Countdown to End of First Semester

So for my Theories of Comparative Literature course we have to write 8 one page "journals" based on one of four questions the professor gives us. These questions are meant to stimulate thinking and to get you to express your opinions but its only one page so its not very scary. You have 3 options to not turn one in. Maybe I should have numbered them because I lost count of which ones I'd done and ended up doing all of my 8 already, so worried was I that I'd not turn one in and get marked down. Sounds good, right? I have an extra bi week to not worry about it. Well, kinda. Except he also has a mandatory one for the week of Thanksgiving, since he's giving us that Tuesday off. So while everyone else does 8 I'll have done 9. Oh well, it wasn't the worst.

The worst is realizing you only have three more weeks to write your 20 page paper for Sense of Place and half your research isn't finished. And that you have a book to finish for that class, reading to do for Theories, a small paper due in that class, a presentation in both and a final in Comp. On what I don't know yet.

Annnnnd, now I'm officially worrying. This comes before the freaking out and panicked breaths. But not much before.

In other news I looked up University College of London's PhD programs in Comparative Literature. The odds are looking up.

CONGRATULATIONS!!!

You did it. I am so proud. I can't believe we actually pulled it off. No contests, either. WHOOOOOOOO. Who would have thought it??? I remember crying four years ago, hearing Kerry's concession. I honesly can't believe it. And I am so proud of Virginia. YOU did it! (Ok, obviously I'm a little drunk. On hope. Duh. ) 

But can I say one thing?? Ok, here it is: DON'T FUCK THIS UP!!!!!! Seriously, dudes. Whenever one party ends up in power you all seem to get some crazy ego trip, as if you don't seem to realize that if you screw it up WE WILL UNELECT you. Yes. It's a fact. Don't disappoint. PLEASE. I want change. I really really do. But I don't want you to end up corrupt, like the Republicans always seem to do. Please, we need change, we want change. We deserve change. GIVE US CHANGE. But don't abuse it. Okay? Thanks, Meredyth

 

A Slight Exaggeration of My Ruined Future

So there is a class I'd like to take next fall. It's Composition Instruction. Or, how to teach composition to students. Why would I want to take such a boring sounding class? Well because I've got it in my head that I can teach at NVCC, or the NOVA community college next fall. And because it would prepare me for all sorts of fun things like 'how to make a syllabus' 'how to record grades' 'how to plan classes'. All things I need if I want to teach at all, and especially if I want to teach next fall. A classmate of mine does this and I'm a bit jealous. So we've been discussing my options after class every evening.
Well registration began Monday morning at 9 a.m. And being the anal retentive grad student I am, I was sitting in front of my computer with the browser window up, all ready to go at 8:58 a.m. And being very impatient about it. I got the other class I'm trying to take next fall. But this one? ERROR. Apparently I need department permission to take this class. I write an email to the professor and call my lovely, lovely English department lady who solves all sorts of problems for us. She said it was for MFA students (who get all the sweet deals at Mason) this sememster. The other MA's get it in the fall. Well I tried to take it in the fall, it was filled. And incompatible with my schedule. She said if the professor let me in I could take it but it was up to her. Or him. Terry is a very ambivalent name.
So I sit and wait impatiently to hear back from the professor, all the time thinking of HOW THIS COULD RUIN MY PLANS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE. Yeah. If I don't get this class I won't get the NVCC job, my resume will look weak, I won't have as much experience teaching as I'd like, I'll get rejected from all the PhD programs I want and end up at a subpar school, with a subpar education and land a subpar job. Ok, maybe I'm overreacting. But I REALLY, REALLY want to teach. Next fall.
I FINALLY get a response from her/him today. Basically saying it's for MFA only and I can just be patient and take it next fall. S/he didn't say that exactly but that's how I took it. So I wrote back in my most professional and polite voice that, yes, I understood it was for MFA, but as I have this teaching opportunity next fall at NVCC I think it would really benefit me NOW! and that I don't want to exclude anyone from the class but if it isn't full wouldn't she pretty pretty please let me take the class?
Next plan: cupcakes.

