It's almost the end of another year and a tradition that I would like to start is writing a "Christmas Letter", but I've never done it. Now that I have a blog though I can easily dedicate this entry to some seasonal "shout outs" and of course, rants. The end of the year is a good time to do a check. You know the check that your teacher would do after going on a field trip in school? She would rattle off every one's name and make sure they were accounted for and on the bus. Now that I'm a grown-up, (per se), I like to do the same thing with my family and friends, did we all make it this year? Yes, we did. And for that alone I can say I'm fortunate because I know a lot of people probably have a different answer. If you're reading this blog say to yourself, "I survived another year, even with all of the trials and tribulations that may have come along with it, I survived."
In the world of wine a melange is a blend of incongruous elements. The following shorts are a blend of different experiences over the course of the year. Some are comical, some are sarcastic but all of them sincere.
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One for the Metro:
Yesterday afternoon on a crowded train full of Saturday tourists, I spied a woman in her mid-twenties reading a large book with a large purse taking over the seat next to her. At the next stop two women get on and since there was no where to sit they stood. I would guess both women were in their late 60's and they grabbed a pole right in front of said woman with large book and large purse. She looked up, saw them, and put her head back down to continue reading. The women looked at her, saw the space she was reserving for her purse and just continued to hang on and smile. The next stop girl in twenties gets off the train. I couldn't help but notice the book she was reading because it was so large. It had gold leafing on the pages, a beautiful ribbon bookmark and colorful hard cover. Do you know what the rude, mid-twenties something, girl with the large purse taking it's own seat on a crowded Metro was reading? THE BIBLE.
At a bar in Alexandria...
I was out with some girlfriends one night and we needed a place to stash our coats. That's the one item no one wants to juggle while out at a bar, your big, heavy, winter coat. The bar was crowded but we spotted a shelf in the corner. One by one we went over and carefully piled our coats one on top of another. I went last and as I turned around a guy came over and started sifting through the pile of coats. He looked at me and said in a very snotty tone, "I just wanted to make sure you didn't take my coat!" I said, "Why would I take your coat?" He replied, "Well you never know; I wanted to make sure you didn't walk off with it or throw it on the floor!" He was a 20-something-wanna-be-frat-boy and that last line really boiled my blood. First of all, I have a lady's coat, why would I want a "boy's" coat. Unless, I walked in with a guy who wasn't wearing a coat and was shivering, I'm pretty sure you don't have to worry about me taking your coat. I walked passed him and said, "Look jack ass, I got no interest in you or your leather bomber jacket circa 1985!" I noticed that the tag was sticking out on his sweater and it said in big letters, 100% Cashmere. That may be what's on the inside, but on the outside he was a 40% cotton/poly blend, 60% douche bag.
Shout Outs...
I think of life as a constant juggling act. Sometimes we juggle three, four or five balls at a time. There is always one that is in each of our hands and there is one we have our eyes on, and the other is out of control. I think that's how life is sometimes, there will be parts that we can grasp and parts that we just can't seem to get a good handle on. I myself volleyed between having the employment ball and the physical ball a little erratic at times this year. But at the same time, I was fortunate to have the family and friend's ball to support me in either hand...
Thank you to my sister Gaby for taking excellent care of me for the two weeks I spent recovering after my back surgery. I would have never made it without you and your every loyal assistant, Emmi. I was able to lay by the pool all day and have someone cook for me each night. It was like I was one of those women who go to a spa so they can recover from plastic surgery!
To my sister Marilyn for always reading my blog, providing feedback and showing support of my dream of becoming a writer. Your comments are always appreciated!
To the friends who I was able to reconnect with this year thanks to FB. And to the people who defriended me after friending me on FB, that's probably for the best and I'm sorry for your loss.
To the rude, ignorant and crazy: Thank you. You are what inspires me to be a nicer person, better sister, friend, aunt and co-worker. I model your behavior by doing the exact opposite of how you've conducted yourself. You provide me with my blog rants and give me the most valuable lessons learned. The worst experiences really do make the best stories.
To all of the friends that I have spotted from going out the past 11 nights in a row: thank you for spending some time celebrating the holidays with me. I enjoyed every minute, every story, every shot, every photo, every piece of cheese, every glass of wine and of course, every laugh! My friends are fun and provide me with many things to smile about. The sounds of your laughter are forever a part of my holiday memories.
Here's to all of my family and friends for making it back on the bus!
Only the Best of Wishes,
Mw
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
The Vacuum Has Balls, and So Does She!
The source of my story: The Metro
The setting: Metro Center,(aka the armpit of the DC metro system), rush hour
As any avid metro rider in DC knows, Metro Center during rush hour is a cluster. In fact it's the worst part of my commute. Not so much the red line or the orange line, (though the orange line always smells vile), but the transition from one to the other. Tonight like any other night, I follow the cattle call of commuters from downstairs to upstairs and wait to get on the red line. The train pulls up, about a dozen or so of us go to get on, but then we stop. I mean we just STOPPED. I see people twisting and turning and picking up their purses and bags as if playing a vertical game of Twister and wonder, what the 'eff is taking so long?
I then get my turn to "board" if you will, and see firsthand the center of this commuting chaos. (If you've never been on the metro, or any subway for that matter let me take a minute to describe what it should look like: Double automated doors that open in the middle which are opposite to another set of double automated doors that are closed; or at least they should be closed. If both sets of doors are ever open you should pull that emergency handle or get on the big red phone and let the operator know asap b/c you're on messed up train.) Typically people who are getting off in one or two stops will "hover" by the doors b/c they don't want to get stuck in the middle of the train. But the eye of the storm for this bottle necking wasn't a bunch of "hoverer's" it was a woman, middle aged, with a TON OF STUFF.
What kinds of stuff you ask? Let's see she had an enormous suitcase, two large tote bags, a purse, oh and a D Y S O N V A C U U M cleaner!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes, the vacuum with the "balls". This woman had all of these things, was the first one to jump on the train, (while there were still people trying to get off mind you), and parks herself right to the left of the doors. Every single person from the group I was with had to do the "twist" in order to get around her. How can one person be that ignorant to not see how much of an obstruction they're causing to dozens of other commuters? I didn't get it. Instead I sat there and watched.
You want to know what she did next? AFTER everyone got on, she moved the herd of bags to the other side of the train and blocked the other set of doors. Coincidentally, those were the doors that opened at the next stop. Again I watched groups of strangers do the side step and "shimmy to the left, shimmy to the right" just to get around this lady.
But wait, there's more.
At the next stop, she decides she's sick of standing. So she goes and grabs a seat, not right next to her stuff, not one away from her stuff, she grabs a seat that is 3 ROWS AWAY from her belongings. Yes, I said that right, she was separated from her sh*t by three rows b/c she left all of it, (let's review: large suitcase, two totes and a D Y S O N), by the doors. Her ass was sitting down three rows back and her crap was all up in everyone's face unattended.
I didn't get it! I didn't know if I should be more floored by her audacity to carry such large items on a crowded train during rush hour or her ignorance in leaving them out in the way for anyone to take and for everyone to navigate around? I was tempted to grab it on my way off, wheel it to the middle of the platform and wave to her as she sat there on the train.
Hey Lady with the Dyson: If you have the money to cough up for a Dyson Vacuum, then you certainly have the coin to pay for a cab home. You're a douche who has a vacuum cleaner with a higher IQ than your own.
My two words for you are: Thank You. Thank you for giving me something to blog about. I'm pretty sure the other commuters on the train would be swapping the "thank" for another word though.
The setting: Metro Center,(aka the armpit of the DC metro system), rush hour
As any avid metro rider in DC knows, Metro Center during rush hour is a cluster. In fact it's the worst part of my commute. Not so much the red line or the orange line, (though the orange line always smells vile), but the transition from one to the other. Tonight like any other night, I follow the cattle call of commuters from downstairs to upstairs and wait to get on the red line. The train pulls up, about a dozen or so of us go to get on, but then we stop. I mean we just STOPPED. I see people twisting and turning and picking up their purses and bags as if playing a vertical game of Twister and wonder, what the 'eff is taking so long?
I then get my turn to "board" if you will, and see firsthand the center of this commuting chaos. (If you've never been on the metro, or any subway for that matter let me take a minute to describe what it should look like: Double automated doors that open in the middle which are opposite to another set of double automated doors that are closed; or at least they should be closed. If both sets of doors are ever open you should pull that emergency handle or get on the big red phone and let the operator know asap b/c you're on messed up train.) Typically people who are getting off in one or two stops will "hover" by the doors b/c they don't want to get stuck in the middle of the train. But the eye of the storm for this bottle necking wasn't a bunch of "hoverer's" it was a woman, middle aged, with a TON OF STUFF.
What kinds of stuff you ask? Let's see she had an enormous suitcase, two large tote bags, a purse, oh and a D Y S O N V A C U U M cleaner!!!!!!!!!!!!
Yes, the vacuum with the "balls". This woman had all of these things, was the first one to jump on the train, (while there were still people trying to get off mind you), and parks herself right to the left of the doors. Every single person from the group I was with had to do the "twist" in order to get around her. How can one person be that ignorant to not see how much of an obstruction they're causing to dozens of other commuters? I didn't get it. Instead I sat there and watched.
You want to know what she did next? AFTER everyone got on, she moved the herd of bags to the other side of the train and blocked the other set of doors. Coincidentally, those were the doors that opened at the next stop. Again I watched groups of strangers do the side step and "shimmy to the left, shimmy to the right" just to get around this lady.
But wait, there's more.
At the next stop, she decides she's sick of standing. So she goes and grabs a seat, not right next to her stuff, not one away from her stuff, she grabs a seat that is 3 ROWS AWAY from her belongings. Yes, I said that right, she was separated from her sh*t by three rows b/c she left all of it, (let's review: large suitcase, two totes and a D Y S O N), by the doors. Her ass was sitting down three rows back and her crap was all up in everyone's face unattended.
I didn't get it! I didn't know if I should be more floored by her audacity to carry such large items on a crowded train during rush hour or her ignorance in leaving them out in the way for anyone to take and for everyone to navigate around? I was tempted to grab it on my way off, wheel it to the middle of the platform and wave to her as she sat there on the train.
Hey Lady with the Dyson: If you have the money to cough up for a Dyson Vacuum, then you certainly have the coin to pay for a cab home. You're a douche who has a vacuum cleaner with a higher IQ than your own.
My two words for you are: Thank You. Thank you for giving me something to blog about. I'm pretty sure the other commuters on the train would be swapping the "thank" for another word though.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Repeat After Me: I Am Beautiful.
I woke up this morning to a constellation of pimples around my mouth in a very bizarre similarity to The Little Dipper. I thought to myself, "what in the world did I eat to give me such a strange allergic reaction?" And you know what? I was pissed.
I'm weeks shy from celebrating my 35th birthday and the word acne was not supposed to be a part of my common verbiage. But there it was as plain as day and I became consumed on camouflaging them in order to look presentable for work. At that moment, I tuned into the segment I was listening to on the Today show, (a morning routine for me). Some of you may remember hearing the story this past February of a woman in CT who was attacked by a chimpanzee. She was actually mauled and in intensive care for months because her face was literally "ripped off". Hearing those words made me turn away from the bathroom mirror and walk into the living room. There she was, Charla Nash, the 56 year old woman who's life changed in the matter of an instance. I stood there frozen and listened to the remainder of her story on the Today show which featured the interview she did with Oprah. Moments later tears were running down my face as I tried to understand how someone has the strength to move on after experiencing such a tragedy.
I went back into the bathroom, grabbed a tissue and felt ashamed of myself for being so annoyed with a few pimples. My pimples would go away within a day or two, they are not painful and with a little make-up I can cover them up. The effects of Charla's accident forced her to walk around with a veil over her face for fear of scaring people. Read that sentence again. This poor woman's face was so mutilated that she doesn't even show it in public without putting a veil over it. My heart sank deeper and deeper into my stomach as I thought about what pain and suffering she must have been experiencing these past 9 months. The accident took away Charla's eye lid, nose, lips and hands. After an infection spread to her eyes she had to have them removed.
Charla has a daughter who went to the prom in the spring. Her one wish was that she had seen her daughter's prom dress on her. A request that sounded so simple and one that most Mother's are able to fulfill.
The part that hit me the hardest was when she said she has no anger about what happened to her. Her life was never going to be the same but she was determined to be on the path to heal and not spend energy being bitter.
There are so many lessons to learn from Charla. I keep thinking about her story and her courage. If everyone followed the same approach towards people when they have wronged us, think about how many problems would be solved. We wouldn't focus on the person who cut us off in traffic, we would just keep driving. We wouldn't focus on the person who is taking too long in the check out line, we would just find a gossip magazine to look through while waiting. We wouldn't put energy into the people we know are not worth putting energy into and invest our energy into those who deserve it and more importantly need it.
Be thankful for your senses and the gifts they provide you every day...
Take a deep breath in through your nose and smell your favorite perfume, coffee or wine. Smell something bad.
Look at yourself in the mirror, smile, wink and make a funny face.
Smooch your loved one....or your dog. Ask for one back.
Hold on to the railing, the steering wheel, the leash and the load of laundry because you have two hands and ten fingers to help you. Sign your name backwards.
Not everyone has the looks to be a super model on the outside, but all of us have what it takes to be a super hero on the inside. Beauty isn't something you see, it's something you feel.
I am wishing Charla a speedy recovery and peaceful days ahead. To read more about her story:
http://www.nypost.com/p/news/national/connecticut_woman_reveals_her_face_UyRIAA19fOecsBDOAW6iEP
I'm weeks shy from celebrating my 35th birthday and the word acne was not supposed to be a part of my common verbiage. But there it was as plain as day and I became consumed on camouflaging them in order to look presentable for work. At that moment, I tuned into the segment I was listening to on the Today show, (a morning routine for me). Some of you may remember hearing the story this past February of a woman in CT who was attacked by a chimpanzee. She was actually mauled and in intensive care for months because her face was literally "ripped off". Hearing those words made me turn away from the bathroom mirror and walk into the living room. There she was, Charla Nash, the 56 year old woman who's life changed in the matter of an instance. I stood there frozen and listened to the remainder of her story on the Today show which featured the interview she did with Oprah. Moments later tears were running down my face as I tried to understand how someone has the strength to move on after experiencing such a tragedy.
I went back into the bathroom, grabbed a tissue and felt ashamed of myself for being so annoyed with a few pimples. My pimples would go away within a day or two, they are not painful and with a little make-up I can cover them up. The effects of Charla's accident forced her to walk around with a veil over her face for fear of scaring people. Read that sentence again. This poor woman's face was so mutilated that she doesn't even show it in public without putting a veil over it. My heart sank deeper and deeper into my stomach as I thought about what pain and suffering she must have been experiencing these past 9 months. The accident took away Charla's eye lid, nose, lips and hands. After an infection spread to her eyes she had to have them removed.
Charla has a daughter who went to the prom in the spring. Her one wish was that she had seen her daughter's prom dress on her. A request that sounded so simple and one that most Mother's are able to fulfill.
The part that hit me the hardest was when she said she has no anger about what happened to her. Her life was never going to be the same but she was determined to be on the path to heal and not spend energy being bitter.
There are so many lessons to learn from Charla. I keep thinking about her story and her courage. If everyone followed the same approach towards people when they have wronged us, think about how many problems would be solved. We wouldn't focus on the person who cut us off in traffic, we would just keep driving. We wouldn't focus on the person who is taking too long in the check out line, we would just find a gossip magazine to look through while waiting. We wouldn't put energy into the people we know are not worth putting energy into and invest our energy into those who deserve it and more importantly need it.
Be thankful for your senses and the gifts they provide you every day...
Take a deep breath in through your nose and smell your favorite perfume, coffee or wine. Smell something bad.
Look at yourself in the mirror, smile, wink and make a funny face.
Smooch your loved one....or your dog. Ask for one back.
Hold on to the railing, the steering wheel, the leash and the load of laundry because you have two hands and ten fingers to help you. Sign your name backwards.
Not everyone has the looks to be a super model on the outside, but all of us have what it takes to be a super hero on the inside. Beauty isn't something you see, it's something you feel.
I am wishing Charla a speedy recovery and peaceful days ahead. To read more about her story:
http://www.nypost.com/p/news/national/connecticut_woman_reveals_her_face_UyRIAA19fOecsBDOAW6iEP
Monday, November 9, 2009
Surfing Lessons 101
Up until 2 weeks ago I was unemployed for 2 months.
I feel extremely fortunate in this economy to have found a job, in my field that did not require me to take drastic measures. Like anyone who has been in this situation, I had my share of ups and downs. I realized that it was equally important for me to socialize during this time period as it was for me to be surfing the web incessantly looking for a job. It's very easy to "hermitize" oneself and occupy your day with useless chores that don't really amount to anything or provide any gratification.
One ritual that I started was walking. I made myself get outside everyday for a walk in my neighborhood. It was nice to stroll down streets with no agenda or means of a shortcut, but simply to walk and to breathe fresh air. I always passed someone along the way who would say hi or a happy dog who greeted me with a wagging tail. Though these moments were fleeting, they were sometimes the extent of any human contact and real conversation that I would have for the day. Walking kept me engaged and forced me to interact in my community.
As the saying goes, "When you are given lemons you make lemonade", I too learned to adapt and use one of my greatest assets, my ingenuity. Entertainment can be expensive, especially in a city like DC, but it doesn't have to be that way. Below is a list of things that I discovered which brought me a sense of joy or a smile to my face. I want to share it in hopes that it will inspire you to look for the happiness in simplicity:
1. Pandas at The National Zoo: FREE I could watch these black and white creatures for hours. Their innocence and playfulness is a relaxing way to spend a half hour or an afternoon; I've done both.
2. Friday Night Movies on Bravo: FREE (w/cable) "Sleepless in Seattle" and "You Have Mail" have entertained me more often then I can remember.
