looked so dorky, but hardcore rap was echoing from his speakers; it was perfect.

Sunday, September 24, 2006



Today I was behind a guy who had a wallet in his back pocket. The thing was huge, and protruded a good three inches from his behind.

I know that he was a special case, and his wallet gave George Costanza's a good run for its money, but I don't get it.

How can guys sit with wallets in their back pockets? Or do they take them out every time they sit down? It seems very uncomfortable. Is sitting on the wallet a fashion challenge, sort of like wearing uncomfortable high heels?

Stupid question, yes. But I'd like to know.

Saturday, September 23, 2006


fate, time, rambling, etc.

Months ago I was sitting at the dining room table having dinner with Anon. We were eating Bertucci's pizza, just enjoying each other's company before we went on to do our own thing(s).

In a fanciful mood, we were talking about the past, and all of the different decisions that we had made that had brought us up to that moment, eating pizza with a neighbor in the fading sunlight of a Friday evening. I said that if I hadn't worked on the paper, I probably would have gone abroad. And if I had gone abroad, I'd be fluent in French right now, and possibly living in France. And imagine that - if one little thing had been different, the path of my life would have adjusted by degrees, and I wouldn't have been having dinner with him.

And he reflected on the choices that had brought him there. And it made me think - what if, no matter what the choices we had made, we were meant to be having dinner with each other that day? If the people that are in our lives, they are meant to be there at that moment, regardless of the time or place. I told him my little "We could have been eating pizza in Paris" theory, and I'm pretty sure he thought that I was delusional.

Today my bro and I checked out Georgetown. I pretty much fell in love and experienced college envy, which is a tad ridiculous. I began to think...if I had gone to Georgetown (changing my past so that I had applied, been accepted, etc.), would my life be different? Or would I still be working where I work, living where I live?

And if I had gone abroad - maybe I would still have the same job. TK took the study abroad route at Catholic, and we work together. You really never know.

All of this isn't to look back on things with regret, and with what-ifs, but just to explore different avenues. The Unbearable Lightness Being talked about coincidences, and how a series of them had brought two people together. Maybe those coicidences are secondary to the cause. And tonight on Lost, they said "Don't confuse coincidence for fate." Maybe those coincidences don't matter at all.

One of my favorite books is Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman. Each chapter relates a different way time might operate, and is relayed in usually-gripping stories. Sometimes I picture time as a constant thing - that each action is replayed over and over in some dimension, leaving tracks. For example, after we moved, I began to walk to work from the metro by a different street, but my new and old routes eventually join a couple of blocks from the front door.

My timing is still exactly the same, and occasionally I fancy that I run into my past self, walking the same track at the same time. If I looked quick, and in the right way, would I catch a glimpse of last year's me turning the corner? When we move through the world, do we leave pieces of us behind?

Today Bub and I visited CUA. He jokingly suggested that I pop by my old dorm, and knock on the door. Laughing, he said that I might run into the 2004 version of me and my roommates. Ludicrous, yes. But what if I had knocked on the door, and no one answered? Would I remember a time from senior year when I was in the apartment, doing the dishes (or more likely catching up on Laura's "Us Weekly"), thinking that I hear a knock, and then thinking that I had been mistaken, thereby not answering the door?

There's a short story by Jorge Luis Borges called The Garden of Forking Paths.

It winds down with this quote:

"He believed in an infinite series of times, in a growing, dizzying net of divergent, convergent and parallel times. This network of times which approached one another, forked, broke off, or were unaware of one another for centuries, embraces all possibilities of time."

Thursday, September 21, 2006



As I came out of work today it looked like the sun was setting on N St. Absolutely beautiful. Lately I've found that the images that arrest me are the ones that play with shadows, the light, and the dark. I've traded the details for a larger look.
This is my favorite painting. Empire of Lights, by Rene Magritte.

I bought my first copy four years ago at the poster fair when I was a sophomore in college. I wandered over to the sale during some free time, saw it, and was instantly drawn to it. It's nothing too extraordinary - and I'm certainly not into buildings or anything. But the mix of light and dark, the way the sky is so blue, and the house is so dark, just captured me.

I went to purchase it, and the sales guy said happily, "oh, you found it!" I played it off, but he could tell that I had no idea what he was talking about. He said that I had come to him the day before, asking about that painting and if they had it...hadn't I? I told him that I was certain that I hadn't, that I had never seen the painting before. Looking a little freaked out (or possibly like one enjoying a little practical joke), he completed the purchase, and gave me a weird look.