A Short Letter to GMU's Parking Office

Good afternoon, I would like to appeal my citation based on the fact that I am purchasing a permit from GMU immediately. Since I am purchasing a permit at $200 and the GMU community is making a $125 profit compared to what it would make if I were paying the $75 citation I feel that the difference justifies overturning my citation. Additionally I am unable to pay both, and would prefer to be able to afford a permit, as it will prevent this from happening again. In summation, since I am currently purchasing a permit, and GMU would profit more from this transaction than the other, I argue that overturning this citation would benefit both the GMU community and myself. Thank you.

You've Got To Be Kidding!

For some reason unbeknowst to me (wait, stop, don't you love that word?) my company gave me a bonus. I know, right? The corporate world is amazing! I sit here and chat (or at least, I used to) and do homework, read for class, watch tv and movies AND YET I GET A BONUS?! If I didn't hate the corporate world so much I'd sign up for keeps. My boss even shoke my hand and told me it was for work well done. Please tell me what work?

Ok, yes, I do slack off a lot-- only because half the time they give us no work to do. And when there is work I put my own stuff aside to get it done as soon as I can. I feel it's only fair. But, I feel as though I have now received a what was it? a moral mandate! that says I can keep watching movies while folding 1,000 brochures. YES, 1,000. It's only fair when said brochure features a rosy-cheeked young G.W. Bush that while doing it I get to watch things like Cool Hand Luke and think about breaking out.

Top Ten Things that Inspire Me

Reading this blog I was inspired to create my own list of things that inspire me for those moments when the uninspiring aspects of life get me down. In my first try this is what I came up with.

1. A quality book - I believe that a good book can open your eyes and reaffirm beliefs. Those books can come in unexpected places.

2. Talented people who are also kindhearted - I admire people who have talent but are humble enough to know that isn't everything.

3. Spring - I am inspired by the renewal of life I see in the spring. And how it comes every year without fail, even when I think it might not.

4. Students who work hard - I am in awe of students who are disadvantaged but work hard in order to achieve their goals.

5. Underdogs - I believe that the underdog can make a difference, and that if we give up hope we might as well stop living.

6. People I met while travelling - I believe that meeting people from different cultures and listening to them makes you a better person.

7. My professors - I am inspired by the intelligence of my professors and their desire to share their love of the topics.

8. Music - I am moved by music and its social power.

9. Green initiatives - I believe green and socially responsible initiatives can save the world and our own humanity.

10. Movies - I am inspired to do great things when I watch great movies. And also when I consider how people were able to work together to achieve this communal art.

And here's 11 and 12, which I just thought of: I am inspired by people who sacrifice things for those that they love, and even those they hate.
I am inspired when I hear about people of two cultures overcoming their differences and showing kindness instead of hate in a war-torn country.

Lately I've felt out of sorts, wondering what I'm doing with my life, worrying about the future, graduate classes, weight loss and money. But things have changed a little. Or at least my outlook on them is different. It's hard to explain but I'm becoming more satisfied with going slowly and savoring simplicity. The weight of the issues are still there but it's easier to carry. With sadness comes great joy. I'm always a little confused by Americans' determination to be happy. Who said happiness is an inalieable right? Happiness comes and goes according to the day. It's superficial and fleeting. Joy, though? Joy remains despite the grief life can bring. Joy goes hand and hand with hope, the knowledge that though you might cry through the night relief will come with the dawn. Joy is what I'm working towards.

Great New Hope

I've been kirking out on the DNC this week. Listening to the speeches on the radio, watching them in video on the New York Times website. They've made me laugh and they've made me cry. I was just sitting at my desk wiping away tears after watching Hillary speak. TEARS. I didn't vote for her and I didn't really want her as our candidate but she was so graceful in defeat I forgot all the things I disliked about her. I was so PROUD. proud of our country and proud that she wouldn't let a thing like personal politics get in the way of our country's politics. Proud that the Democratic party is uniting behind one man and urging us to hope, to work and to fight for the change we so desperately need.