3. Cleveland Park Wine & Spirits Friday Night Wine Tastings: FREE I think that pretty much speaks for itself. I was able to sample some new wine and chat with people like me who love wine; enough said.
4. Ice Water at Happy Hours: FREE A lot of networking events are focused on Happy Hours. If you're not careful you could blow a lot of money going to three or more a week. I learned that ice water is just as appropriate to carry around as a glass of wine. I've never been so hydrated, my skin looked decent for once and the constant trips to the ladies room always gave me an out to exit one conversation and enter a new one.
5. Celeste Frozen Pizzas. I love these things! My friend Laurin introduced them to me. They make me think of her when I heat one up and they are usually on sale 5 for 5dollars. Now that's a deal.
6. Red Box Movies at Giant: $1.99
7. The National Cathedral: FREE Many afternoons I would walk up to the Cathedral and find a quiet corner to sit and absorb the feeling of being so small in a structure that is so big. The Rose Gardens outside are also another favorite thinking spot.
8. Facial Packets from CVS: $2.00 I have no idea what brand they are but I find them in the skin care aisle at CVS. For $2 you get two applications of a mud mask or seaweed treatment. If I close my eyes, put on Enya and light some scented candles to drown out the disgusting food my neighbor upstairs cooks everyday, I can pretend I'm at a spa.
9. Pepperidge Farm Mint Milanos: $2.49. The best cookie ever invented hands down.
10. A new song from iTunes: .99 All it takes is a new song or an old favorite to remind us of happier times and our mood totally changes.
Sometimes, the boundaries of happiness are limited only by the parameters of our imagination and the courage to explore our curiosity.
I feel extremely fortunate in this economy to have found a job, in my field that did not require me to take drastic measures. Like anyone who has been in this situation, I had my share of ups and downs. I realized that it was equally important for me to socialize during this time period as it was for me to be surfing the web incessantly looking for a job. It's very easy to "hermitize" oneself and occupy your day with useless chores that don't really amount to anything or provide any gratification.
One ritual that I started was walking. I made myself get outside everyday for a walk in my neighborhood. It was nice to stroll down streets with no agenda or means of a shortcut, but simply to walk and to breathe fresh air. I always passed someone along the way who would say hi or a happy dog who greeted me with a wagging tail. Though these moments were fleeting, they were sometimes the extent of any human contact and real conversation that I would have for the day. Walking kept me engaged and forced me to interact in my community.
As the saying goes, "When you are given lemons you make lemonade", I too learned to adapt and use one of my greatest assets, my ingenuity. Entertainment can be expensive, especially in a city like DC, but it doesn't have to be that way. Below is a list of things that I discovered which brought me a sense of joy or a smile to my face. I want to share it in hopes that it will inspire you to look for the happiness in simplicity:
1. Pandas at The National Zoo: FREE I could watch these black and white creatures for hours. Their innocence and playfulness is a relaxing way to spend a half hour or an afternoon; I've done both.
2. Friday Night Movies on Bravo: FREE (w/cable) "Sleepless in Seattle" and "You Have Mail" have entertained me more often then I can remember.
3. Cleveland Park Wine & Spirits Friday Night Wine Tastings: FREE I think that pretty much speaks for itself. I was able to sample some new wine and chat with people like me who love wine; enough said.
4. Ice Water at Happy Hours: FREE A lot of networking events are focused on Happy Hours. If you're not careful you could blow a lot of money going to three or more a week. I learned that ice water is just as appropriate to carry around as a glass of wine. I've never been so hydrated, my skin looked decent for once and the constant trips to the ladies room always gave me an out to exit one conversation and enter a new one.
5. Celeste Frozen Pizzas. I love these things! My friend Laurin introduced them to me. They make me think of her when I heat one up and they are usually on sale 5 for 5dollars. Now that's a deal.
6. Red Box Movies at Giant: $1.99
7. The National Cathedral: FREE Many afternoons I would walk up to the Cathedral and find a quiet corner to sit and absorb the feeling of being so small in a structure that is so big. The Rose Gardens outside are also another favorite thinking spot.
8. Facial Packets from CVS: $2.00 I have no idea what brand they are but I find them in the skin care aisle at CVS. For $2 you get two applications of a mud mask or seaweed treatment. If I close my eyes, put on Enya and light some scented candles to drown out the disgusting food my neighbor upstairs cooks everyday, I can pretend I'm at a spa.
9. Pepperidge Farm Mint Milanos: $2.49. The best cookie ever invented hands down.
10. A new song from iTunes: .99 All it takes is a new song or an old favorite to remind us of happier times and our mood totally changes.
Sometimes, the boundaries of happiness are limited only by the parameters of our imagination and the courage to explore our curiosity.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Why don't bathroom partitions have cup holders?
For the first time ever I visited The Starboard in Dewey Beach. I made the trip with my sister who had been several times over the summer. I was excited to experience this place firsthand and see what this place was all about.
The drink of choice for the evening turned out to be vodka/tonics. I'm always hesitant about drinking liquor because I know a hangover is in my future. At the Starboard they serve their drinks with straws which is the key ingredient for a hazy night. After numerous vodka/tonics it was time to use the restroom. I had just gotten a new drink and realized after walking in that there was no one behind me to ask to hang on to it, so I brought it into the stall with me. Not sure why I thought there would be a good place to rest my drink, but I decided that the toilet paper dispenser was wide enough and stable enough to support my beverage for three minutes. It was doing a great job, but then it all went wrong.
I sit down, (after thoroughly wiping down every surface that I would be coming in contact with), and suddenly the empty stall next to me became occupied. The slamming of the partition door created such a jolting force that my drink jumped, not fell, it jumped square into my underwear. It was as if the cup sprouted wings and flew right onto me. I was in shock as I watched the cup bounce across the floor and slide under another stall. I had my own personal ice sculpture topped with an orange slice sitting there in the crotch of my underwear. I didn't even know where to begin in the clean up process. I lifted the ice pile and threw it to the side only to have it land on the feet of the girl in the next stall who responded, "What the 'eff? Where did this ice come from?" I felt bad as she slipped on it trying to walk out.
Luckily for me my jeans were dark, the bar was dark and everyone was beyond drunk. Though the remaining time at the bar were a little cold and uncomfortable, the evening proved memorable. Lesson Learned: Hit the restroom first, then the bar.
The drink of choice for the evening turned out to be vodka/tonics. I'm always hesitant about drinking liquor because I know a hangover is in my future. At the Starboard they serve their drinks with straws which is the key ingredient for a hazy night. After numerous vodka/tonics it was time to use the restroom. I had just gotten a new drink and realized after walking in that there was no one behind me to ask to hang on to it, so I brought it into the stall with me. Not sure why I thought there would be a good place to rest my drink, but I decided that the toilet paper dispenser was wide enough and stable enough to support my beverage for three minutes. It was doing a great job, but then it all went wrong.
I sit down, (after thoroughly wiping down every surface that I would be coming in contact with), and suddenly the empty stall next to me became occupied. The slamming of the partition door created such a jolting force that my drink jumped, not fell, it jumped square into my underwear. It was as if the cup sprouted wings and flew right onto me. I was in shock as I watched the cup bounce across the floor and slide under another stall. I had my own personal ice sculpture topped with an orange slice sitting there in the crotch of my underwear. I didn't even know where to begin in the clean up process. I lifted the ice pile and threw it to the side only to have it land on the feet of the girl in the next stall who responded, "What the 'eff? Where did this ice come from?" I felt bad as she slipped on it trying to walk out.
Luckily for me my jeans were dark, the bar was dark and everyone was beyond drunk. Though the remaining time at the bar were a little cold and uncomfortable, the evening proved memorable. Lesson Learned: Hit the restroom first, then the bar.
And the Word of the Day is...
Dewche Bag /dew-sh bag/noun:
1. A male patron of Dewey Beach incapable of intelligent conversation, enjoying a Saturday night or managing to make a female laugh and who resorts to criticism and insults in order to get attention.
2. A male with low IQ, low self-esteem and low charisma.
3. A male with no balls.
1. A male patron of Dewey Beach incapable of intelligent conversation, enjoying a Saturday night or managing to make a female laugh and who resorts to criticism and insults in order to get attention.
2. A male with low IQ, low self-esteem and low charisma.
3. A male with no balls.
Monday, September 21, 2009
No Thank You, I'm Satisfied
When I was little my Mom and Dad would take my sister and I out to dinner on Saturday nights once in a while. We always went to the same place, The Sunset. My Mom always ordered seafood or fish, my Dad usually had some type of Surf 'N Turf and my sister and I typically experimented. I often explored Italian food like Veal Parmigiana. That quickly ended once I realized what goes on behind the scenes to produce veal.
I would eat as much as I could and still have a ton leftover on my plate. My Dad would say, "That's all you're going to eat?" and I would force myself to take a few more bites. My Mom had, and still does have, a huge sweet tooth. She loved dessert and always looked forward to it. Sometime I would try to eat a sundae or a piece of cake but was never very successful. My Dad never ordered dessert because he knew that between the three of us there would be more than enough.
After dinner we had a certain "ritual" if you will. We did the same thing every time like clockwork. My sister and I would be the first to give up, put our forks down and slouch back in our seats. Then my Mom would follow suit, only she would say something really dramatic like, "I'm so full, I feel like a stuffed cow." My Dad would look at her and say something to the effect of, "Oh you didn't have that much to eat!" He would pay the bill and our bloated family would head home.
From these outings I learned many things besides where veal comes from. I learned that I didn't like the feeling of being full. In fact, I hated it. Being full and having a stomach ache because you ate too much just seemed like such a stupid thing to do to yourself. As I got older I became more aware of that feeling. I realized that before you get full, you get to a point where you are satisfied. You're no longer hungry, you're craving has been met and you are 100% satisfied.
Satisfied? Well that doesn't sound like any fun does it? Even the word satisfactory makes us cringe and sets into motion a self analysis of what we could have done better or how we could improve. No one wants to be satisfied. We learn at a young age that we want more...we want to be super-sized...we want to be full. The problem occurs when this transcends food and controls other parts of our life and our happiness.
Wouldn't it be nice if there was a way we could monitor our "hunger" if you will, for everything in life, besides food? When do we get to a point where we are satisfied with the other parts? And is it bad to be satisfied? Do we always need something better, something new? Will we ever look at our job and be satisfied with our work or will we always wonder if there is a better position out there? Will we ever be satisfied with our paycheck or will we always be hungry to make more money? Do we see ourselves ever being happy with the amount of cars or shoes or clothes we have? When do we get to that point, that critical point of just being satisfied?
Being satisfied isn't bad but we are trained to go beyond satisfactory with everything. We don't settle for a satisfactory anything, we know there has to be something bigger, better and more expensive out there. How do we train ourselves to be happy with the four pairs of black shoes we already have at home? Or the 5000 songs that we already have on our iPod? I don't know if there is a way of getting that sense of fulfillment by looking at the "stuff" we already own, but wouldn't it be nice if it was just as easy as having too much chocolate cake?
It's a muddled and equally dangerous line that we walk between the feeling of stuffed and the feeling of content. "Being happy with what you already have" sounds like such easy advice but it may just be the hardest advice to follow.
I would eat as much as I could and still have a ton leftover on my plate. My Dad would say, "That's all you're going to eat?" and I would force myself to take a few more bites. My Mom had, and still does have, a huge sweet tooth. She loved dessert and always looked forward to it. Sometime I would try to eat a sundae or a piece of cake but was never very successful. My Dad never ordered dessert because he knew that between the three of us there would be more than enough.
After dinner we had a certain "ritual" if you will. We did the same thing every time like clockwork. My sister and I would be the first to give up, put our forks down and slouch back in our seats. Then my Mom would follow suit, only she would say something really dramatic like, "I'm so full, I feel like a stuffed cow." My Dad would look at her and say something to the effect of, "Oh you didn't have that much to eat!" He would pay the bill and our bloated family would head home.
From these outings I learned many things besides where veal comes from. I learned that I didn't like the feeling of being full. In fact, I hated it. Being full and having a stomach ache because you ate too much just seemed like such a stupid thing to do to yourself. As I got older I became more aware of that feeling. I realized that before you get full, you get to a point where you are satisfied. You're no longer hungry, you're craving has been met and you are 100% satisfied.
Satisfied? Well that doesn't sound like any fun does it? Even the word satisfactory makes us cringe and sets into motion a self analysis of what we could have done better or how we could improve. No one wants to be satisfied. We learn at a young age that we want more...we want to be super-sized...we want to be full. The problem occurs when this transcends food and controls other parts of our life and our happiness.
Wouldn't it be nice if there was a way we could monitor our "hunger" if you will, for everything in life, besides food? When do we get to a point where we are satisfied with the other parts? And is it bad to be satisfied? Do we always need something better, something new? Will we ever look at our job and be satisfied with our work or will we always wonder if there is a better position out there? Will we ever be satisfied with our paycheck or will we always be hungry to make more money? Do we see ourselves ever being happy with the amount of cars or shoes or clothes we have? When do we get to that point, that critical point of just being satisfied?
Being satisfied isn't bad but we are trained to go beyond satisfactory with everything. We don't settle for a satisfactory anything, we know there has to be something bigger, better and more expensive out there. How do we train ourselves to be happy with the four pairs of black shoes we already have at home? Or the 5000 songs that we already have on our iPod? I don't know if there is a way of getting that sense of fulfillment by looking at the "stuff" we already own, but wouldn't it be nice if it was just as easy as having too much chocolate cake?
It's a muddled and equally dangerous line that we walk between the feeling of stuffed and the feeling of content. "Being happy with what you already have" sounds like such easy advice but it may just be the hardest advice to follow.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
R E S P E C T: FIND OUT WHAT IT MEANS
Dear Prospective Employer,
Though I appreciate the opportunity to be invited in for an interview, I think we both know without any hesitation that this relationship just isn't going to work. I feel confident that you will not be giving me an offer but in turn I would like to offer you the following words of wisdom.
For starters, never begin the interview with, "And you are....oh, right, right,...did I tell you to come in today?" It gives one the feeling that you are less then prepared to have a conversation let alone excited about it. Also, when we sit down you should be looking at me and my portfolio, not looking around the room or in your case down the hall. I understand interviewing is not easy, but put yourself in my shoes. If every time I look up and see you look past me in hopes of catching the eye of another colleague to pull into the room, what's the point of me even talking at all? In fact, why the hell did I lug this huge portfolio and 3 sets of construction drawings all the way down here if you're not even going to give me the common courtesy of eye contact. I got more attention from the construction workers on the corner of Connecticut and L walking over here.
Second point: Don't make "uuuu huh" the only response you give as I show you page after page of my portfolio. This is the part where you make comments, ask questions about my work, and yes, pretend to be interested and slightly impressed.
Third point: When you stood up and walked out of the room and then came back in and sat down without even saying "excuse me" or "sorry about that", it kind of pissed me off. I believe I was in the middle of speaking and you WALKED OUT OF THE ROOM.
Fourth point: Bringing people into the interview after it's started without introducing them to me, but handing them a copy of my resume and expecting me to just keep on speaking, is extremely rude. Who are these people and why did you make a point to wave them down and bring them in here? Are we trading horses here? Do you want to look at my teeth, too?
Fifth point: As architects you should be keenly aware of one of the fundamental properties of glass---it's reflective. If you make a weird face or point at me after I've left the room I can still see your reflection in the glass across the hallway. And by the way, you're a jack ass for doing that.
Last point: I think we both knew after the first 5 minutes, or rather the first 5 times I caught you looking off into space, that this just wasn't a good fit. We should have just cut the tie right then and there. You could have gone back to your desk and Facebooked and I could have gone over to Lucky Bar where they have a killer happy hour special that starts at 4 o'clock.
Oh, and one last thing. You may want to refrain from asking someone, (after they've told you they were laid off), if they thought it was performance related rather lack of work. If I did, I certainly wouldn't be broadcasting that to a perspective employer now would I? ("Actually, I was 'let go' because the boss found out I was a closet alcoholic and discovered the bottle of Jack Daniels in my desk. But for the purposes of this interview, I was laid off." wink wink)
Interviews can be fun when you realize the job isn't for you.
Though I appreciate the opportunity to be invited in for an interview, I think we both know without any hesitation that this relationship just isn't going to work. I feel confident that you will not be giving me an offer but in turn I would like to offer you the following words of wisdom.
For starters, never begin the interview with, "And you are....oh, right, right,...did I tell you to come in today?" It gives one the feeling that you are less then prepared to have a conversation let alone excited about it. Also, when we sit down you should be looking at me and my portfolio, not looking around the room or in your case down the hall. I understand interviewing is not easy, but put yourself in my shoes. If every time I look up and see you look past me in hopes of catching the eye of another colleague to pull into the room, what's the point of me even talking at all? In fact, why the hell did I lug this huge portfolio and 3 sets of construction drawings all the way down here if you're not even going to give me the common courtesy of eye contact. I got more attention from the construction workers on the corner of Connecticut and L walking over here.
Second point: Don't make "uuuu huh" the only response you give as I show you page after page of my portfolio. This is the part where you make comments, ask questions about my work, and yes, pretend to be interested and slightly impressed.
Third point: When you stood up and walked out of the room and then came back in and sat down without even saying "excuse me" or "sorry about that", it kind of pissed me off. I believe I was in the middle of speaking and you WALKED OUT OF THE ROOM.
Fourth point: Bringing people into the interview after it's started without introducing them to me, but handing them a copy of my resume and expecting me to just keep on speaking, is extremely rude. Who are these people and why did you make a point to wave them down and bring them in here? Are we trading horses here? Do you want to look at my teeth, too?
Fifth point: As architects you should be keenly aware of one of the fundamental properties of glass---it's reflective. If you make a weird face or point at me after I've left the room I can still see your reflection in the glass across the hallway. And by the way, you're a jack ass for doing that.