This poster and I have some sort of destiny. Or something. My first copy, lasting three years, through three moves, got torn on the last trip. I knew the only way I could bear with the loss was if I ordered a new one immediately, so I did. Empire of Lights v2.0 is a slightly different color (more green, yuck), but it does the job.

So today, walking back from the metro, the sky looked a lot like it does in the painting. Dark ground, light sky. Here's my hand at Magritting.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006


shoes! shoes! shoes!

So, I wrote a post about my favorite painting, and then was going to post pictures of me attemping to copy the masterpiece...but blogger isn't allowing me to post images. Perhaps it's Rene Magritte's ghost, pissed off that I was trying to mimic him!

So that post may be published one day under the files of "The Lost Posts" in my biography, or, you know, maybe I'll post it tomorrow. We'll see.

How many times can I use "post" in two paragraphs? This does not bode well for my writing skills + eloquence for tonight.

Today I read an article in the Post about women and shoes (Taking a Stiletto to D.C.'s Drab Image). The article claims that fashion is coming back to a "city [that] is perhaps better known for the infamous sneakers-and-stockings look." Well, can't argue that point.

So I read on. And people boasted of having more shoes than days in the year. Of wearing shoes not more than once, because, God forbid, people would notice.

This is about Charrisse Jordan, the wife of the Washington Wizard's coach:

"People do watch what you wear, and they notice it," she said, standing in her walk-in closet, one wall devoted entirely to shoes. "I have to represent my husband in a certain way."

...She may have to retire them after that -- after all, she can't be caught wearing the same thing twice. Like her stand-out floral Chanel wedges that she loved and wore twice to events in Washington. But afterward, she decided she couldn't take them out anymore.

"If I wore that, they'd be like, 'Dang, she doesn't have any other shoes?' " she said.

So her shoe purchases are based on public opinion, and what some society snobs might gab about?

Later on in the article, a shoe retailer is featured. This woman sold shoes that cost $1,050 per pair, straight from Alexander McQueen's runway show. It's a "silver metal sandal lined in suede with a four-inch heel."

The metal better be from the core of the earth, and the suede better be a baby's bottom, for that price. I'm all about paying for quality...but after a certain point, do you stop paying for quality and start paying for status? A meaningless, unmeasurable, mercurial item?

Okay, so I have been feeling a bit insulted by the buzz that says that Washington is fashionably clueless. But if being in tune to fashion means spending that much on a pair of sandals, then I'll keep my head firmly buried in the sand.

I'm in a precarious position here - I have done jack squat with my money, I certainly don't tithe (and this is all a bit rich coming from the girl proclaiming the glories of boots two days ago)- but it seems like such a waste to spend so much on a freaking pair of shoes.

And yes, I know that this money belongs to the people who own it, and it's not my business to say what they should spend it on, and how. For all I know, the Jordans may contribute significantly to charities.

Hell, for the sake of my argument, let's pretend that they do.

Style and individuality are fantastic. But when is that line crossed, and you enter the land of meaningless consumption? Does anyone really need 200 pairs of shoes? I'm not saying that people should go without, and live a la Mother Teresa. But wouldn't some of that money be more useful for saving the world? Please?

What type of society are we that people pose with their shoes circled around them? What is that picture supposed to say? Was the photographer admiring Mrs. Jordan? Or mocking her?

Monday, September 18, 2006



So I've been rather anxious about something, giving it a lot of thought/worry. I was about to bemoan about it on a buddy's blog ("buddy" - being a word that shows I'm from Massachusetts, of course), when it hit me.

I'm worrying too much again. Not enjoying things. Being all angsty and stupid.

This is not to say that I've suddenly adopted this laissez-faire la-di-dah attitude about things that are important, like those that I care about, the homeless, little kids, etc. But I hope - so hope - that I've had a moment of clarity that will last.

For example, I just started to get worried about "what's next" - you know, what's next after this go at work. I love work, and I love where I work (yes, yes, as we all know), but that doesn't mean that I don't think about the future. And I got this scared feeling, I recognized it as the one that stressed me out senior year of good ole' CUA.

What the hell is up with that? Why would I worry about that? Life, in all its joy, is not meant to be stressed about. Why taint the present by worrying about something that. might. not. even. happen?!

It reminds me of a fun BBQ on Saturday.