Last point: I think we both knew after the first 5 minutes, or rather the first 5 times I caught you looking off into space, that this just wasn't a good fit. We should have just cut the tie right then and there. You could have gone back to your desk and Facebooked and I could have gone over to Lucky Bar where they have a killer happy hour special that starts at 4 o'clock.
Oh, and one last thing. You may want to refrain from asking someone, (after they've told you they were laid off), if they thought it was performance related rather lack of work. If I did, I certainly wouldn't be broadcasting that to a perspective employer now would I? ("Actually, I was 'let go' because the boss found out I was a closet alcoholic and discovered the bottle of Jack Daniels in my desk. But for the purposes of this interview, I was laid off." wink wink)
Interviews can be fun when you realize the job isn't for you.
All That Separates Me from Inspiration is a Short Ride on the Red Line
Ode to the Rude Metro Rider
While riding on the train
I had sanitizer on my brain
Millions of minor pet peeves
Suddenly made me want to heave
Dirty hands too many to count
Dirty minds seem to surround
Now on top of this phobia I need to heed
The whereabouts of your grubby feet
Sitting room is a rare find
So why must you steal this room from my behind
Creatures and germs surely abound
Why can't you please keep your feet on the ground
Turn your music down
Stop acting like a clown
Take your ear buds out
And you won't have to shout
Cursing and yelling as if in your own home
Instead of an adult who is almost fully grown
So before you take your feet off the ground
Ask if you would do this if your Mom was around
Though your brain is feeling mushy
Please be mindful that my tushey
Does not choose to take that seat
Where you so casually placed your gnarly feet
While riding on the train
I had sanitizer on my brain
Millions of minor pet peeves
Suddenly made me want to heave
Dirty hands too many to count
Dirty minds seem to surround
Now on top of this phobia I need to heed
The whereabouts of your grubby feet
Sitting room is a rare find
So why must you steal this room from my behind
Creatures and germs surely abound
Why can't you please keep your feet on the ground
Turn your music down
Stop acting like a clown
Take your ear buds out
And you won't have to shout
Cursing and yelling as if in your own home
Instead of an adult who is almost fully grown
So before you take your feet off the ground
Ask if you would do this if your Mom was around
Though your brain is feeling mushy
Please be mindful that my tushey
Does not choose to take that seat
Where you so casually placed your gnarly feet
Monday, September 14, 2009
Up and coming urban trend or economic indicator of struggling market?
Maybe I'm just really old and out of the loop or maybe the economy has hit an all time low.
This story begins on my favorite, and only, form of transportation in DC...the Metro. Last Friday on my way downtown I hopped on the red line in a fairly crowded car, (read: Marianne applies hand sanitizer). I sat down in back of a typical 20-something, well dressed, nicely groomed, most likely heading to the Hill, gentleman. He was doing what I like to call, "seat blocking". He sat on the outside and piled all of his crap on the inside seat so no one would bug him to move over. He had his dry cleaning on top of laptop bag. His arm was stretched around the back of the seat as if he was on a date with his clothes. He sat back real low and had his legs spread real wide with one long lanky leg hanging out in the aisle.
He had thick dark hair that had way too much product in it. You can tell someone has too much product when you can see those tiny white clumps that look like lint all through their hair. On the back of his neck was a giant pimple that I kept finding my eyes drawn to; it was big. Most likely caused from too much product collecting at the base of his hair line. Upon further inspection I found some other oddities about this guy.
For starters, I'm quite certain a bird had recently defecated on the back of his shirt, unbeknownst to him. I can only assume that was the cause of said stain after a recent run in this summer with a bird of my own. I was at my sister's pool after my surgery, just trying to relax, lay still and not jump around when all of a sudden I awoke to a wet, warm puddle on my neck and collar bone. You would have thought the bird that bombed on me was carrying a water balloon. It was massive, voluminous and absolutely vile. That color, that disgusting putrid color, will forever be cemented in my mind and that's the color I saw on this guy's shirt.
Now the next part is even more disgusting, and I'm not making this up.
When it gets hot in DC, it gets hot. Usually the Metro is not air conditioned for one reason or another and that day was no exception. Like everyone else on the train, this guy was sweating up a storm. I could see him searching in his bag and he pulled something out and dabbed his glistening forehead. I didn't really think much of it until after the second time when I could see the fabric of his alleged "handkerchief". Wait a minute, did I just see golf balls and clubs? I watched as he blotted again and then he unfolded the material and my suspicions were confirmed: This guy was using a pair of boxer shorts as a hanky!
My face automatically scrunched up as if I smelled something bad. He kept folding and unfolding the boxer shorts as if he was trying to disguise them. But it was too late, I was on to him and I'm pretty sure the old lady sitting across from me noticed, too. I realize we are all trying to pinch pennies, but you should never be putting your face on a garment that goes in that place, ever.
A better solution may be to use a little less product if he's trying to save some cash.
This story begins on my favorite, and only, form of transportation in DC...the Metro. Last Friday on my way downtown I hopped on the red line in a fairly crowded car, (read: Marianne applies hand sanitizer). I sat down in back of a typical 20-something, well dressed, nicely groomed, most likely heading to the Hill, gentleman. He was doing what I like to call, "seat blocking". He sat on the outside and piled all of his crap on the inside seat so no one would bug him to move over. He had his dry cleaning on top of laptop bag. His arm was stretched around the back of the seat as if he was on a date with his clothes. He sat back real low and had his legs spread real wide with one long lanky leg hanging out in the aisle.
He had thick dark hair that had way too much product in it. You can tell someone has too much product when you can see those tiny white clumps that look like lint all through their hair. On the back of his neck was a giant pimple that I kept finding my eyes drawn to; it was big. Most likely caused from too much product collecting at the base of his hair line. Upon further inspection I found some other oddities about this guy.
For starters, I'm quite certain a bird had recently defecated on the back of his shirt, unbeknownst to him. I can only assume that was the cause of said stain after a recent run in this summer with a bird of my own. I was at my sister's pool after my surgery, just trying to relax, lay still and not jump around when all of a sudden I awoke to a wet, warm puddle on my neck and collar bone. You would have thought the bird that bombed on me was carrying a water balloon. It was massive, voluminous and absolutely vile. That color, that disgusting putrid color, will forever be cemented in my mind and that's the color I saw on this guy's shirt.
Now the next part is even more disgusting, and I'm not making this up.
When it gets hot in DC, it gets hot. Usually the Metro is not air conditioned for one reason or another and that day was no exception. Like everyone else on the train, this guy was sweating up a storm. I could see him searching in his bag and he pulled something out and dabbed his glistening forehead. I didn't really think much of it until after the second time when I could see the fabric of his alleged "handkerchief". Wait a minute, did I just see golf balls and clubs? I watched as he blotted again and then he unfolded the material and my suspicions were confirmed: This guy was using a pair of boxer shorts as a hanky!
My face automatically scrunched up as if I smelled something bad. He kept folding and unfolding the boxer shorts as if he was trying to disguise them. But it was too late, I was on to him and I'm pretty sure the old lady sitting across from me noticed, too. I realize we are all trying to pinch pennies, but you should never be putting your face on a garment that goes in that place, ever.
A better solution may be to use a little less product if he's trying to save some cash.
I've Got Madd Skillz!
Sometimes when I'm writing I like to pretend that I'm speaking to the masses and everyone I know reads this blog religiously so you're aware of my day-to-day trials and triumphs. I know I'm reaching high with that goal, so to keep all of you up to speed I was recently laid off. Nothing unusual there as I'm sure some of you are in the same predicament as me.
The day I departed my firm I asked the gentlemen who were laying me off, exactly what I could have done to avoid this and why I was on that list. Their response to me was, "We looked at the work coming in and had to best match it up according to each employee's skill level." I squinted, stared, paused for a second and said, "So are you saying after 3 years my skills are no longer useful?" They quickly retracted their comment and admitted that it didn't come out the way they intended it, but it was too late the damage was done. My ego was pulverized into a million little pieces and then scattered all over the conference table waiting to get swept up and dumped in the trash.
I've spent some time thinking about the skills that I have and what other jobs I could acquire without obtaining any further education. I think two markets that I seriously need to pursue are the Game Show and Reality Show sectors. I would kick ass at Wheel of Fortune and for reality shows I would love to participate in The Amazing Race. (That requires a partner and I'm not sure who I could pair with?)
The other great skill I have is cleaning. I've consider advertising for a service where someone cooks for me and I clean up after, and we both split the costs of food. I don't know of anyone looking for this service but if you know of someone who would be interested you should let me know. Initially I probably wouldn't be able to pay just because I'm seriously stretched for dollars right now, but once I'm back on my feet I can definitely hand over some Benjamin's or George's.
Other skills include: crossword puzzles, name-that-tune, movie quotes, people watching, recycling, hitting snooze, burning popcorn, screaming at spiders, opening wine, dispensing hand sanitizer, eliminating non-sense, telling people when they're rude, holding doors for people, saying thank you, smiling like I mean it, finding good coffee and holding a one-armed push-up for 5 minutes, (no not really).
I may not be able to get paid for any of those skills, but they are skills. Not having a project that I could apply those skills to at my former office, well then, that's their loss. Lots of money to be made these days screaming at spiders.
I use to end each post with, "Work Hard, Play Harder, Laugh the Hardest". But I'm not so sure working hard really pays off anymore? Laughing however, reaps instant rewards and gives your core a good workout, too.
The day I departed my firm I asked the gentlemen who were laying me off, exactly what I could have done to avoid this and why I was on that list. Their response to me was, "We looked at the work coming in and had to best match it up according to each employee's skill level." I squinted, stared, paused for a second and said, "So are you saying after 3 years my skills are no longer useful?" They quickly retracted their comment and admitted that it didn't come out the way they intended it, but it was too late the damage was done. My ego was pulverized into a million little pieces and then scattered all over the conference table waiting to get swept up and dumped in the trash.
I've spent some time thinking about the skills that I have and what other jobs I could acquire without obtaining any further education. I think two markets that I seriously need to pursue are the Game Show and Reality Show sectors. I would kick ass at Wheel of Fortune and for reality shows I would love to participate in The Amazing Race. (That requires a partner and I'm not sure who I could pair with?)
The other great skill I have is cleaning. I've consider advertising for a service where someone cooks for me and I clean up after, and we both split the costs of food. I don't know of anyone looking for this service but if you know of someone who would be interested you should let me know. Initially I probably wouldn't be able to pay just because I'm seriously stretched for dollars right now, but once I'm back on my feet I can definitely hand over some Benjamin's or George's.
Other skills include: crossword puzzles, name-that-tune, movie quotes, people watching, recycling, hitting snooze, burning popcorn, screaming at spiders, opening wine, dispensing hand sanitizer, eliminating non-sense, telling people when they're rude, holding doors for people, saying thank you, smiling like I mean it, finding good coffee and holding a one-armed push-up for 5 minutes, (no not really).
I may not be able to get paid for any of those skills, but they are skills. Not having a project that I could apply those skills to at my former office, well then, that's their loss. Lots of money to be made these days screaming at spiders.
I use to end each post with, "Work Hard, Play Harder, Laugh the Hardest". But I'm not so sure working hard really pays off anymore? Laughing however, reaps instant rewards and gives your core a good workout, too.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Classes I wish I took in College
Often I find myself thinking about the skills I use on a day to day basis and the skills I've learned in school. I was never a big fan of classes that revolved around theories. When have theories ever helped anyone? I had to take a class at UB titled, Communication Theory. It put me to sleep every Tuesday and Thursday for 2.5 hours. It was awful and absolutley useless.
There are so many curved balls thrown at us everyday and knowing how to even begin assesing a spontaneous situation is one of the most critical skills you can learn. Below is my list of classes they should teach in college to assist with real life dilemmas:
1. How to File for Unemployment 101: What you need to know to get your weekly check
2. Networking: Making the Most of Your Contacts
3. Garage Sale Management: Knowing what to charge for your junk
4. Negotiating Your Salary: Determining how much your worth and asking for it
5. Financial Planning for People Who Hate Numbers: The Basics of 401K & IRA's
6. Dealing with Difficult People at Work: How to keep things cool when you want to get violent
7. Living Within Your Means: How to fight the urge "To Keep Up with the Joneses"
8. How to relocate to a new city
9. Identifying careers that pay well and will always be in need
10. Mistakes to avoid in your 20's
There are so many curved balls thrown at us everyday and knowing how to even begin assesing a spontaneous situation is one of the most critical skills you can learn. Below is my list of classes they should teach in college to assist with real life dilemmas:
1. How to File for Unemployment 101: What you need to know to get your weekly check
2. Networking: Making the Most of Your Contacts
3. Garage Sale Management: Knowing what to charge for your junk
4. Negotiating Your Salary: Determining how much your worth and asking for it
5. Financial Planning for People Who Hate Numbers: The Basics of 401K & IRA's
6. Dealing with Difficult People at Work: How to keep things cool when you want to get violent
7. Living Within Your Means: How to fight the urge "To Keep Up with the Joneses"
8. How to relocate to a new city
9. Identifying careers that pay well and will always be in need
10. Mistakes to avoid in your 20's
Friday, August 28, 2009
Ashton, is that you behind the file cabinets?
Life can change in the blink of an eye. We go through ups and downs and sometimes really low points. Sometimes you're riding a wave, you're perched up high taking in all the views of the beach and you have the wind at your back. Other times you're riding in the waves. You're struggling and keeping up the best you can all the while still keeping an eye on the shore and seeing the sun shine through murky waters. And then there are the other times. The times where you're not on the wave, you're not in the wave, you've been knocked the hell over by a big ass wave. You're left laying on the beach, bruised and sunburned with the dried up jelly fish and seaweed.
It makes me recall a trip to Ocean City with an ex-boyfriend. It was the middle of summer and hot as hell. He went running into the ocean with no fear. Skeptical of the water temperature, I first stuck one foot in and then the other. Getting in up to my knees I realized my boyfriend was past the point where the waves broke and out in the calm waters. I on the other hand, precariously stood in the middle of the breaking point. I took my eyes off of him, off of the horizon and made one stupid move---I did absolutely nothing. I stood and watched as the biggest wave I've ever seen grew closer and bigger and then it happened. I got knocked the 'eff over!
I'll never forget laying on the ocean floor and looking up to see the water going over my body. My boyfriend ran over and helped me get up. He said the look on my face screamed one word: Bewilderment. I stood there shaking, blinking and trying to adjust my vision, (I actually lost a contact in the process), adjusting my top that was hiked up to my chin which made for lots of gasps from the Mom's on the beach and pulling my bikini bottom out of my ass that felt like it was in my throat. I easily deposited a pound of sand back in the hotel shower when I was finally able to disrobe. The point is not the visual that I'm sure all of you have right now, the point is that this happened because I wasn't paying attention. Life is always "happening" even when we are not paying attention or prepared for the unexpected. Again, trains move.
The unexpected happened to me last week when I walked into the conference room at my office and the Principal's told me I was being laid off. I sat there and felt the same feelings come over me, the feeling of being knocked over by a wave, the feeling of absolute bewilderment. I sat there thinking, what just happened here? I'm getting laid off? What do you mean I'm getting laid off, I was just here working late last night? You must have meant to dial someone else's extension because I think there was a serious error here. I made the conscious decision to not breakdown and get all girly and emotional in front of the "men". I will let the people who care about me see that side of me, but not these two; I'm going to make this as difficult as possible for them. I went on and said my peace to them, slightly mouthy and somewhat rude but anyway, I then stood up and said, "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say thank you?" It sounded a little superficial, I wanted to say, "thank you for letting me work my ass off for 3 years and then laying me off, it's really been great. No, no, the pleasure was all mine, honestly. I've thoroughly enjoyed being under appreciated, underutilized and grossly underpaid." I'm just sayin'.
I was hoping to walk out of the room and see Ashton Kutcher crouching behind one of the lateral files ready to jump out and say I've been "punked". There was no one being punked though, it was just me filling the role of a "punk". Every experience is an experience and from it I have the following lessons learned:
1. Always have your resume updated; thanks Aman. My neighbor offered me lots of great advice and one of the things she said was, "You always think you're going to leave on your own terms." Unfortunately, these are not the times we live in.
2. Your career should never be the most important thing in your life. If it is then you are in trouble.
3. Care about people, not places.
4. Looking for your next job needs to be done while you have a job. No matter how happy and secure you think you are, there are always waves on the horizon waiting to knock you down.
5. Everyone is a resource: be it words of support, job leads or just someone to laugh with over a glass of sangria.
Thank you to everyone who has reached out, even if I haven't responded.
Standing on the beach and getting ready to to take surf lessons,
Mw
It makes me recall a trip to Ocean City with an ex-boyfriend. It was the middle of summer and hot as hell. He went running into the ocean with no fear. Skeptical of the water temperature, I first stuck one foot in and then the other. Getting in up to my knees I realized my boyfriend was past the point where the waves broke and out in the calm waters. I on the other hand, precariously stood in the middle of the breaking point. I took my eyes off of him, off of the horizon and made one stupid move---I did absolutely nothing. I stood and watched as the biggest wave I've ever seen grew closer and bigger and then it happened. I got knocked the 'eff over!
I'll never forget laying on the ocean floor and looking up to see the water going over my body. My boyfriend ran over and helped me get up. He said the look on my face screamed one word: Bewilderment. I stood there shaking, blinking and trying to adjust my vision, (I actually lost a contact in the process), adjusting my top that was hiked up to my chin which made for lots of gasps from the Mom's on the beach and pulling my bikini bottom out of my ass that felt like it was in my throat. I easily deposited a pound of sand back in the hotel shower when I was finally able to disrobe. The point is not the visual that I'm sure all of you have right now, the point is that this happened because I wasn't paying attention. Life is always "happening" even when we are not paying attention or prepared for the unexpected. Again, trains move.
The unexpected happened to me last week when I walked into the conference room at my office and the Principal's told me I was being laid off. I sat there and felt the same feelings come over me, the feeling of being knocked over by a wave, the feeling of absolute bewilderment. I sat there thinking, what just happened here? I'm getting laid off? What do you mean I'm getting laid off, I was just here working late last night? You must have meant to dial someone else's extension because I think there was a serious error here. I made the conscious decision to not breakdown and get all girly and emotional in front of the "men". I will let the people who care about me see that side of me, but not these two; I'm going to make this as difficult as possible for them. I went on and said my peace to them, slightly mouthy and somewhat rude but anyway, I then stood up and said, "Is this the part where I'm supposed to say thank you?" It sounded a little superficial, I wanted to say, "thank you for letting me work my ass off for 3 years and then laying me off, it's really been great. No, no, the pleasure was all mine, honestly. I've thoroughly enjoyed being under appreciated, underutilized and grossly underpaid." I'm just sayin'.
I was hoping to walk out of the room and see Ashton Kutcher crouching behind one of the lateral files ready to jump out and say I've been "punked". There was no one being punked though, it was just me filling the role of a "punk". Every experience is an experience and from it I have the following lessons learned:
1. Always have your resume updated; thanks Aman. My neighbor offered me lots of great advice and one of the things she said was, "You always think you're going to leave on your own terms." Unfortunately, these are not the times we live in.
2. Your career should never be the most important thing in your life. If it is then you are in trouble.
3. Care about people, not places.
4. Looking for your next job needs to be done while you have a job. No matter how happy and secure you think you are, there are always waves on the horizon waiting to knock you down.
5. Everyone is a resource: be it words of support, job leads or just someone to laugh with over a glass of sangria.
Thank you to everyone who has reached out, even if I haven't responded.
Standing on the beach and getting ready to to take surf lessons,
Mw
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Sibling #7 Speaks Up
This blog is dedicated to my sisters & brothers.
As some of you know, I've hit a speed bump this week. A pulled muscle turned out to be a pinched nerve which turned out to be a herniated disk. All of this went down a week ago and I spent the majority of Monday at Georgetown University Hospital. I found myself speaking to neurosurgeons who used words like MRI and L7 and S1. The only thing I knew was that I was in so much pain from my hip to the middle of my calf that I could no longer stand up straight. I'm not one of those people who ever feels the need to "tough things out" and not take pain killers. I want no part of those accolades on my resume. I prefer the title of "Eager to try to any drug tested by the FDA" in order to get me out of this effin' pain. After all I was just told I was going to be on bed rest for one week. This was very painful for me to hear.
Doctors are interesting people. Every doctor I have ever met has reaffirmed one thing for me...that I'm grateful I did not go into medicine. My neurosurgeon asked the typical questions, age, marital status, do I live alone, etc. etc. When I said I lived alone and that I was single he made this face. It was a face that read, "Oh that sucks for you." I thought to myself, surely I'm not the first single woman who has ever walked, rather hobbled, into his office with a back problem. He asked, "how are you getting home from here?" I told him my plan was to hop into a cab since I that's how I get there. He didn't like that answer, "Is there anyone you can call? A co-worker, a friend?" I said I could call my sister but she lives about an hour away. He advised that I wait for her b/c getting into a cab would worry him. So I call sis, she hops in the car and gets there as fast as she can.
Sometimes it takes a bad situation in order to realize how lucky you are in life. My sister drove through rush hour, picked me up at the hospital, dropped me off at my place and then walked to CVS and waited for my Rx's to get filled. If she didn't pick me up I would have had to walk there myself and most likely would have collapsed on the sidewalk in the middle of Cleveland Park. If any of you know my germ phobia, you can imagine how upset I would be if I had to lay down on a city sidewalk.
I sometimes wonder how people who have no siblings or at least siblings close by, manage to do these things when emergencies arise. I have friends who are the oldest, the youngest, the middle child and some who are only children. I have friends who have parents who moved here from another country and can't speak English and it was up to them to translate on their parent's behalf for things when growing up. I have some friends who moved here from another country and had to learn English just by going to school and basically learning it on their own. These situations amaze me because they really shape the people we turn out to be in life. Some situations make you grow up really fast and think like an adult, some keep you protected and supervised while far removed from the word "responsibility".
Those that were older siblings didn't have anyone to show them the ropes. They just had Mom and Dad telling them right and wrong, but when it came to going to school they were on their own. Take for instance when I went to school I had 4 sisters, 2 brothers and a Mom and a Dad who already knew what was going to happen once I got picked up by that yellow bus. The worry that may have been on my older siblings shoulders didn't really settle on to mine b/c I had them to reassure me of what to expect. And the same holds true for the opposite. When my siblings went off to school I remember being so sad because they were leaving me. There is a picture my Mom took of my sister Gaby's first day at school and I'm standing on the sidewalk crying my eyes out. I thought, why was my best friend getting on this big bus and leaving us? We have Barbies to play with and forts to build, she can't leave me to do all this on my own? I didn't understand but I do remember being very happy when that big bus dropped her off a few short hours later and my Mom and I waited for her outside. I never really had a sibling waiting for me to get home from school since I was the youngest, but I did have my Mom and my dog, Ginger. That was the only welcoming committee I needed and it always made me happy. Nothing beats a wagging tail and a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies.
I think of all of the lessons I took fore granted growing up because I had so many siblings. My brother Rich taught me how to throw a football, my brother Mike helped me learn to tie my shoes, my sister Marilyn taught me to write the alphabet and read to me everyday. My sisters Bobbe and Donna taught me how to use a curling iron and how to apply eye make-up and my sister Gaby got stuck having to teach me everything else. She was my math tutor, homework corrector, paper editor, direction explainer and constant advice giver from clothes to boys.
I can't imagine being an only child. Who do you go to for help with your homework? Who teaches you how to drive? Who helps you get a fake ID? And who helps you come up with a story so you don't get in trouble with Mom and Dad? Sure there are lots of times when you fight and argue and may wish you were an only child, but those moments are fleeting. Siblings provide that additional framework from the foundation set by our parents. The more siblings you have, the more intricate the framework. I'd like to think that my family has very intricate framework.
No matter what our birth order, we all have skills to share and lessons to learn from our siblings. I'm fortunate that I had 6 to look up to for advice. They probably never realized that all along I was observing them, sharing in their successes and learning from their mistakes. I hope that even though I may be the youngest, I was able to share my strengths and skills and they learned from my experiences, as well.
I guess a week of bed rest can help in more way than one.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
My Eyeliner Ran Faster Than I Did!
Of the few things I've come to learn in my wise age of 34 is this, no way in hell will I ever be telling a story that begins with, "Well Phil and I met at the gym one night, it was love at first sight and we've been together ever since."
That my friends, is not in my future. And here's why...
It's a Wednesday night and I'm at the gym, (the day is irrelevant really, I'm just trying to give a sense of freshness to this whole scene), on the treadmill doing my thing. I believe in previous blogs I've established the fact that no one wants to see me when I run. It's a hot, messy, sometimes salty display that no one should witness. Well tonight it got even better and I can add the word RUNNY to that list.
Now before I can tell you the treadmill story you need to know some background about me and my make-up routine. I grew up with 4 sisters so make-up lessons were taught young. I was fascinated at an early age by the world of mascara, shadows and my favorite, eye liner. As I evolved from teen to twenty-something to now thirty-something so has my eye make-up. I've tried them all and varied the applications more often then I dare to remember. For instance, just eyeliner on the top lid, half way across the top lid and full bottom, no top and inner bottom lid, to my latest full top and full bottom. The one thing that has remained the nemesis of my eyeliner fetish is the long lasting effect. No matter what I do I feel like it doesn't stay on all day. Unless of course you use liquid liner. So today I decided to go back to the liquid liner. I checked on it periodically throughout the day and there it was, still on in full black effect. I think, hmmm, maybe I just need to throw those kohl pencils away after all? Well, not so fast....
So I'm on the treadmill and I'm feeling it. I mean I'm sweating up a storm. I crank that baby up for the last 2 miles and feel great when I finish my 10K. As I do my cool down walk I see some long stares from people walking in front of my machine. I assume it's the sweat rings that conveniently and oddly form around my boobs when I run or the fact that I'm just a pile of hot funk. Sadly, it was neither.
I finish my cool down and go to grab the towel and spray which lucky for me are stationed in front of a mirror. When I looked in that mirror I audibly gasped, as if I saw a ghost, but really it was my own reflection. I couldn't believe my eyes, literally. I stood there paralyzed in a state mixed with equal parts embarrassment and bewilderment. My eyeliner, my black liquid eyeliner that I had been so proud of all day had quit on me. It couldn't handle the workout and massive amounts of sweat and it RAN ALL THE WAY DOWN MY EFFIN FACE!!!
I was a walking Rorschach test. Each eye was an inky kaleidoscope of black liner gone wrong. I looked like a rejected date from Brett Michael's, "Rock of Love". Multiple black rivers of sweat and make-up covered my face. It was awful. My only choice was to hide under my towel so that's what I did. I threw the towel over my head like a boxer about to go in the ring. I quickly cleaned the treadmill and walked fast to the locker room.
The fluorescent lights of the women's room just added to the dramatic effect. They were out of tissues so my only option was water and paper towels. By the time I got done removing it from my face and eye area I looked like a raccoon with a bad case of pink eye because of all of the redness from rubbing. Anyone who saw me exiting the gym after this incident would have only one question for me, "What did you do to get your ass kicked so bad?"
As I walked down to Connecticut Ave. I began to think, who the hell meets their soul mate at the gym anyway? It's impossible to look good and I officially throw in the towel. The only person who could've ever been attracted to me in there would be Robert Smith from The Cure.
Now there's someone who could probably recommend some decent effin' eyeliner for me!
Work Hard/Play Harder/Laugh the Hardest, and if you can't laugh at yourself you can always laugh at me!
That my friends, is not in my future. And here's why...
It's a Wednesday night and I'm at the gym, (the day is irrelevant really, I'm just trying to give a sense of freshness to this whole scene), on the treadmill doing my thing. I believe in previous blogs I've established the fact that no one wants to see me when I run. It's a hot, messy, sometimes salty display that no one should witness. Well tonight it got even better and I can add the word RUNNY to that list.
Now before I can tell you the treadmill story you need to know some background about me and my make-up routine. I grew up with 4 sisters so make-up lessons were taught young. I was fascinated at an early age by the world of mascara, shadows and my favorite, eye liner. As I evolved from teen to twenty-something to now thirty-something so has my eye make-up. I've tried them all and varied the applications more often then I dare to remember. For instance, just eyeliner on the top lid, half way across the top lid and full bottom, no top and inner bottom lid, to my latest full top and full bottom. The one thing that has remained the nemesis of my eyeliner fetish is the long lasting effect. No matter what I do I feel like it doesn't stay on all day. Unless of course you use liquid liner. So today I decided to go back to the liquid liner. I checked on it periodically throughout the day and there it was, still on in full black effect. I think, hmmm, maybe I just need to throw those kohl pencils away after all? Well, not so fast....
So I'm on the treadmill and I'm feeling it. I mean I'm sweating up a storm. I crank that baby up for the last 2 miles and feel great when I finish my 10K. As I do my cool down walk I see some long stares from people walking in front of my machine. I assume it's the sweat rings that conveniently and oddly form around my boobs when I run or the fact that I'm just a pile of hot funk. Sadly, it was neither.
I finish my cool down and go to grab the towel and spray which lucky for me are stationed in front of a mirror. When I looked in that mirror I audibly gasped, as if I saw a ghost, but really it was my own reflection. I couldn't believe my eyes, literally. I stood there paralyzed in a state mixed with equal parts embarrassment and bewilderment. My eyeliner, my black liquid eyeliner that I had been so proud of all day had quit on me. It couldn't handle the workout and massive amounts of sweat and it RAN ALL THE WAY DOWN MY EFFIN FACE!!!
I was a walking Rorschach test. Each eye was an inky kaleidoscope of black liner gone wrong. I looked like a rejected date from Brett Michael's, "Rock of Love". Multiple black rivers of sweat and make-up covered my face. It was awful. My only choice was to hide under my towel so that's what I did. I threw the towel over my head like a boxer about to go in the ring. I quickly cleaned the treadmill and walked fast to the locker room.
The fluorescent lights of the women's room just added to the dramatic effect. They were out of tissues so my only option was water and paper towels. By the time I got done removing it from my face and eye area I looked like a raccoon with a bad case of pink eye because of all of the redness from rubbing. Anyone who saw me exiting the gym after this incident would have only one question for me, "What did you do to get your ass kicked so bad?"
As I walked down to Connecticut Ave. I began to think, who the hell meets their soul mate at the gym anyway? It's impossible to look good and I officially throw in the towel. The only person who could've ever been attracted to me in there would be Robert Smith from The Cure.
Now there's someone who could probably recommend some decent effin' eyeliner for me!
Work Hard/Play Harder/Laugh the Hardest, and if you can't laugh at yourself you can always laugh at me!
Monday, May 18, 2009
Welcome To Zeeps, How May We Help You?
Standing on line I analyzed the customers in front of me. At the first counter was a woman who had so much dry cleaning to drop off that she had to use a garbage bag to haul it all in. And not just a normal garbage bag, one of those extra tall, "Lawn & Leaf" bags. It was out of control and the clerk's eyes were just rolling as he kept turning around to find more stuff set on the counter.
The second lady, I'm guessing she was a librarian, maybe a teacher. Extremely organized. She had all of her clothes perfectly folded like she just bought them from the Talbot's shelf. She stacked them neatly on the counter at a right angle. Her purse was crossed over her shoulder from left to right for efficiency, and what she couldn't hold in her purse would cleverly fit inside one of the utility pockets on her cargo pants. She was neat to a T. She perfectly deposited her cash and coins into her wallet in the time it took for the clerk to hand her the receipt. In and out, just like she planned.
The third lady was a new Mom, you could just tell. Her dry cleaning was transported in a Whole Foods brown paper bag. She precariously balanced her baby on the front ledge while she balanced her purse on the opposite knee fiddling for cash. "You don't take credit cards?" she asked. "No" replied the clerk and pointed to one of the many signs around the store which clearly stated, CASH ONLY. Her shoeless baby clung on to the clothing pole while she bent down to get another bag. I watched with anticipation of diving to the floor in case the tike decided to make a jump for it. He looked like he knew what he was doing though and that he had done this routine before.
Alas, it was my turn. Only picking up no dropping off or I would be carrying my pink dry cleaning bag. The bag was a gift from my friend Laurin and it holds photos in the front. I have a picture of her dog, Annie in it. My bag is far more superior than any of these dry cleaning bags. It's pink so it has to be cool, right?
Mw: Hola
Jose: Hola (he gives me a wink)
Mw: (Handing ticket) Como estas
Jose: Muy Bien, E tu?
Mw: Multo Ben, Gracias!
*that's all the Spanish I know btw*
Jose: (leaves to get my threads)
He returns with the plastic covered hangers, scans them and I pick them up from the pole. Something is not right. I look down and see that one hanger is outside the plastic bags. I place my hand on the article and feel something hard and lumpy. (So not how your dry cleaning should feel.) I turn the hanger over and I stood there speechless. My grey shirt with the beads on the front was wadded up in a ball and one arm was through the hanger. It looked, (and felt), like someone blew their nose on it and then hung it up to dry.
Mw: What happened?
Jose: Que?
Mw: *No time for Spanish at this point, I could tell the people in back of me were in no mood to hear my dialogue* What happened to my shirt?
Jose: Uno Momento
Mw: What mimento?
Jose: UNO MOMENTO! *He says grabbing my shirt*
Mw: Un mimento?
Jose: UNO MOMENTO! UNO MOMENTO! *He says shouting*
Mw: Oh, un momento. *Mea Culpa Mea Culpa, I wanted to shout back*
Gone are the winks and flirtatious Spanish banter. Jose was heated that I was questioning the authority of Zips, pronounced, "Zeeps".
He comes back with his boss.
Boss Man: Ma'am this shirt says Do Not Dry Clean, see the tag inside?
He holds the shirt 5 inches from my face and I see the tag, "DO NOT DRY CLEAN". Mother F*cker I wanted to yell, but I resisted.
Mw: Well, why didn't you guys do that before you cleaned it then if that was so easy?
Boss Man: Ma'am it's not our responsibility to check to see if your clothes are dry cleanable, you have to do that yourself.
Mw: What do you mean I have to do that myself? You just read the tag to me that says you can't dry clean it. I made an honest mistake and threw this in the bag by accident.
Boss Man: We don't read tags. See our policy. He points to the sign.
The first line stating, "Zips assumes all clothing dropped off is dry cleanable."
Damn, they got me there.
Mw: So you guys have no QC process? *I'm desperate to find justice*
Boss Man: QC?
Mw: QC.
Boss Man: What's that?
Mw: Quality Control. You have no one back there that reads the tags before they are dry cleaned so they don't get ruined like my shirt?
Boss Man: Ma'am, you've got to read your own tags. We deal with a lot of clothes here, we can't read every tag.
Mw: Ok, ok. Mea Culpa!
Mw: Well do you have any other solutions b/c I'm not a satisfied customer.
Boss Man: I can offer to throw some chemicals on your shirt in hopes of undoing this knot that melted all of the fabric together, do you want me to do that?
Mw: Chemicals? Throwing? That process sounds dangerous and besides what is the end product going to look like?
Boss Man: Oh, I have no idea. It will most likely melt the rest of these beads and dis-color the fabric. But at least it won't be in a knot.
Mw: But the shirt will look like I was a victim of a violent attack and someone threw chemicals on me. That doesn't sound very pretty.
Boss Man: I'm not sure if it will be pretty or not, but it won't have the melted metal on the front. Do you want me to try to peel them off?