Mel and I were hanging out, I was holding the cutest, most affectionate, wonderful dog in the world (non sequitur, yes. But I love dogs), and Mel and I decided that we had to go to the bathroom. Thinking back, I'm sure I announced that. God, I definitely was drunk.

So Mel and I make the trip up the stairs together. I get in the BR, and realize that there isn't any toilet paper. Right away, because I check stuff like that. I tell Mel, she rummages resourcefully around in the linen cabinet, I sit on the edge of the tub, waiting for her to make a find.

Mel holds up toilet paper, I put my hand on the sink, stand up.

And I had pulled the freaking sink off the wall.

I was extremely alarmed. I HAD BROKEN A SINK!!! ARGH!!!!

So, a couple of minutes pass, and Mel and I are sitting in a room near the bathroom, I'm probably pretty close to tears. I broke a sink! A sink!! Well, to be fair, it was still functioning and pretty much attached to the wall. But it was alarming nonetheless.

Another coworker comes up the stairs. He asks what's wrong. I tell him. He tells me to stop worrying about it, and to grab another drink.

I retort that drinking was what had made me break the sink in the first place, or something. I gather myself, and Mel comes with me, and I tell JW. And she totally doesn't care (or maybe she does...if you do, TELL ME!!) - apparently it had happened before, which explained my metamorphosis into the Incredible Hulk.

Point is, it was a sink. And while drinking doesn't solve anything, getting a bit of a grip on the importance of things does. Or perhaps, getting a grip on the unimportance of some things.

Maybe this 30-day attitude transformation thing is actually working...

Sunday, September 17, 2006


i'm being serious.

I've always thought that colors just functioned as a way to please the eye - and sometimes they work to soothe (sage) or to excite (bright red). That they're cool and all, but they don't tap into our subconscious, or really mean anything in the grand scheme of things.

I love purple. Not pastel (yuck), but a deep, eggplanty plummy purple. I have two sweaters in that color, one belt and a skirt (thanks to Min!), and my winter coat is that color. It just makes me happy. In fact, the chair I'm sitting on is draped in a duvet that is that color. There are several shades of awesomeness, but it has to be deep to capture my heart.

(Ugly sweater, yes. But the color is near-perfect.)

Professing my love of the color to my mom (I pretty much only discuss scintillating topics on the phone), she reminded me that I went through a phase at the age of four when I would wear nothing but purple. What a delightful child. And it's noteworthy that I have the same preference 19 years later.

At any rate - I've noticed an interesting thing about color, other than my lifelong preference of the purp.

In the mornings, after my alarm goes off, oh, three times, I stumble to my closet and pick out my "underthings."

I then take a shower, and think of which outfit I should wear. I then get dressed, generally rummaging around and having stacks of clothes fall on my head, swearing, ironing, abandoning outfits in favor of other ones.

Later in the day I'll realize, more often than not, that my "underthings" match my outfit. And not in an abstract "pink kinda goes with blue!" way, but in a "Wow. I'm wearing orange underwear and an orange shirt."

That particular orange day was the one that made it all click. It was one of those days that I had nothing to wear, nothing looked good on me, and I was running super late. I had tried on three or four shirts, then settled on the orange in semi-despair, as the thing that looked the least worst on me.

And once I started noticing it, I noticed that it happened a lot. And I wasn't trying to match in the morning - regardless of my intense thinking, I generally end up in front of my closet clueless as to what I'm going to throw on.

And for all of you people that regularly sport dark blues, blacks, and browns, don't poo-poo this. I love color. I wear blues, greens, oranges, pinks, yellows, reds, purple, etc. The chances of matching colors decrease with the number of colors one wears.

So, do I really choose the color? Or does the color choose me? Does it not really matter what I want to wear? Am I just going to end up wearing a certain color, independent of what I think I'm thinking?

This brings up interesting ideas of predeterminism and fate... Is it possible for me to believe in free will, but also believe that matching my underthings and clothes points to predeterminism?

Does each day already have a predetermined color that goes with it? If so, what do those colors mean?

Saturday, September 16, 2006


Appearance Matters. Apparently.

This week I've been pretty good about wearing sneakers on the commute to work, even though it makes me feel dowdy when I'm wearing a skirt.

I had a quick 3-minute conversation with a coworker on my way out the door on Wednesday (or was it Tuesday?). He said that my feet looked comfortable, and I replied that yes, they were, but they certainly weren't hot (in the attractive sense, not temperature-wise). He told me that no one cares about how shoes look, people know I'm commuting, and I replied that he cares about his shoes and how they look.

(I am aware that that was a twist in logic, and I was hoping he wouldn't notice. He did.)

He then pointed out that I wouldn't want to be with someone who cared if I wore sneakers to work...and he had me there.

Which all leads into...

The fact that three random people commented on my appearance yesterday.

First, during lunch, I had the urge to walk around the circle. From that urge, I'm wondering if the need to walk is hard-wired in me now, because I had missed my early morning skedaddle to the metro (E kindly and thoughtfully gave me a ride).

Anyhow, so this older guy is coming toward me on his bike, and as he's passing me, he said, "You wear it well, my dear!"

First off, what a lovely thing to say to someone. I'm not sure what "it" was - my clothes (sundress, blazer, MY FAVORITE BOOTS!!!)? My height? My hair, or something else? Who knows. But it was a nice boost.

Then we went to the T-spot. I was feeling sensory overload - the extremely loud banging + accompanied wailing on the guitar, the smell of cigarette smoke, etc, so I decided to go outside for a few minutes.

And I really feel like I should get a prop cigarette or something, because I always feel stupid just standing there, getting some fresh air. Must people always be doing something in order to appreciate the outdoors?

Anyhow. There was this homeless man talking to the bouncer, saying that he had put his toothpaste in his back pocket, sat on it, and it pushed all of the toothpaste out of the tube and into his pocket.

I asked him if he wanted some napkins - and he looked at me, and said, "Hello, lady!" And to the bouncer - "She is just so beautiful. Isn't she beautiful?"

The bouncer kind of murmured awkwardly...

And lest you all think that I'm getting all high and mighty on myself, 1) I am aware that the person who called me beautiful had just confessed to a lapse in toothpaste storing judgment, and 2) This final story is about me being made fun of.

Okay, so I drove back from the T-spot in C-note's car (I had only had, like, seven pepsis at the bar), parked it, went inside, promptly began to change.

Then I realized that I had left my cell phone in C-note's car. Curses. Since I was lazy when changing, I had left my boots went outside in "running" shorts (quotes are used because I've never actually run in them), a sweatshirt, and my favorite brown boots.

A hodge podge, yes, but since I never see anyone, I wasn't too concerned, but, since I looked like someone trying out for "Who Wants to Be a Superhero," (SloppyGirl? ExerciseWoman?) I figured I'd run into some hot boys that I had never seen before.

And, um, I did.

There were three of them, and we were all walking to the back door of the building from the parking lot. One guy called out, "I don't think your boots match your jogging shorts!" and I kind of just laughed, and said that the blue actually did match.

So another said that perhaps if I were wearing brown corduroys and a blue sweater or something, it would match, but not the boots and the shorts. I lamely tried to explain that I had been in the middle of changing, and I realized that I had forgotten my cell phone in the car, but my excuses fell on drunk ears.

I asked them how long they had lived in the building, and the blond one said that he's been here for a month and a half. He asked if I lived on their floor, and I said no, and said the floor that we live on. He said something along the lines of "Oh, it must be cheaper up there" ... or something? I didn't understand the insult - maybe because I didn't match? I don't know.

Something about them seemed sketchtastic - but one never knows. It could have just been the level of intoxication. (A good neighbor is hard to find - anon/xander, I miss you!!)

So, to answer the question posed to me a couple of days ago, I want a guy who will notice when I'm wearing cute shoes, and not give a damn when I'm wearing sneakers. Or be weird, and think it's cute when I'm wearing sneakers with a skirt. Why the heck not?

Tuesday, September 12, 2006


choose wisely.

Why does it seem like the predominant theme in European marriages depicted in movies and books is infidelity? It drives me insane. I'm going to the book club tomorrow, and as such, I had to cram - as in, read The Unbearable Lightness of Being from cover-to-cover.

Well, I gamely held on until page 150, then I decided to toss it aside. The Euro-vision of a "just because I sleep with other women doesn't mean that I don't love you" marriage had sufficiently infused me with enough malaise for one night.

So I suppose I'll be "that girl" at my first meeting, but oh well. It's hard to persist trudging through an unpleasant book when I have one that I love waiting for me in my bag.

(Which I suppose sums up my view on unfaithful marriages - why stray when you have a very good one waiting for you?)

(And in that vein, I should reveal the name of the one that I love: Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, by Susanna Clarke. It's not for everyone, but I find it compelling.)