Mw: How about this, you just give me a refund for the cleaning b/c I notice that this was not taken off my bill. I sure as hell don't plan on paying for this "melted metal look". *It looked like a bedazzled project gone wrong*
Boss Man: No problem Ma'am. Again sorry about your shirt. Just try to read the tags from now on. Let me know if you change your mind and want me to get rid of that metal knot on the front, too.
And with that I walked out of Zeeps with my $2.10 in hand. I wadded up the grey shirt and stuck it in my back jean pocket Bruce Springsteen style. The Boss and The Boss Man would have been impressed.
The second lady, I'm guessing she was a librarian, maybe a teacher. Extremely organized. She had all of her clothes perfectly folded like she just bought them from the Talbot's shelf. She stacked them neatly on the counter at a right angle. Her purse was crossed over her shoulder from left to right for efficiency, and what she couldn't hold in her purse would cleverly fit inside one of the utility pockets on her cargo pants. She was neat to a T. She perfectly deposited her cash and coins into her wallet in the time it took for the clerk to hand her the receipt. In and out, just like she planned.
The third lady was a new Mom, you could just tell. Her dry cleaning was transported in a Whole Foods brown paper bag. She precariously balanced her baby on the front ledge while she balanced her purse on the opposite knee fiddling for cash. "You don't take credit cards?" she asked. "No" replied the clerk and pointed to one of the many signs around the store which clearly stated, CASH ONLY. Her shoeless baby clung on to the clothing pole while she bent down to get another bag. I watched with anticipation of diving to the floor in case the tike decided to make a jump for it. He looked like he knew what he was doing though and that he had done this routine before.
Alas, it was my turn. Only picking up no dropping off or I would be carrying my pink dry cleaning bag. The bag was a gift from my friend Laurin and it holds photos in the front. I have a picture of her dog, Annie in it. My bag is far more superior than any of these dry cleaning bags. It's pink so it has to be cool, right?
Mw: Hola
Jose: Hola (he gives me a wink)
Mw: (Handing ticket) Como estas
Jose: Muy Bien, E tu?
Mw: Multo Ben, Gracias!
*that's all the Spanish I know btw*
Jose: (leaves to get my threads)
He returns with the plastic covered hangers, scans them and I pick them up from the pole. Something is not right. I look down and see that one hanger is outside the plastic bags. I place my hand on the article and feel something hard and lumpy. (So not how your dry cleaning should feel.) I turn the hanger over and I stood there speechless. My grey shirt with the beads on the front was wadded up in a ball and one arm was through the hanger. It looked, (and felt), like someone blew their nose on it and then hung it up to dry.
Mw: What happened?
Jose: Que?
Mw: *No time for Spanish at this point, I could tell the people in back of me were in no mood to hear my dialogue* What happened to my shirt?
Jose: Uno Momento
Mw: What mimento?
Jose: UNO MOMENTO! *He says grabbing my shirt*
Mw: Un mimento?
Jose: UNO MOMENTO! UNO MOMENTO! *He says shouting*
Mw: Oh, un momento. *Mea Culpa Mea Culpa, I wanted to shout back*
Gone are the winks and flirtatious Spanish banter. Jose was heated that I was questioning the authority of Zips, pronounced, "Zeeps".
He comes back with his boss.
Boss Man: Ma'am this shirt says Do Not Dry Clean, see the tag inside?
He holds the shirt 5 inches from my face and I see the tag, "DO NOT DRY CLEAN". Mother F*cker I wanted to yell, but I resisted.
Mw: Well, why didn't you guys do that before you cleaned it then if that was so easy?
Boss Man: Ma'am it's not our responsibility to check to see if your clothes are dry cleanable, you have to do that yourself.
Mw: What do you mean I have to do that myself? You just read the tag to me that says you can't dry clean it. I made an honest mistake and threw this in the bag by accident.
Boss Man: We don't read tags. See our policy. He points to the sign.
The first line stating, "Zips assumes all clothing dropped off is dry cleanable."
Damn, they got me there.
Mw: So you guys have no QC process? *I'm desperate to find justice*
Boss Man: QC?
Mw: QC.
Boss Man: What's that?
Mw: Quality Control. You have no one back there that reads the tags before they are dry cleaned so they don't get ruined like my shirt?
Boss Man: Ma'am, you've got to read your own tags. We deal with a lot of clothes here, we can't read every tag.
Mw: Ok, ok. Mea Culpa!
Mw: Well do you have any other solutions b/c I'm not a satisfied customer.
Boss Man: I can offer to throw some chemicals on your shirt in hopes of undoing this knot that melted all of the fabric together, do you want me to do that?
Mw: Chemicals? Throwing? That process sounds dangerous and besides what is the end product going to look like?
Boss Man: Oh, I have no idea. It will most likely melt the rest of these beads and dis-color the fabric. But at least it won't be in a knot.
Mw: But the shirt will look like I was a victim of a violent attack and someone threw chemicals on me. That doesn't sound very pretty.
Boss Man: I'm not sure if it will be pretty or not, but it won't have the melted metal on the front. Do you want me to try to peel them off?
Mw: How about this, you just give me a refund for the cleaning b/c I notice that this was not taken off my bill. I sure as hell don't plan on paying for this "melted metal look". *It looked like a bedazzled project gone wrong*
Boss Man: No problem Ma'am. Again sorry about your shirt. Just try to read the tags from now on. Let me know if you change your mind and want me to get rid of that metal knot on the front, too.
And with that I walked out of Zeeps with my $2.10 in hand. I wadded up the grey shirt and stuck it in my back jean pocket Bruce Springsteen style. The Boss and The Boss Man would have been impressed.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Tell Me Something I Want To Know
All of you politicos out there may have noticed my reference to the Chris Matthews Show from the title of this entry. His show has a segment called, "Tell Me Something I Don't Know". All of the guests on his panel take turns going around the table giving their own prediction or revelation for the week to come. I want to take this segment and change it to Tell Me Something I Want To Know and apply it to the newly revealed..."Mw's Dating 101: What Not To Talk About."
Every guy out there thinks that they are a great conversationalist and that in a few carefully honed "openers" they can swoon most women. I disagree completely. If these men exist they certainly do not live in DC. From my very sparse dating experience I've noticed that every guy asks the same questions and it's soooooo predictable where the conversation is going to go.
Rule 1: Don't Ask Me What I Do For a Living.
This has to be one of the questions that I despise the most. Why? Because when I say I'm an Interior Designer I get one of two responses back. 1. "Ohhh? That sounds like fun?" Or 2. "My Mom is a decorator, too. She makes window treatments and pillows." Well my Mom can certainly make window treatments and pillows, too, but Dorothy doesn't call herself a "decorator". Just because I'm not a lawyer or lobbyist or work on the Hill doesn't mean I have a useless "fluff" job. My job is stressful and you know what it's probably just as "fun" as anyone else's. My office however is fun b/c I work with a lot of great people and we choose to make it a fun place to be, how else would we survive crazy deadlines and unrealistic clients? My co-workers are my friends, they make me laugh everyday which makes work enjoyable.
Rule 2: Don't Ask Where I Live and Expect Specifics.
Look "Tom" we just met, how the hell am I supposed to know if John Walsh didn't just call you out on America's Most Wanted? I live in the District and that's my story, no need for the neighborhood or for heaven's sake even the street. You don't need to know this. I live in a box under the bridge down by the river. How's that for location?
Rule 3: Don't Ask Me "How Important Is a Checking Account?"
Yep, I've actually been asked this question. In fact just this Friday at a Happy Hour in DC. When I responded, quite honestly, "Well you need money to survive in life and it sure makes things easier. As long as you have a job and you get a paycheck that's all that really matters." The follow up question was even worse, "Well, would you ever date someone who made A LOT LESS money then you do?" My response, "Why would you ever ask me this question?" His response leads me to my next rule.
Rule 4: Don't Go On a Rant About Your Ex.I don't care that your ex was a physician who made A LOT of money and was the bread winner. Good for her, but I'm not her. Remember, I said I was an interior designer; completely different pay scales here. Your past is your past and I wasn't in it. But I am in the present so lets talk about that, not your ex.
Rule 5: Be Able To Sell Yourself In 5 Ways.No one wants to answer the questions I listed above. Why, because they are superficial parts of our life. Meeting people is about marketing yourself. The product you are selling is YOU. You would never get people to buy something if you disclosed the defects or the bad parts right away, (i.e. Man who was recently divorced by physician with uber bucks.) If there is a future, there is plenty of time to talk about the ghosts in the closet and all of the bad stuff. Hence the phrase Tell Me Something I Want To Know. Someone dating me may want to know I'm the youngest of 7 children and I have 2 brothers and 4 sisters. Those are a part of me as much as the color of my eyes. That will never change and will always be a part of my life. My job, my career, my address, all of those things are fleeting and easily transferable. But what do they really signify? Nothing. The real parts that make us unique are the parts of our life that have been there since the day we were born. Those are the parts I like to market...and also the fact that I'm highly sarcastic and I love to make people laugh. Remember, don't be fooled by fancy packaging.
So the next time you're out and someone asks you, "What do you do for a living?" Come up with a creative response that makes them have to ask a few more probing questions to get to know the real YOU. My answer is going to be, "I work with buildings and paper."
Work Hard. Play Harder. Laugh the Hardest...and ask great questions!
Every guy out there thinks that they are a great conversationalist and that in a few carefully honed "openers" they can swoon most women. I disagree completely. If these men exist they certainly do not live in DC. From my very sparse dating experience I've noticed that every guy asks the same questions and it's soooooo predictable where the conversation is going to go.
Rule 1: Don't Ask Me What I Do For a Living.
This has to be one of the questions that I despise the most. Why? Because when I say I'm an Interior Designer I get one of two responses back. 1. "Ohhh? That sounds like fun?" Or 2. "My Mom is a decorator, too. She makes window treatments and pillows." Well my Mom can certainly make window treatments and pillows, too, but Dorothy doesn't call herself a "decorator". Just because I'm not a lawyer or lobbyist or work on the Hill doesn't mean I have a useless "fluff" job. My job is stressful and you know what it's probably just as "fun" as anyone else's. My office however is fun b/c I work with a lot of great people and we choose to make it a fun place to be, how else would we survive crazy deadlines and unrealistic clients? My co-workers are my friends, they make me laugh everyday which makes work enjoyable.
Rule 2: Don't Ask Where I Live and Expect Specifics.
Look "Tom" we just met, how the hell am I supposed to know if John Walsh didn't just call you out on America's Most Wanted? I live in the District and that's my story, no need for the neighborhood or for heaven's sake even the street. You don't need to know this. I live in a box under the bridge down by the river. How's that for location?
Rule 3: Don't Ask Me "How Important Is a Checking Account?"
Yep, I've actually been asked this question. In fact just this Friday at a Happy Hour in DC. When I responded, quite honestly, "Well you need money to survive in life and it sure makes things easier. As long as you have a job and you get a paycheck that's all that really matters." The follow up question was even worse, "Well, would you ever date someone who made A LOT LESS money then you do?" My response, "Why would you ever ask me this question?" His response leads me to my next rule.
Rule 4: Don't Go On a Rant About Your Ex.I don't care that your ex was a physician who made A LOT of money and was the bread winner. Good for her, but I'm not her. Remember, I said I was an interior designer; completely different pay scales here. Your past is your past and I wasn't in it. But I am in the present so lets talk about that, not your ex.
Rule 5: Be Able To Sell Yourself In 5 Ways.No one wants to answer the questions I listed above. Why, because they are superficial parts of our life. Meeting people is about marketing yourself. The product you are selling is YOU. You would never get people to buy something if you disclosed the defects or the bad parts right away, (i.e. Man who was recently divorced by physician with uber bucks.) If there is a future, there is plenty of time to talk about the ghosts in the closet and all of the bad stuff. Hence the phrase Tell Me Something I Want To Know. Someone dating me may want to know I'm the youngest of 7 children and I have 2 brothers and 4 sisters. Those are a part of me as much as the color of my eyes. That will never change and will always be a part of my life. My job, my career, my address, all of those things are fleeting and easily transferable. But what do they really signify? Nothing. The real parts that make us unique are the parts of our life that have been there since the day we were born. Those are the parts I like to market...and also the fact that I'm highly sarcastic and I love to make people laugh. Remember, don't be fooled by fancy packaging.
So the next time you're out and someone asks you, "What do you do for a living?" Come up with a creative response that makes them have to ask a few more probing questions to get to know the real YOU. My answer is going to be, "I work with buildings and paper."
Work Hard. Play Harder. Laugh the Hardest...and ask great questions!
Monday, May 11, 2009
The Things You Overhear When You Don't Wear an Ipod
Mw True Hollywood Story
Walking on the escalator at Dupont.
I'm going up, listening to the random parts of conversations that I overhear while passing people going the opposite direction next to me.
Random person on cell phone sounds really heated and says:
"Well, I'm gonna guess that you're calling me from a bar 'cause you sound drunk again, oh, and b/c you're an 'EFFIN alcoholic!"
This was a guy by the way, not a girl. He looked very clean cut, sporting a suit, and a laptop bag and this was at 8:55 AM!
His day was off to a good start.
Walking on the escalator at Dupont.
I'm going up, listening to the random parts of conversations that I overhear while passing people going the opposite direction next to me.
Random person on cell phone sounds really heated and says:
"Well, I'm gonna guess that you're calling me from a bar 'cause you sound drunk again, oh, and b/c you're an 'EFFIN alcoholic!"
This was a guy by the way, not a girl. He looked very clean cut, sporting a suit, and a laptop bag and this was at 8:55 AM!
His day was off to a good start.
DC=Dirty Citizens
It's not my fault I'm obsessive compulsive about germs. It's a serious disease and I can't help the fact that I don't want to touch something that a dirty person touched. But honestly, who does? Some of us are just slightly more aware of germs than others.
Exhibit A:
Polo Fashion Show on Friday night with sis. It was so muddy outside from the 6 days of rain that we had all week. It was one big mud bath for your feet. (And to think my sister got a pedicure prior to going out for the evening.) Shoes, feet and clothes were all dirty all night. It was driving me crazy. Combined with the equally, if not even dirtier, element of the port-o-john I could have not been more in need of a hot shower when I got home. I actually walked straight into my shower with all of my clothes and shoes on----it was that muddy.
I was proud of myself though. I survived. I even shook hands with lots of people, not something I like to do with that whole Swine Flu going around.
Exhibit B:
This may require reading this next one twice.
Let me set the scene. Cleveland Park Metro Station. (It's an underground test tube for breeding germs basically.) I'm walking up the steps and I see something that actually made me slow my pace and almost trip:
Women walking down the escalator while BREAST FEEDING.
I told you that you would want to read that one twice.
Where do I begin? So many adjectives to choose from. This was not only dirty and disgusting, but dangerous for the baby and the Mom. I mean, she's walking while another human is latched onto her nipple, feeding! I'm all for multi-tasking, but this is just ridiculous. Anytime something is attached to your nipple I would think that should be the task you should focus on. There really is no need to add more to your plate at this moment. Just chill with the feeding part. But to add walking to it, then the extra concentration required for walking on a MOVING STAIRCASE that's descending by the way, in all places as the metro station??? Now that's just insane! Someone needed to ask this women why she was in such a rush. Was she going to get a tattoo while balancing this juggling act at the same time? Her husband was a good 20 steps ahead of her. He was running down the escalator steps with their son who looked like he just learned to walk. I have a feeling both of those kids have stitches in their near future.
I'm not a Mom and trust me, I give big props to all my friends and sisters who have kids of their own. I really have no idea how they raise children, manage the household and organize the lives of multiple family members all while working full time. I can barely take care of myself. I don't think any of my girlfriends or sisters would attempt said feat above though. And if they did, I would be the first to say to them, "You need to slow the 'eff down. Because you're gonna trip, lose a nipple, or pick up the Swine Flu in the process."
And whatever you do, do not let your kids touch that rail on the train then touch their food or worse YOU....
Exhibit C:
Dirty man on metro who was coughing and sneezing profusely then grabbing the rail. I give him credit for grabbing the rail actually. If I had to watch him "metro surf" for one more stop I was gonna make him sit down. He was all over the floor barely escaping from falling full force a couple of times. Then the sneezing started, followed by the coughing. I watched his grimy hand touch the rail. All I could I utter to myself was, "Gag." I was transfixed on this gentlemen for the two stops we traveled together. Partially b/c I wanted to know just how many things in a train one dirty person could potentially contaminate. The other reason was b/c I couldn't remember the last time I saw someone sporting one of those calculator watches. I think it was like 6th grade, definitely middle school. But there one was, staring me straight in the face, an old school calculator watch. Do you remember them? They were quite the rage for a short span. His was black, full keyboard and yes, the band was Velcro. And you know what else that watch probably had all over it, GERMS. I wanted no part of the ebola this guy was selling and steered clear of him while exiting.
This is why I'm a germaphobe, because people are dirty.
God Bless the inventor of hand sanitizer!
Exhibit A:
Polo Fashion Show on Friday night with sis. It was so muddy outside from the 6 days of rain that we had all week. It was one big mud bath for your feet. (And to think my sister got a pedicure prior to going out for the evening.) Shoes, feet and clothes were all dirty all night. It was driving me crazy. Combined with the equally, if not even dirtier, element of the port-o-john I could have not been more in need of a hot shower when I got home. I actually walked straight into my shower with all of my clothes and shoes on----it was that muddy.
I was proud of myself though. I survived. I even shook hands with lots of people, not something I like to do with that whole Swine Flu going around.
Exhibit B:
This may require reading this next one twice.
Let me set the scene. Cleveland Park Metro Station. (It's an underground test tube for breeding germs basically.) I'm walking up the steps and I see something that actually made me slow my pace and almost trip:
Women walking down the escalator while BREAST FEEDING.
I told you that you would want to read that one twice.