This afternoon Mel and I sat outside Lawson's. She was eating her Lawson's-bought goods, I was tentatively digging into my sorta slimy ham sandwich. We were located near a street singer, and he started to play a pre-recorded melody. He waved a tambourine of sorts, then said in a strange, serious tone (into the mic) "If you're happy and you know it. Clap your hands." He repeated himself...

And then launched into this awesome rant about how kids these days don't know the meaning of "perseverance, responsibility, and" (crap, I forget the last word - and it was a good one, too...). Anyhow. He also promoted voting, saying that people should vote if they want change. It was totally a Schoolhouse Rock moment.

Speaking of civic responsibility, when we were walking back to work, we came to the busy intersection, complete with construction workers holding huge stop signs. Some cars honked, due to impatience. Or so I thought. But then a chorus of sirens came into our hearing, and we realize that an emergency vehicle (or several) was trying to come through the tunnel and up the other side.

I quickly became very anxious. Every second counts. After facing 100 honks from panicked drivers, the construction lady finally got the memo and took down her stop sign. Cars started to inch forward, some clueless pedestrians lumbered across the street. A taxi stopped to let some important business men out.

I was all about to get out and try my hand at directing traffic. The traffic was thicker, more honking, cars were backing up the wrong way to try to move. A white box truck was blocking our view of what was coming.

Mel said, nervously, "I hope it's not an ambulance..."

And then it came into view.

A single motorcycle, and one limo with some flags waving. It wasn't just a motorcade, it was a lame motorcade, because the person inside only rated ONE motorcycle, and no decoy cars. We could not believe it. All that! Mel mentioned that at least it wasn't actually someone in danger, and I thought that was a great point of view. Especially considering I think I was more irritated that my emotions had been toyed with. I had been worried!

(Sort of along the lines when someone you care about hasn't called or contacted you, and you're like "Maybe he's in the hospital?! Or something bad happened?! Oh, GOD I hope he's okay!!" And you get worked up...and then it's like "Oh. No, he's okay - he's just a jerk.)

(And no, that wasn't a hint to anyone who might possibly take that as a hint. Really. It's just providing an example. OK?)

So, thank God no one was hurt and needed medical attention. But I wish that people would use motorcades more wisely, and know when to speed up, and when to chill out. A lot of people were inconvenienced, and it was a minor miracle that no one had been injured in the scampering process.

Monday, September 11, 2006



I'm a soda addict, in that I have at least one pepsi a day. I've begun to purchase those cute little cans, but if I don't bring one from my apartment, I'll buy a 20 ounce bottle from the vending machine.

Obviously I know soda is bad for me, but it gives me the caffeine I need. A couple of months ago Tans and Pat tried to convince me to switch to diet, or none, but I can't bring myself to drink something that I detest (diet pepsi/coke) just to get the fix.

However, I just read a compelling and well-written article about soda...and I found it quite informative. It doesn't necessarily say anything that I hadn't heard before, but the author does a good job laying it all out. I'm going to work on quitting my little drug.

For those of you with 10 spare minutes, here it is.

The Case Against Soda

Saturday, September 09, 2006


"We drove off with a tank full of destiny"

Yesterday I left my apartment and was walking to the Metro - and there was this guy about 50 feet in front of me? Maybe 30 feet? I'm horrible at that stuff.

And he was walking so...jauntily. I don't know what it was about his walk that I loved. I think I had it down to the way he swung his arms at the elbows so crisply and full of purpose. And his suit fit him very well. Sometimes some guys wear suits, and you're like "What's the appeal?" But then you see a guy wearing a suit well, and it all makes sense and comes together.

If I had caught up to him, I think I would have blurted out, against my will and better judgment, "Your suit fits you very well" - so luckily, thankfully, we got separated at a light.

I've decided that I need an attitude makeover. STAT. Lately I've been seeing random people, and my first thought is a negative one. That's so weird. I mean, when did I get like that? So, now, as part of my transformation, I'm going to think of a positive thought for every person that I notice. Stuff like "Ooh, nice style." "Nice smile" "What lovely hair!" I might, you know, occasionally forget, but I'll definitely remember if I think a bad thought first, so then I'll override it with my positive brainwashing.

I'm also being proactive - this is going to be a fantastic fall.

September: my younger brother is visiting for his 18th birthday! I actually owed him a visit from last year - that was my present to him - but I'm finally making good on it. He's a veteran DC visitor, so if anyone has any quirky or different ideas for things that we can do, let me know!