Where do I begin? So many adjectives to choose from. This was not only dirty and disgusting, but dangerous for the baby and the Mom. I mean, she's walking while another human is latched onto her nipple, feeding! I'm all for multi-tasking, but this is just ridiculous. Anytime something is attached to your nipple I would think that should be the task you should focus on. There really is no need to add more to your plate at this moment. Just chill with the feeding part. But to add walking to it, then the extra concentration required for walking on a MOVING STAIRCASE that's descending by the way, in all places as the metro station??? Now that's just insane! Someone needed to ask this women why she was in such a rush. Was she going to get a tattoo while balancing this juggling act at the same time? Her husband was a good 20 steps ahead of her. He was running down the escalator steps with their son who looked like he just learned to walk. I have a feeling both of those kids have stitches in their near future.
I'm not a Mom and trust me, I give big props to all my friends and sisters who have kids of their own. I really have no idea how they raise children, manage the household and organize the lives of multiple family members all while working full time. I can barely take care of myself. I don't think any of my girlfriends or sisters would attempt said feat above though. And if they did, I would be the first to say to them, "You need to slow the 'eff down. Because you're gonna trip, lose a nipple, or pick up the Swine Flu in the process."
And whatever you do, do not let your kids touch that rail on the train then touch their food or worse YOU....
Exhibit C:
Dirty man on metro who was coughing and sneezing profusely then grabbing the rail. I give him credit for grabbing the rail actually. If I had to watch him "metro surf" for one more stop I was gonna make him sit down. He was all over the floor barely escaping from falling full force a couple of times. Then the sneezing started, followed by the coughing. I watched his grimy hand touch the rail. All I could I utter to myself was, "Gag." I was transfixed on this gentlemen for the two stops we traveled together. Partially b/c I wanted to know just how many things in a train one dirty person could potentially contaminate. The other reason was b/c I couldn't remember the last time I saw someone sporting one of those calculator watches. I think it was like 6th grade, definitely middle school. But there one was, staring me straight in the face, an old school calculator watch. Do you remember them? They were quite the rage for a short span. His was black, full keyboard and yes, the band was Velcro. And you know what else that watch probably had all over it, GERMS. I wanted no part of the ebola this guy was selling and steered clear of him while exiting.
This is why I'm a germaphobe, because people are dirty.
God Bless the inventor of hand sanitizer!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
On Your Left
After taking a few days off from my normal workout routine it was time to hit Rock Creek this morning and get back to running. It was a beautiful day to be outside and as soon as I hit the bottom of Tilden (street), I was already excited to be in my running "home".
One of the many fun things about running is passing someone. It doesn't matter if they are on blades, foot or even a bike, passing is always better then getting passed. When you get to say, "On Your Left", it feels good. A common mistake some people make when they hear OYL is to look to the left. That's really not what you're supposed to do. If someone yells OYL, then you are to Move To the Right. You can look afterwards to see what it is that's passing you, but for now just move. There are only seconds to spare, less if it's a bike that's passing, for you to get the 'eff out of the way. So my little trail tip for everyone is: OYL translates into Move To the Right.
When you're outside everything is different. I get minimal natural light being in a basement apt. that only has clerestory windows. But when I'm outside there is no shortage of sunshine. Different smells--fresh cut grass vs. the smell of Windex from the coffee table I just cleaned; different sounds, like birds or running water vs. the sounds from multiple Bravo shows that monopolize my weekend TV watching. Running brings me back to the basics and I think that's why I enjoy it both physically and mentally.
It's refreshing to see families outside being active or a child who is learning to ride for the first time. There is also the not-so-refreshing side of Rock Creek, too. I got a glimpse of that today and I can sum it up in one word: Bikers.
When I'm out I abide by the rules of the road: I stay to the right, I keep an eye out for what's in front and to the sides of me, and I yield when merging onto another trail. Most people do this, but not all bikers do though. Some of them seem to think those rules apply to runners, walkers and yes, even cars, but not them because they're on a bike. There are several areas where I run that are narrow and only allow two people on foot to pass safely. At the beginning and end of these strips of the trail you will see a giant yellow sign that says: BIKERS MUST DISMOUNT. And like clockwork at least once during my run I will come across a renegade biker who "doesn't see" the sign. Today it was gentleman on a mountain bike. I came to the part of the trail where we go over Rock Creek via a small bridge. The sides of the bridge are super narrow and two people running in opposite directions have to literally inhale when passing each other. I notice the runner in front of me take his foot off the pavement and, are you ready for this?, GO ON TO THE ROAD RIGHT IN FRONT OF ONCOMING TRAFFIC. I was like WTF is he doing? Then I saw the man on the bike approaching me--dead on. There was no freakin' way I was going into the road head on into mid-morning DC traffic so that this douche could get by on his bike; NO WAY. So I did the only thing I could do, I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, threw my hands and shoulders in the air as if to say "What the 'eff Old Man!" and stood there until he stopped peddling. I looked like a cross between a protester and a rapper. The whole time I was yelling, "Bikes Must Dismount, Bikes Must Dismount!", while wildly waving my fists. He looked at me like the crazy person I was and said, "What?". Again I repeated, "The Giant Yellow Sign says Bikes Must Dismount!", as I walked passed him shooting daggers. Yes, I can get aggressive when I run, not violent just mouthy.
So now I'm fired up and I start running faster. I get to the last part of my run, the nemesis of the whole trail, back up Tilden. I could walk it, but I haven't allowed myself to do that in over 2 years so now I have this thing about always running up it, even when I feel like ass--like today. As I get to the base of the hill I feel something whiz by me and look up to see another biker. He turns left just like I'm about to and starts up Tilden ahead of me. I think to myself he's going to be at the top before I even get halfway. Then I the song changes on my iPod and Brandi Carlile's, "Wasted" comes on and I get energized. I start heading up the hill and spot the biker. He's going slower then expected and I entertain the thought of catching up to him. I keep chugging, everyone has to have a goal, right? We get to the steepest part of the hill and I look up and see him a good 50 feet in front of me. I feel like the greyhound at the dog track being teased by the bunny on the rail. The hill starts to slowly plateau and I feel myself picking up some speed. He must have heard my huffing and puffing because he kept turning back to see who was making all that racket. When I feel myself gaining momentum I look over at him, he turns as if he feels my eyeballs burning a hole in his head and I give him the look that says, "Oh, it's on biker boy!" Out of nowhere I start sprinting like I'm Allyson Felix at the Olympic games. I get right next to him and didn't even bother looking, I just kept running. At the top of the hill I get stuck at the light at Connecticut and I pause for a second and think, I just beat a biker to the top of the hill. A running first for me.
Mw: 1 Biker: 0
Bring it on Tilden and all you bikers; I'm not afraid of either of you. *Said as if part protester, part rapper, all runner.*
One of the many fun things about running is passing someone. It doesn't matter if they are on blades, foot or even a bike, passing is always better then getting passed. When you get to say, "On Your Left", it feels good. A common mistake some people make when they hear OYL is to look to the left. That's really not what you're supposed to do. If someone yells OYL, then you are to Move To the Right. You can look afterwards to see what it is that's passing you, but for now just move. There are only seconds to spare, less if it's a bike that's passing, for you to get the 'eff out of the way. So my little trail tip for everyone is: OYL translates into Move To the Right.
When you're outside everything is different. I get minimal natural light being in a basement apt. that only has clerestory windows. But when I'm outside there is no shortage of sunshine. Different smells--fresh cut grass vs. the smell of Windex from the coffee table I just cleaned; different sounds, like birds or running water vs. the sounds from multiple Bravo shows that monopolize my weekend TV watching. Running brings me back to the basics and I think that's why I enjoy it both physically and mentally.
It's refreshing to see families outside being active or a child who is learning to ride for the first time. There is also the not-so-refreshing side of Rock Creek, too. I got a glimpse of that today and I can sum it up in one word: Bikers.
When I'm out I abide by the rules of the road: I stay to the right, I keep an eye out for what's in front and to the sides of me, and I yield when merging onto another trail. Most people do this, but not all bikers do though. Some of them seem to think those rules apply to runners, walkers and yes, even cars, but not them because they're on a bike. There are several areas where I run that are narrow and only allow two people on foot to pass safely. At the beginning and end of these strips of the trail you will see a giant yellow sign that says: BIKERS MUST DISMOUNT. And like clockwork at least once during my run I will come across a renegade biker who "doesn't see" the sign. Today it was gentleman on a mountain bike. I came to the part of the trail where we go over Rock Creek via a small bridge. The sides of the bridge are super narrow and two people running in opposite directions have to literally inhale when passing each other. I notice the runner in front of me take his foot off the pavement and, are you ready for this?, GO ON TO THE ROAD RIGHT IN FRONT OF ONCOMING TRAFFIC. I was like WTF is he doing? Then I saw the man on the bike approaching me--dead on. There was no freakin' way I was going into the road head on into mid-morning DC traffic so that this douche could get by on his bike; NO WAY. So I did the only thing I could do, I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, threw my hands and shoulders in the air as if to say "What the 'eff Old Man!" and stood there until he stopped peddling. I looked like a cross between a protester and a rapper. The whole time I was yelling, "Bikes Must Dismount, Bikes Must Dismount!", while wildly waving my fists. He looked at me like the crazy person I was and said, "What?". Again I repeated, "The Giant Yellow Sign says Bikes Must Dismount!", as I walked passed him shooting daggers. Yes, I can get aggressive when I run, not violent just mouthy.
So now I'm fired up and I start running faster. I get to the last part of my run, the nemesis of the whole trail, back up Tilden. I could walk it, but I haven't allowed myself to do that in over 2 years so now I have this thing about always running up it, even when I feel like ass--like today. As I get to the base of the hill I feel something whiz by me and look up to see another biker. He turns left just like I'm about to and starts up Tilden ahead of me. I think to myself he's going to be at the top before I even get halfway. Then I the song changes on my iPod and Brandi Carlile's, "Wasted" comes on and I get energized. I start heading up the hill and spot the biker. He's going slower then expected and I entertain the thought of catching up to him. I keep chugging, everyone has to have a goal, right? We get to the steepest part of the hill and I look up and see him a good 50 feet in front of me. I feel like the greyhound at the dog track being teased by the bunny on the rail. The hill starts to slowly plateau and I feel myself picking up some speed. He must have heard my huffing and puffing because he kept turning back to see who was making all that racket. When I feel myself gaining momentum I look over at him, he turns as if he feels my eyeballs burning a hole in his head and I give him the look that says, "Oh, it's on biker boy!" Out of nowhere I start sprinting like I'm Allyson Felix at the Olympic games. I get right next to him and didn't even bother looking, I just kept running. At the top of the hill I get stuck at the light at Connecticut and I pause for a second and think, I just beat a biker to the top of the hill. A running first for me.
Mw: 1 Biker: 0
Bring it on Tilden and all you bikers; I'm not afraid of either of you. *Said as if part protester, part rapper, all runner.*
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
My Barrettes Have Evolved, But My Hair Style Has Not
I used to wear animal barrettes.
They were plastic and had no metal parts or shiny pieces, just plastic. I had all kinds of animals to choose from and they came in a variety of colors. I seem to remember a blue elephant barrette the best.
I used to wear lots of primary colors. No one ever tells a little girl that they don't look good in yellow. Then you grow up and get your make-up done in a department store one day and the girl behind the counter says, "you should never wear yellow, EVER!"
I used to have bangs, overalls and shiny vinyl snow boots that I hated to wear. Sneakers had velcro and were a very big deal.
My lunch box was the best accessory I owned. I had the coolest Snoopy lunch box until it broke one day in the cafeteria. My Mom went out in pursuit of a new one and I had to use brown paper bags in the interim; the opposite cool, especially in first grade. I came home one day and found a shiny, purple STAR TREK lunch box sitting on the table. I asked, "what's this?" My Mom informed me that it was my new lunch box. "That's all they had", she explained. I stood there frozen with my coat and shoes still on, how could I go to school with a large metal box that had Spock on it? My reputation was scarred. I already had issues with my own large ears. I didn't need to be advertising to the school that I was a follower of the King of Large, Odd, Devil-like Ears..like Spock.
I rode a bus to school that had a driver named Wendy. I remember when Wendy broke her arm and I stressed about how she would still be able to operate such a large vehicle....especially in the winter on those snowy Upstate NY roads. You think I'm joking when I say "stressed", but honestly I did. I remember thinking that if all the kids sat on the same side of the bus it would cause an uncontrollable imbalance that combined with the snowy roads and the limited use of Wendy's one arm, would cause the bus to careen off the road and into the lake below. I actually thought about this scenario every day as I rode home from school. I think I was destined to worry about something, even at the age of 7.
Childhood is an interesting time for all of us. How silly is it to think that when we were that small the only thing we wanted was to be BIG. We anticipated birthdays every year because that meant a year older and an additional finger to hold up. Now a days the only time I anticipate holding up a finger is when I give someone THE finger, and honestly I don't even remember the last time I did that.
I rode a green banana bike. The banana seat was so long that I could fit two of my girlfriends on the back. I would stand up and they would hang on for dear life. Being able to navigate your neighborhood, now that was important as a kid, too. Everyone had to have their own means of getting around from place to place, or rather from house to house. There is something about being mobile that appeals to children. Maybe because it seems grown up. I don't even own a car anymore, I do have a bike. It has been slightly upgraded and can no longer hold 3. I take a train to work that holds about a few hundred people. I can tell you this with absolute certainty....it's not as fun as the green banana bike.
I used to go to a carnival every summer.
I read Beverly Cleary books and wanted a little sister like Ramona.
I thought having breakfast for dinner was the best thing ever.
I would watch the sunset over Cayuga Lake and wonder what the same sunset looked like
in Florida.
I loved my dog Ginger.
I went to Emerson Park in the summer with an orange cooler filled with sandwiches, potato chips and grape soda.
I looked forward to holidays because that meant everyone was coming over.
I wondered what my life would be like when I grew up...what I would do for a career, where I would live....the places I would travel.
How silly is it to think that when we were small the only thing we wanted was to be BIG.
They were plastic and had no metal parts or shiny pieces, just plastic. I had all kinds of animals to choose from and they came in a variety of colors. I seem to remember a blue elephant barrette the best.
I used to wear lots of primary colors. No one ever tells a little girl that they don't look good in yellow. Then you grow up and get your make-up done in a department store one day and the girl behind the counter says, "you should never wear yellow, EVER!"
I used to have bangs, overalls and shiny vinyl snow boots that I hated to wear. Sneakers had velcro and were a very big deal.
My lunch box was the best accessory I owned. I had the coolest Snoopy lunch box until it broke one day in the cafeteria. My Mom went out in pursuit of a new one and I had to use brown paper bags in the interim; the opposite cool, especially in first grade. I came home one day and found a shiny, purple STAR TREK lunch box sitting on the table. I asked, "what's this?" My Mom informed me that it was my new lunch box. "That's all they had", she explained. I stood there frozen with my coat and shoes still on, how could I go to school with a large metal box that had Spock on it? My reputation was scarred. I already had issues with my own large ears. I didn't need to be advertising to the school that I was a follower of the King of Large, Odd, Devil-like Ears..like Spock.
I rode a bus to school that had a driver named Wendy. I remember when Wendy broke her arm and I stressed about how she would still be able to operate such a large vehicle....especially in the winter on those snowy Upstate NY roads. You think I'm joking when I say "stressed", but honestly I did. I remember thinking that if all the kids sat on the same side of the bus it would cause an uncontrollable imbalance that combined with the snowy roads and the limited use of Wendy's one arm, would cause the bus to careen off the road and into the lake below. I actually thought about this scenario every day as I rode home from school. I think I was destined to worry about something, even at the age of 7.
Childhood is an interesting time for all of us. How silly is it to think that when we were that small the only thing we wanted was to be BIG. We anticipated birthdays every year because that meant a year older and an additional finger to hold up. Now a days the only time I anticipate holding up a finger is when I give someone THE finger, and honestly I don't even remember the last time I did that.
I rode a green banana bike. The banana seat was so long that I could fit two of my girlfriends on the back. I would stand up and they would hang on for dear life. Being able to navigate your neighborhood, now that was important as a kid, too. Everyone had to have their own means of getting around from place to place, or rather from house to house. There is something about being mobile that appeals to children. Maybe because it seems grown up. I don't even own a car anymore, I do have a bike. It has been slightly upgraded and can no longer hold 3. I take a train to work that holds about a few hundred people. I can tell you this with absolute certainty....it's not as fun as the green banana bike.
I used to go to a carnival every summer.
I read Beverly Cleary books and wanted a little sister like Ramona.
I thought having breakfast for dinner was the best thing ever.
I would watch the sunset over Cayuga Lake and wonder what the same sunset looked like
in Florida.
I loved my dog Ginger.
I went to Emerson Park in the summer with an orange cooler filled with sandwiches, potato chips and grape soda.
I looked forward to holidays because that meant everyone was coming over.
I wondered what my life would be like when I grew up...what I would do for a career, where I would live....the places I would travel.
How silly is it to think that when we were small the only thing we wanted was to be BIG.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Brown Paper Packages Tied Up With String...
These are a few of my favorite things:
1. Puppies, specifically yellow lab puppies
2. Black & White Cookies
3. The sound of rain when I fall asleep
4. A coupon for $4 off my next 2 bottles of Black Swan Wine
5. Hearing a child say, "Thank you"
6. The aroma of breakfast
7. A hot shower after a long run
8. Helping a friend laugh, especially if they are having a bad day
9. Clean Cold Crisp Sheets
10. Simon & Garfunkel's,"Bridge Over Troubled Water"...
When you're weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all;
I'm on your side. when times get rough
And friends just cant be found,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
When you're down and out,
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you.
Ill take your part.
When darkness comes
And pains is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Sail on silvergirl,
Sail on by.
Your time has come to shine.
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine.
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
1. Puppies, specifically yellow lab puppies
2. Black & White Cookies
3. The sound of rain when I fall asleep
4. A coupon for $4 off my next 2 bottles of Black Swan Wine
5. Hearing a child say, "Thank you"
6. The aroma of breakfast
7. A hot shower after a long run
8. Helping a friend laugh, especially if they are having a bad day
9. Clean Cold Crisp Sheets
10. Simon & Garfunkel's,"Bridge Over Troubled Water"...
When you're weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all;
I'm on your side. when times get rough
And friends just cant be found,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
When you're down and out,
When you're on the street,
When evening falls so hard
I will comfort you.
Ill take your part.
When darkness comes
And pains is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Sail on silvergirl,
Sail on by.
Your time has come to shine.
All your dreams are on their way.
See how they shine.
If you need a friend
I'm sailing right behind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will ease your mind.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Monday, March 16, 2009
Mw True Hollywood Story
You can't make this stuff up. This story was on my mind so I figured I would be crazy and write two posts in one night. I promise this will be it for a while.
So on Monday nights I tutor an adult with illiteracy at the Washington Literacy Council. I love it. It's by far the most rewarding thing I do all week. It's one hour of my time and I always leave with a huge smile on my face. My student is great. To keep his identity private I will call him Lewis. We usually laugh at least once a session about something I do, but tonight the tables were turned.
Part of our lesson plan is to practice spelling. I rattle off a word and Lewis repeats the word then writes it down. We do this for about 10 words. I don't offer any assistance while he's writing them out. Once he's completed all 10 words I review them all and we go over what he misspelled. The dialogue goes something like this:
Mw: So the word I said was dust, and you wrote....dust, correct!
Lewis: dust D U S T
Mw: Ok, the next word I said was bent, and you wrote...bend. What do we need to change to make that sound like bent, Lewis?
Lewis: the t sound?
Mw: yes, the t, add the t to the end of the word.
(This is what our conversations are like every Monday night, if he's wrong, he will be off by a letter. The next one was off by a little bit more.)
Mw: So, the next word was trot, you know like a horse? And you wrote.......
T U R D
Mw: Long pause...scrunching my face....biting my lip.
Still nothing, just a long pause.
Cramping in stomach starts to make it impossible to breathe through nose and then I lose it.
I said the word TURD out loud in the middle of our session and EVERYONE heard me! I couldn't control the noise that escaped me but I have never laughed so hard.
Lewis: (He, too realized what I said and was laughing uncontrollably.) Oh, I don't think I spelled that one correctly.
Mw: Nope, no ya didn't. But at least you managed to get half of the learning center to laugh at me!
Now you just can't make that stuff up. I will never look at the word trot the same way again.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
So on Monday nights I tutor an adult with illiteracy at the Washington Literacy Council. I love it. It's by far the most rewarding thing I do all week. It's one hour of my time and I always leave with a huge smile on my face. My student is great. To keep his identity private I will call him Lewis. We usually laugh at least once a session about something I do, but tonight the tables were turned.
Part of our lesson plan is to practice spelling. I rattle off a word and Lewis repeats the word then writes it down. We do this for about 10 words. I don't offer any assistance while he's writing them out. Once he's completed all 10 words I review them all and we go over what he misspelled. The dialogue goes something like this:
Mw: So the word I said was dust, and you wrote....dust, correct!
Lewis: dust D U S T
Mw: Ok, the next word I said was bent, and you wrote...bend. What do we need to change to make that sound like bent, Lewis?
Lewis: the t sound?
Mw: yes, the t, add the t to the end of the word.
(This is what our conversations are like every Monday night, if he's wrong, he will be off by a letter. The next one was off by a little bit more.)
Mw: So, the next word was trot, you know like a horse? And you wrote.......
T U R D
Mw: Long pause...scrunching my face....biting my lip.
Still nothing, just a long pause.
Cramping in stomach starts to make it impossible to breathe through nose and then I lose it.
I said the word TURD out loud in the middle of our session and EVERYONE heard me! I couldn't control the noise that escaped me but I have never laughed so hard.
Lewis: (He, too realized what I said and was laughing uncontrollably.) Oh, I don't think I spelled that one correctly.
Mw: Nope, no ya didn't. But at least you managed to get half of the learning center to laugh at me!
Now you just can't make that stuff up. I will never look at the word trot the same way again.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
A Break From The Norm
One thing that I have always loved to read are quotes. To change things up I've collected a few about some of my favorite subjects...design, running and laughter.
I hope you find them both inspirational and entertaining.
Enjoy!
Art has to move you and design does not, unless it’s a good design for a bus.
-David Hockney
Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new.
-Henry David Thoreau
Have no fear of perfection - you’ll never reach it.
-Salvador Dali
Technical skill is mastery of complexity, while creativity is mastery of simplicity.
-Christopher Zeeman
Design is the method of putting form and content together. Design, just as art, has multiple definitions; there is no single definition. Design can be art. Design can be aesthetics. Design is so simple, that’s why it is so complicated.
-Paul Rand
Graphic design will save the world right after rock and roll does.
-David Carson
The difference between good design and great design is intelligence.
-Tibor Kalman
A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.
-Douglas Adams
Your dresses should be tight enough to show you're a woman and loose enough to show you're a lady.
-Edith Head
Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.
-William Morris
"Somewhere in the world someone is training when you are not. When you race him, he will win."
- Tom Fleming's Boston Marathon training sign on his wall
"Running is a big question mark that's there each and every day. It asks you, 'Are you going to be a wimp or are you going to be strong today?'"
- Peter Maher, Irish-Canadian Olympian and sub-2:12 marathoner
"It's at the borders of pain and suffering that the men are separated from the boys."
- Emil Zatopek
"The marathon's about being in contention over the last 10K. That's when it's about what you have in your core. You have run all the strength, all the superficial fitness out of yourself, and it really comes down to what's left inside you. To be able to draw deep and pull something out of yourself is one of the most tremendous things about the marathon."
- Rob de Castella
The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
~e.e. cummings
A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures in the doctor's book.
~Irish Proverb
Dogs laugh, but they laugh with their tails. What puts man in a higher state of evolution is that he has got his laugh on the right end.
~Max Eastman
Laughter is an orgasm triggered by the intercourse of sense and nonsense.
~Author Unknown
"There is nothing in which people more betray their character than in what they laugh at."
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“God is a comedian, playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.”
-Voltaire
If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it.
-Beyonce
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
I hope you find them both inspirational and entertaining.
Enjoy!
Art has to move you and design does not, unless it’s a good design for a bus.
-David Hockney
Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new.
-Henry David Thoreau
Have no fear of perfection - you’ll never reach it.
-Salvador Dali
Technical skill is mastery of complexity, while creativity is mastery of simplicity.
-Christopher Zeeman
Design is the method of putting form and content together. Design, just as art, has multiple definitions; there is no single definition. Design can be art. Design can be aesthetics. Design is so simple, that’s why it is so complicated.
-Paul Rand
Graphic design will save the world right after rock and roll does.
-David Carson
The difference between good design and great design is intelligence.
-Tibor Kalman
A common mistake that people make when trying to design something completely foolproof is to underestimate the ingenuity of complete fools.
-Douglas Adams
Your dresses should be tight enough to show you're a woman and loose enough to show you're a lady.
-Edith Head
Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful.
-William Morris
"Somewhere in the world someone is training when you are not. When you race him, he will win."
- Tom Fleming's Boston Marathon training sign on his wall
"Running is a big question mark that's there each and every day. It asks you, 'Are you going to be a wimp or are you going to be strong today?'"
- Peter Maher, Irish-Canadian Olympian and sub-2:12 marathoner
"It's at the borders of pain and suffering that the men are separated from the boys."
- Emil Zatopek
"The marathon's about being in contention over the last 10K. That's when it's about what you have in your core. You have run all the strength, all the superficial fitness out of yourself, and it really comes down to what's left inside you. To be able to draw deep and pull something out of yourself is one of the most tremendous things about the marathon."
- Rob de Castella
The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.
~e.e. cummings
A good laugh and a long sleep are the best cures in the doctor's book.
~Irish Proverb
Dogs laugh, but they laugh with their tails. What puts man in a higher state of evolution is that he has got his laugh on the right end.
~Max Eastman
Laughter is an orgasm triggered by the intercourse of sense and nonsense.
~Author Unknown
"There is nothing in which people more betray their character than in what they laugh at."
-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
“God is a comedian, playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.”
-Voltaire
If you liked it then you should have put a ring on it.
-Beyonce
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Hit By Cupid's Arrow While Running on Connecticut Ave.
I admit, when I'm running, I look pretty hot. Not hot like Rihanna, hot like I'm sweating my ass off. This is a hotness nobody wants a part of, and you definitely do not want to get near it.
Let me start with a little fact about me and my workout ethic. Every workout is something to me, it's not just a way to kill a few hours or an excuse to take an extra 15 minutes on my lunch break. I strive to constantly improve, whether it's being able to hold my shatarunga for 5 seconds longer during yoga or being able to run from my corner to the zoo in under 4 minutes. I don't think I'm a competitive person with others, but I'm very competitive against myself, if that makes sense? I want to know I'm constantly improving, not getting worse. Obviously, as I get older things are going to slow down, but for now I enjoy a personal challenge.
Timing is everything, especially for running. I find that I time myself a lot. I think I acquired this habit from work where we operate on billable hours. One night when going home I decided to time how long it takes me to get from the Metro to my door- 2 minutes. Then I wanted to see how long it would take me to get to my doorstep and get out my keys should I ever find myself being chased. You laugh at the thought of me doing this, but I know all of you are thinking, "hmmm I wonder how quickly I could get inside my house?" Time yourself sometime. You may be amazed at how long it takes to get that key in the hole and inside with the door shut.
So I do these runs on Sundays every once in a while that I call my 60 minute scramble. I basically take off in either direction on Connecticut Ave. and run for 30 minutes in the same direction then turn around and head back. Today I headed south which meant my goal was to step foot on the mall in 30 minutes, turn around and get back to my corner in the other 30 minutes. Depending on the pedestrian traffic I can either make it with seconds to spare or I miss it completely. Today it was the latter; I missed it by 1 minute 7 seconds. Not happy.
I deliberated about it as I waited for the light to turn at 17th street. It was all going so well, I took 20th Street vs. running through the circle, I ran the light at K street and zig zagged in between so many bikes and strollers that I resembled a roller derby skater. I believe the momentum was slowed early on back up Connecticut by the zoo. That effin' zoo traffic is a nightmare for anyone who is trying to actually get somewhere. I gave up bobbing and weaving and decided to just run in the street along the parked cars, ahhh wide lanes; (Seinfeld reference). I came back on to the sidewalk and there it was, cluster f*ck number 50: Tourists with strollers and multiple children.
Don't think I'm preaching because I'm all above doing anything like a tourist, I have plenty of times. But living in the city has taught me a few things about sidewalk traffic, the same laws of the road apply- you stay to the right. I realize that DC is great and there is plenty of stuff to look at, especially on your way to the zoo. Everyone loves a good bronzed lion statue and wants to get their picture taken next to it. I get it, you're on vacation. The problem I have is when a group of 5 people feel that they all need to walk next to each other and take up the whole width of the sidewalk. DC sidewalks are pretty generous I must say. There is a clear delineation between your side and my side. What confuses the 'eff out of me is when said group of 5 people walking on the sidewalk see me running towards them and they do not move out of the way. If there's a grassy area on the side I will go off the sidewalk to get by them, but if there's a tree or an object that could cause serious bodily damage, I don't move. That's how the cards played out this time. Group of 5 women, a mom, an aunt and 3 daughters, I'm guessing from Wisconsin based on the accent I overheard. The biggest of the daughters was looking right at me and holding her stare for a good 3 seconds as she watched me approach. I wasn't moving; besides there was no where to go but face first into a large oak tree. She had a choice to make, move or stay there and get elbowed; unfortunately she chose the latter. A 140 lb. moving object is going to hurt if it's hits you. I may not seem it, but I'm a big person. My shoulder went right into her arm and then I heard a sound I never thought I would here from a girl her size, "Oooowwww!" I turned and yelled, "Sorry, you need to share the sidewalk". Back to my opening statement, when I run I look hot. Why anyone would subject themselves to getting that close to a sweaty mess like myself is beyond me.
Someone once asked me if I was a serious runner. I responded that I'm a serious person and that I take running seriously, but I'm not a serious runner. A serious runner is someone like Paula Radcliffe, Kara Goucher or Joan Benoit Samuelson, who are Olympians and Marathon winners. I could never hang in that crowd. I enjoy running because every run is a new adventure, just like today. When I'm running, (outside of the Connecticut Ave. crowds), I may physically be in DC but my mind is elsewhere. I focus on the 3 things that are left to control, my legs, my lungs and my mind. I take myself somewhere new with every run. I find that the more I push myself physically the further I push my imagination. It really is true what they say about running, it's 90% mental endurance and 10% physical.
As I was running home I couldn't help but notice people gazing at the center of my stomach. I assumed it was a huge sweat stain. When I got home and caught a glance of myself, I saw that it was a little bit more. It was a sweat stain alright, but in the shape of a heart! I'm not kidding. It was a long skinny heart that clearly had two semi-circles at the top and a point at the bottom. I've heard of people seeing the outline of Jesus or Mother Teresa before, but I've never seen anything first hand. What could this possibly mean? Was cupid following me on my adventure today? Maybe all of that dodging and ducking down Connecticut Ave didn't throw him off his game and he was following me the whole time?
Who knows what's in store for me but I'll definitely keep everyone posted. I've been hit by the arrow and I'm keeping my faith that Prince Charming is on his way and he's not intimidated by sweat either!
To be continued.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Let me start with a little fact about me and my workout ethic. Every workout is something to me, it's not just a way to kill a few hours or an excuse to take an extra 15 minutes on my lunch break. I strive to constantly improve, whether it's being able to hold my shatarunga for 5 seconds longer during yoga or being able to run from my corner to the zoo in under 4 minutes. I don't think I'm a competitive person with others, but I'm very competitive against myself, if that makes sense? I want to know I'm constantly improving, not getting worse. Obviously, as I get older things are going to slow down, but for now I enjoy a personal challenge.
Timing is everything, especially for running. I find that I time myself a lot. I think I acquired this habit from work where we operate on billable hours. One night when going home I decided to time how long it takes me to get from the Metro to my door- 2 minutes. Then I wanted to see how long it would take me to get to my doorstep and get out my keys should I ever find myself being chased. You laugh at the thought of me doing this, but I know all of you are thinking, "hmmm I wonder how quickly I could get inside my house?" Time yourself sometime. You may be amazed at how long it takes to get that key in the hole and inside with the door shut.
So I do these runs on Sundays every once in a while that I call my 60 minute scramble. I basically take off in either direction on Connecticut Ave. and run for 30 minutes in the same direction then turn around and head back. Today I headed south which meant my goal was to step foot on the mall in 30 minutes, turn around and get back to my corner in the other 30 minutes. Depending on the pedestrian traffic I can either make it with seconds to spare or I miss it completely. Today it was the latter; I missed it by 1 minute 7 seconds. Not happy.
I deliberated about it as I waited for the light to turn at 17th street. It was all going so well, I took 20th Street vs. running through the circle, I ran the light at K street and zig zagged in between so many bikes and strollers that I resembled a roller derby skater. I believe the momentum was slowed early on back up Connecticut by the zoo. That effin' zoo traffic is a nightmare for anyone who is trying to actually get somewhere. I gave up bobbing and weaving and decided to just run in the street along the parked cars, ahhh wide lanes; (Seinfeld reference). I came back on to the sidewalk and there it was, cluster f*ck number 50: Tourists with strollers and multiple children.
Don't think I'm preaching because I'm all above doing anything like a tourist, I have plenty of times. But living in the city has taught me a few things about sidewalk traffic, the same laws of the road apply- you stay to the right. I realize that DC is great and there is plenty of stuff to look at, especially on your way to the zoo. Everyone loves a good bronzed lion statue and wants to get their picture taken next to it. I get it, you're on vacation. The problem I have is when a group of 5 people feel that they all need to walk next to each other and take up the whole width of the sidewalk. DC sidewalks are pretty generous I must say. There is a clear delineation between your side and my side. What confuses the 'eff out of me is when said group of 5 people walking on the sidewalk see me running towards them and they do not move out of the way. If there's a grassy area on the side I will go off the sidewalk to get by them, but if there's a tree or an object that could cause serious bodily damage, I don't move. That's how the cards played out this time. Group of 5 women, a mom, an aunt and 3 daughters, I'm guessing from Wisconsin based on the accent I overheard. The biggest of the daughters was looking right at me and holding her stare for a good 3 seconds as she watched me approach. I wasn't moving; besides there was no where to go but face first into a large oak tree. She had a choice to make, move or stay there and get elbowed; unfortunately she chose the latter. A 140 lb. moving object is going to hurt if it's hits you. I may not seem it, but I'm a big person. My shoulder went right into her arm and then I heard a sound I never thought I would here from a girl her size, "Oooowwww!" I turned and yelled, "Sorry, you need to share the sidewalk". Back to my opening statement, when I run I look hot. Why anyone would subject themselves to getting that close to a sweaty mess like myself is beyond me.
Someone once asked me if I was a serious runner. I responded that I'm a serious person and that I take running seriously, but I'm not a serious runner. A serious runner is someone like Paula Radcliffe, Kara Goucher or Joan Benoit Samuelson, who are Olympians and Marathon winners. I could never hang in that crowd. I enjoy running because every run is a new adventure, just like today. When I'm running, (outside of the Connecticut Ave. crowds), I may physically be in DC but my mind is elsewhere. I focus on the 3 things that are left to control, my legs, my lungs and my mind. I take myself somewhere new with every run. I find that the more I push myself physically the further I push my imagination. It really is true what they say about running, it's 90% mental endurance and 10% physical.