October: I haven't officially signed up yet (that would be on Tuesday) but I'm finally taking SCUBA lessons!!! There are three lessons on Wednesdays, and three on Saturdays (I think). Then there's the open-water certification in late October. I. am. so. ecstatic.

November: Thanks to Mel, I'm taking part in National Novel Writing Month ( Between Nov. 1 - 30, I'll write a 50,000 word novel. I'm totally up to the challenge, and plan on getting to the big 50k, but with that said, I'll try to not feel like a failure if I don't finish. Writing my magnum opus means two things: 1) I probably won't be that social during November, and 2) I probably won't blog as much.

Speaking of blogging, I've moved offices! Now that I share a relatively tiny space with my superior, I'm thinking that I won't be so bold as to blog during the 9-5. Of course, there may be a relapse occasionally...but it won't be too frequent. I don't think.

BTW - Kiss and Blog, the partnership between Wombat and Midwest, has become just a Wombat thing. Midwest was definitey interesting and entertaining, so she will be missed. In her goodbye, she posted a link to another one of her blogs. She warned that it wouldn't be anonymous, and I thought "well, whatever that means..." In one of her posts, she mentioned her real name.

AND IT WAS SO WEIRD! Not her name - that's perfectly normal - but I never realized how I had begun to see her as being named "Midwest." I mean, I knew that wasn't her name, obviously. But it's so strange to see that she has a real name. It fires off a whole new set of neurons - to what extent is our identity determined by our blogs? Or rather...what's in a name?

Thursday, September 07, 2006



I heard you say "bye" but I didn't know you were leaving...I turned around to say "hi" and you were already passing by - I saw your black bag flying out behind you, and I thought "oooh. Nice bag!" Oh, and I really liked your green shirt/sweater thing today. Just thought you should know.

We're going to miss you. There's no denying that you were undervalued.

Sometimes life gives you lemons...and they're just miserable lemons, and there's no point in saying "oh, make lemonade! it will be tasty!"

This is pretty much a miserable lemon. And since you're in the middle of the miserable lemon-ness, I'm taking it upon myself to suggest awesome new jobs that will blow this old one in the dust.

1) Go to France and teach English. Or, you know, just go to France and do what you want to do there for work. I think you'd be fantastic. And you'd show them that Americans are good people.

2) Get your PhD. Dr. Claudia. Not bad. Not bad at all.

3) Style reporter/editor for a newspaper. You know about culture (french background, cough cough), you are knowledgable and up-to-date on what's going on...and you'd meet tons of interesting people + probably travel!

4) Your dream job.

People - step up here. What's your dream job?

Claud- we'll miss you. And I'll miss your interesting take on things, and the way you challenged people to think about what they say or do. Best of luck with things in the future.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006


a few quick things

1) Either I've gained weight, or I've shrunk this shirt. Either way, it's a problem.

2) I went for my last swim of the season on Sunday. The pool was closing Monday, but I wasn't sure if I'd be around, so, having a spare moment Sunday morning, I dove (and cannonballed) on in. The sky was overcast, the lifeguards were wearing jeans, and they told me I was the first visitor in three days. I went to the deep end and did it cold turkey...coming back up with a yelp because it was freezing. One of the lifeguards was instructed to sit on the chair and lifeguard me. It was awkward. I'd come up from the shivery deep, only to see the girl just watching me. I'd tread water, stare into space...look up...and there she was, watching me.

3) If you're a man pushing 60, don't hit on girls in their 20s in the bar. And if you do happen to have a lapse in judgment, and do just that, don't look at their heels, and say "did a whip come with those?" And when she replies with a "no, that costs extra," it's right to scamper away to the bathroom, and never speak to her again.

4) Regarding 3, wtf? Imagine having that confidence! It's kind of admirable, being completely oblivious of reality. I wish I had the nerve to walk up to a man of my dreams.

5) Croc hunter. So sad. He was only 44!! His poor children.

Saturday, September 02, 2006


procrastinating taking a shower

So it's been pretty fallish here lately. Even though that has meant torrential downpours, I'm fairly ecstatic.

October is my favorite month. (and yes, I'm aware that it's September)

1) boots
2) sweaters
3) pumpkin muffins at the corner bakery (they're year-round, but whatev...)
4) spooky atmosphere, with wind and darkness + Halloween
5) crunchy leaves on the ground, swirling leaves in the air

Not everyone loves the gloriousness that is autumn. My away message last night was...

meg: FALL weather is HERE! (for now!) yay!

Tans responded:

tans: boooooooooooo fall sucks!

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