As I was running home I couldn't help but notice people gazing at the center of my stomach. I assumed it was a huge sweat stain. When I got home and caught a glance of myself, I saw that it was a little bit more. It was a sweat stain alright, but in the shape of a heart! I'm not kidding. It was a long skinny heart that clearly had two semi-circles at the top and a point at the bottom. I've heard of people seeing the outline of Jesus or Mother Teresa before, but I've never seen anything first hand. What could this possibly mean? Was cupid following me on my adventure today? Maybe all of that dodging and ducking down Connecticut Ave didn't throw him off his game and he was following me the whole time?
Who knows what's in store for me but I'll definitely keep everyone posted. I've been hit by the arrow and I'm keeping my faith that Prince Charming is on his way and he's not intimidated by sweat either!
To be continued.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
The Bachelor Part II
Dear Jason,
Along with millions of other women across the US tonight, I watched you as the center of attention, sitting on the sofa under the scrutiny of both Chris Harrison and the former bachelorettes. I have many thoughts, none of which were closely represented by the short audience inquiry performed by our host. I think Naomi said it best when she summed it up with, 'we all know how we feel and how Melissa feels, but no one really knows how Jason feels.'
I certainly don't know how you feel. As long as Molly knows and most importantly you know, that's all that matters. I am thankful that your 15 minutes of fame are up, you certainly had your share of my time over the past two nights. In the end I learned something about women, men and about myself. You have a tough road ahead of you and I hope you are up for the challenge. The rest of my opinion really doesn't matter.
So prove us wrong, J-Dawg and show us what happens when you really do follow your heart.
Optimistic & Realistic in DC,
Mw
P.S. I couldn't help but notice that those puppy dog eyes of yours did not shed one tear tonight. It was a welcomed change, please continue this behavior when on television. I'm going to assume that Molly took the set of balls out of her pants and put them in yours. You were in desperate need of a pair. Keep in mind that if things don't work out, she can easily kick your ass.
Along with millions of other women across the US tonight, I watched you as the center of attention, sitting on the sofa under the scrutiny of both Chris Harrison and the former bachelorettes. I have many thoughts, none of which were closely represented by the short audience inquiry performed by our host. I think Naomi said it best when she summed it up with, 'we all know how we feel and how Melissa feels, but no one really knows how Jason feels.'
I certainly don't know how you feel. As long as Molly knows and most importantly you know, that's all that matters. I am thankful that your 15 minutes of fame are up, you certainly had your share of my time over the past two nights. In the end I learned something about women, men and about myself. You have a tough road ahead of you and I hope you are up for the challenge. The rest of my opinion really doesn't matter.
So prove us wrong, J-Dawg and show us what happens when you really do follow your heart.
Optimistic & Realistic in DC,
Mw
P.S. I couldn't help but notice that those puppy dog eyes of yours did not shed one tear tonight. It was a welcomed change, please continue this behavior when on television. I'm going to assume that Molly took the set of balls out of her pants and put them in yours. You were in desperate need of a pair. Keep in mind that if things don't work out, she can easily kick your ass.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Someone Needs to Give that Man a Tissue
This post is going to be brief because like those of you who watched The Bachelor tonight you know as I do that the story continues again tomorrow night.
What else could there possibly be for us to get updated on? This was the most whacked out finale ever. I texted my sister throughout the 3 hour program just to make sure I wasn't the only one who thought this guy must be related to that punk on the metro, because he's a douche. I'll pick up where I left off tomorrow once I have been given all of the information to analyze.
Until then I have made one startling discovery. I found out who believes in that crazy love song that was stuck in my head yesterday, (I don't know much, but I know I love you....), it's the girls on this show. They believe in that fairy tale nonsense, hell one of them even wrote a fairy tale about her time with J-Dawg.
I think you need to have that kind of faith, that true love really exists, in order to go on that show. You need to be open to that fairy tale idea but at the same time be able to put yourself out there in front of the ENTIRE world. I felt a range of emotions watching the show, happiness, sadness, heartbreak, embarrassment and most of all just plain confusion. Is this guy really worth all of this heartache? I don't think so. Both girls are beautiful, smart and can do much better in my opinion. Why would you want to be with a guy cries more often then you do? He was a wimp, plane and simple. When it came down to making a decision, he choked. Why? Because he's trying to fall in love on TV and only had a couple of hours to decide on the ring AND who to give it to before the episode aired. Does anyone else see the irony here?
Relationships should be developed according to the couple's timeline, not the ABC Monday Night Spring Season.
Love can't be established on the set of a TV show under the bright lights, New Zealand sunsets and massages on the beach. Love is discovered at your lowest of lows, not your highest of highs. Love is discovered at 2 am when you've missed the last train and need someone to pick you up, love is discovered when you have an allergic reaction to make-up and have a face full of pimples but someone still tells you that you're beautiful, and last but not least, love is discovered when you overcook the pasta and someone can choke it down and tell you it was pretty fantastic. That's when love comes walking in.....(cue the Van Halen song).
Stay tuned for tomorrow's episode to see what Jason does next, I know I will be watching.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
What else could there possibly be for us to get updated on? This was the most whacked out finale ever. I texted my sister throughout the 3 hour program just to make sure I wasn't the only one who thought this guy must be related to that punk on the metro, because he's a douche. I'll pick up where I left off tomorrow once I have been given all of the information to analyze.
Until then I have made one startling discovery. I found out who believes in that crazy love song that was stuck in my head yesterday, (I don't know much, but I know I love you....), it's the girls on this show. They believe in that fairy tale nonsense, hell one of them even wrote a fairy tale about her time with J-Dawg.
I think you need to have that kind of faith, that true love really exists, in order to go on that show. You need to be open to that fairy tale idea but at the same time be able to put yourself out there in front of the ENTIRE world. I felt a range of emotions watching the show, happiness, sadness, heartbreak, embarrassment and most of all just plain confusion. Is this guy really worth all of this heartache? I don't think so. Both girls are beautiful, smart and can do much better in my opinion. Why would you want to be with a guy cries more often then you do? He was a wimp, plane and simple. When it came down to making a decision, he choked. Why? Because he's trying to fall in love on TV and only had a couple of hours to decide on the ring AND who to give it to before the episode aired. Does anyone else see the irony here?
Relationships should be developed according to the couple's timeline, not the ABC Monday Night Spring Season.
Love can't be established on the set of a TV show under the bright lights, New Zealand sunsets and massages on the beach. Love is discovered at your lowest of lows, not your highest of highs. Love is discovered at 2 am when you've missed the last train and need someone to pick you up, love is discovered when you have an allergic reaction to make-up and have a face full of pimples but someone still tells you that you're beautiful, and last but not least, love is discovered when you overcook the pasta and someone can choke it down and tell you it was pretty fantastic. That's when love comes walking in.....(cue the Van Halen song).
Stay tuned for tomorrow's episode to see what Jason does next, I know I will be watching.
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Love Songs that make me Vom
Out of no where the song, "I don't know much, but I know I love you, and that may be all there is to know", came bustin' into my head and it's making me want to stab something sharp deep into my ear canal. I don't like that song and I don't have time to contemplate such ludicrous lyrics, but what would make somebody write that and then actually mean it?
Has anyone ever stopped to think of the insanity of that phrase? Think about it, I don't know much, (you're stating that you're already of a low IQ), but I know I love you and that may be all there is to know, (in other words, so that's where I draw the line on taking in additional knowledge, that's it, I'm good and don't need to know anything else). Why would anyone ever declare such nonsense? Seriously?
That may be all there is to know? I've been in love for sure, and not once did I ever think, this is great I'm all set in the wisdom department so I don't need to learn anything else. I have an insatiable appetite for wanting to know things, all kinds of things. And I don't think it would ever stop just because I was in love. Do these people really exist? If so, they don't share my reality and they certainly don't live in DC.
In this town you better know more than the fact you are in love or you'll get eaten up, stepped on and climbed over by those people who are well aware of the fact, that you need something besides the clarity of knowing you are in love to get ahead and survive in this world.
So I took some time to think of a few things that I would want to know, even if I was in love. Take for instance I'd like to know what the douche bag on the metro was thinking on Friday morning at 8-thirty when he stood there blocking the door and reading his Express at arm's length. I looked at him and said, "Thanks for the blocking the door." His response as he snapped his gum in my ear and lowered his paper, "no problem". He was a punk which is why I proceeded to smirk at him when at the next stop he got put in his place. The doors opened and a man much older, wiser, larger and yes, much more confident got on and didn't even he have to utter a word, he just looked at this 22 year old punk in his cheap suit and extra hold hair gel and the punk understood. He knew he had to move the 'eff into the train because an alpha dog just got on and was going to make him move one way or another. That's just one of the complexities I would like explained to me even if I was in love.
Another thing I would like to know, even if I was in love, is what the hell is up with the guy in my yoga class who has the most disgusting feet EVER. How is one not aware of the current sate of their toes, toenails and anything in between? This guy somehow ends up next to me on most Tuesdays. He sweats like a pig but I'm ok with that, I can look beyond the sweat. But when his two feet are smack dab in my line of vision during my Balancing Half Moon pose I have no choice but to look and silently gag. He needs to be made aware of the ramifications of bringing in such funk to the yoga studio. On top of it he's a moaner. Every twist and stretch I hear him over there moaning, not deep breathing, moaning. He's got to go but before he does I want to know what that funk is on his feet and if it's contagious.
I could go on and on I'm sure with other trivial and not so trivial things I would like to know, even if I was in love. One last thing I would like to know as I sit here watching Brother & Sisters, has Sally Field ever played any other role besides a doting mother? She's always the mom role.
So, to all of you out there reading this do those lyrics mean anything to you? Are you in love and are you content only knowing this going forward? I'm only one person with one opinion, feel free to share yours and your interpretation. Does love really conquer all?
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Has anyone ever stopped to think of the insanity of that phrase? Think about it, I don't know much, (you're stating that you're already of a low IQ), but I know I love you and that may be all there is to know, (in other words, so that's where I draw the line on taking in additional knowledge, that's it, I'm good and don't need to know anything else). Why would anyone ever declare such nonsense? Seriously?
That may be all there is to know? I've been in love for sure, and not once did I ever think, this is great I'm all set in the wisdom department so I don't need to learn anything else. I have an insatiable appetite for wanting to know things, all kinds of things. And I don't think it would ever stop just because I was in love. Do these people really exist? If so, they don't share my reality and they certainly don't live in DC.
In this town you better know more than the fact you are in love or you'll get eaten up, stepped on and climbed over by those people who are well aware of the fact, that you need something besides the clarity of knowing you are in love to get ahead and survive in this world.
So I took some time to think of a few things that I would want to know, even if I was in love. Take for instance I'd like to know what the douche bag on the metro was thinking on Friday morning at 8-thirty when he stood there blocking the door and reading his Express at arm's length. I looked at him and said, "Thanks for the blocking the door." His response as he snapped his gum in my ear and lowered his paper, "no problem". He was a punk which is why I proceeded to smirk at him when at the next stop he got put in his place. The doors opened and a man much older, wiser, larger and yes, much more confident got on and didn't even he have to utter a word, he just looked at this 22 year old punk in his cheap suit and extra hold hair gel and the punk understood. He knew he had to move the 'eff into the train because an alpha dog just got on and was going to make him move one way or another. That's just one of the complexities I would like explained to me even if I was in love.
Another thing I would like to know, even if I was in love, is what the hell is up with the guy in my yoga class who has the most disgusting feet EVER. How is one not aware of the current sate of their toes, toenails and anything in between? This guy somehow ends up next to me on most Tuesdays. He sweats like a pig but I'm ok with that, I can look beyond the sweat. But when his two feet are smack dab in my line of vision during my Balancing Half Moon pose I have no choice but to look and silently gag. He needs to be made aware of the ramifications of bringing in such funk to the yoga studio. On top of it he's a moaner. Every twist and stretch I hear him over there moaning, not deep breathing, moaning. He's got to go but before he does I want to know what that funk is on his feet and if it's contagious.
I could go on and on I'm sure with other trivial and not so trivial things I would like to know, even if I was in love. One last thing I would like to know as I sit here watching Brother & Sisters, has Sally Field ever played any other role besides a doting mother? She's always the mom role.
So, to all of you out there reading this do those lyrics mean anything to you? Are you in love and are you content only knowing this going forward? I'm only one person with one opinion, feel free to share yours and your interpretation. Does love really conquer all?
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
Friday, February 27, 2009
Trains Move, Jeans Fade and Pants Break
Clean shirt, new shoes
And I dont know where I am goin to.
Silk suit, black tie,I dont need a reason why.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl crazy bout a sharp dressed man.
Gold watch, diamond ring,
I aint missin a single thing.
And cufflinks, stick pin,
When I step out Im gonna do you in.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl crazy bout a sharp dressed man.
Top coat, top hat,
I dont worry coz my wallets fat.
Black shades, white gloves,
Lookin sharp and lookin for love.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl grazy bout a sharp dressed man.
Billy Gibbons and the band ZZ Top may not have known what they were speaking about in the hair dept., but I have to agree with their thoughts involving the clothes dept. There really isn't anything sexier then a man who is well dressed.
You know where this going, I ran into someone who wasn't.
Standing on the Metro and scopin' the joint out I came across a guy with a cute mug. (I couldn't check out my Merriam Webster's word-of-the-day because for some reason it didn't get emailed to me at 4-thirty in the morning like it normally does.) So this guy is catching my eye. Nice hair cut, (at least there was hair to cut, right?), good features, brown eyes and that's all I could make out. From the collar down was a mystery because the train was jammed with rush hour DC'ers. For a moment I'm hopeful, could there be a cute guys on the red line after all?
After bobbing and ducking and trying to reposition my stance through the Woodley Park stop, we finally arrive at my destination, Dupont Circle. It's like a cattle call getting off at this stop. All of us vying for the same resources-the one escalator to get us up out of there and back to street level. Alas, I find cute guy and jockey my way past girls walking too slow in their 4" heels to get smack dab behind him. I look to the left as he places his south paw on the railing, no ring. So far so good. We ride the escalator to the top and I look DOWN, to his feet that it is, and what a sight I see. 4 Words: Faded Wrinkled Short Khakis.
Gross.
Wrinkled clothes drive me nuts, but old khakis, too? The only thing that could have possibly brought this outfit any further embarrassment would have been a pair of white socks and Doc Martins. Memorized by the shortness of his pants I realized that they were a good 1.5" away from the top of shoes, in other words they didn't break. I remember learning that expression at the tailor's once when getting some jeans hemmed. He pointed out that I needed them brought up just a tad so that they would still "break" even when I wore heels. Every Mom should teach their boys, (and girls), that lesson, "pants break Junior and if they're not breaking, then they must be shorts."
Just the thought of a guy wearing khaki pants reminds me of late 90's GAP associate. Even they don't wear them anymore. Grant it, in Italy guys wear capris and they don't break. But Italians are the fashion rulers of the world and they can get away with it. American guys in capris? Not sure many can pull it off or should even attempt such a feat.
This is just further reinforcement to all men out there who do not have a woman to QC their outfits prior to heading out the door:
Invest in a Full Length Mirror. Next to an iron, it will be the best $10 you spend on your wardrobe maintenance.
Enjoy the weekend!
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
And I dont know where I am goin to.
Silk suit, black tie,I dont need a reason why.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl crazy bout a sharp dressed man.
Gold watch, diamond ring,
I aint missin a single thing.
And cufflinks, stick pin,
When I step out Im gonna do you in.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl crazy bout a sharp dressed man.
Top coat, top hat,
I dont worry coz my wallets fat.
Black shades, white gloves,
Lookin sharp and lookin for love.
They come runnin just as fast as they can
Coz every girl grazy bout a sharp dressed man.
Billy Gibbons and the band ZZ Top may not have known what they were speaking about in the hair dept., but I have to agree with their thoughts involving the clothes dept. There really isn't anything sexier then a man who is well dressed.
You know where this going, I ran into someone who wasn't.
Standing on the Metro and scopin' the joint out I came across a guy with a cute mug. (I couldn't check out my Merriam Webster's word-of-the-day because for some reason it didn't get emailed to me at 4-thirty in the morning like it normally does.) So this guy is catching my eye. Nice hair cut, (at least there was hair to cut, right?), good features, brown eyes and that's all I could make out. From the collar down was a mystery because the train was jammed with rush hour DC'ers. For a moment I'm hopeful, could there be a cute guys on the red line after all?
After bobbing and ducking and trying to reposition my stance through the Woodley Park stop, we finally arrive at my destination, Dupont Circle. It's like a cattle call getting off at this stop. All of us vying for the same resources-the one escalator to get us up out of there and back to street level. Alas, I find cute guy and jockey my way past girls walking too slow in their 4" heels to get smack dab behind him. I look to the left as he places his south paw on the railing, no ring. So far so good. We ride the escalator to the top and I look DOWN, to his feet that it is, and what a sight I see. 4 Words: Faded Wrinkled Short Khakis.
Gross.
Wrinkled clothes drive me nuts, but old khakis, too? The only thing that could have possibly brought this outfit any further embarrassment would have been a pair of white socks and Doc Martins. Memorized by the shortness of his pants I realized that they were a good 1.5" away from the top of shoes, in other words they didn't break. I remember learning that expression at the tailor's once when getting some jeans hemmed. He pointed out that I needed them brought up just a tad so that they would still "break" even when I wore heels. Every Mom should teach their boys, (and girls), that lesson, "pants break Junior and if they're not breaking, then they must be shorts."
Just the thought of a guy wearing khaki pants reminds me of late 90's GAP associate. Even they don't wear them anymore. Grant it, in Italy guys wear capris and they don't break. But Italians are the fashion rulers of the world and they can get away with it. American guys in capris? Not sure many can pull it off or should even attempt such a feat.
This is just further reinforcement to all men out there who do not have a woman to QC their outfits prior to heading out the door:
Invest in a Full Length Mirror. Next to an iron, it will be the best $10 you spend on your wardrobe maintenance.
Enjoy the weekend!
Work Hard-Play Harder-Laugh the Hardest
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