Before that I watched her husband, former President Clinton. I know that speech couldn't have been easy for him, I know how much he worked to help his wife, and how much it must mean for him, who so loved the political strategies and limelight to step aside to let someone else take his place as the Great New Hope.

Listening to Joe Biden I was again impressed by him, during the early debates I started to notice what he was saying and agree with him. I think Obama chose a great running mate.

I cry so much these days listening to the hopes of our country bound up in these mortal men and women. I hear Obama's name linked to so many great dreams and desires for our country. I hope we can work with him to achieve them. I hope his fellow politicians can set aside their quarrels for the time and focus on making this country work again. President Clinton said something that really resonated with me. He said "The world has always responded better to the power of our example rather than an example of our power." Let's get back to that.

Summer time--Where's the Easy Living?

This week my co-worker is at the beach and so all the work falls to me. Generally the workload is light for two people. We sit here, bored out of our minds, leaping at a scrap of work. Until one of us goes out of town, that is. And then the work starts to seem overwhelming and frustratingly constant. I run around for a few hours every morning hoping to get bak on top. And I also have to deal with all of the clients by myself. Generally we work with the same people who know how much time it takes to turn around their requests and are always very apologetic when they give us a short deadline. They don't ask too many questions and let us do our work, submit a first draft and go from there.

This week we've had two newer clients who don't seem to understand. And are driving me slowly towards sharp words, something I pride myself on not doing with customers. I've had a lot of experience observing some of the best customer service people ever at Tribeca Grill, and I can attest that even when a customer was insessantly obnoxious or rude they held their tongue until they were far, far away.

I'm trying to be a good student and these clients are generally nice women. But they don't understand how much work I've got going on right now or how the process evolves into the final project. I have this one woman who's manager is getting so anxious about this brochure we're creating for her that the woman keeps coming down to conference with me about what needs to be done. Generally they give us an outline and we create something based on that. Then there's another try and maybe even another before we get it right. But she's so disorganized and unclear in what she wants that I fear this will drag on forever. And she'll keep asking me for things that don't make sense. I wish I could explain to you the actual level of frustration I have.

The other woman requested 30 phone cards. And she got them maybe an hour ago and likes them so much she wants 20 more. By the end of the day. I told her I'd have them for her by tomorrow. I could have them done by today but I'm annoyed. They're sitting here, half way done and I'm just not doing them. I don't have time. I need to do other things.

Like quit my job and enjoy tea on the backporch, getting coffee with friends, hanging out at the pool, eating fresh produce at farmer's markets. Reading books. Lying in my bed for hours. Road trip with friends. Hang out in D.C. Things I did last summer and am missing now that I decided having a full time job was something I should attempt. I actually forget it's summer right now. How quickly the memories fade. Soon I'll just be an office drone who can't understand why there's cobwebs in people's trees and what these young hooligans are doing dressed up like fools. I'll start questioning why houses are lit up with lights and what trees are doing on the roofs of cars. And why there's so much traffic in malls.

Hello My Family

I'm at the beach with my family from Wednesday to Saturday. I've been looking forward to the beach for a few months now. And even looking forward to catching up with my cousins and aunts and uncles. Who knows why? I certainly don't. My dad's side of the family is quite a.... how do I put this nicely? They're, uh, I don't know. They're my family and I'm amused by them and yet I can't stand them at times. I think two of my aunts continue to worry and bother you because their own kids are grown. My aunt Mary-Ann' kids are much more patient than I'd ever be. When we were kids she used to prepare them breakfast every morning. The rest of us would look on in amazement as we poured bowls of cereal for ourselves. 

I prepared dinner tonight. As my friends can all atest I am a damn good cook. My aunts hovered over me asking ridiculous questions and driving me crazy. 

"When are you going to the store?" "Where's you father?" "I don't know. I've been at the beach. You're more likely to see him than me." "Did you get plates out?" "Yes" "How about forks?" "Oh you wanted forks?" (I hadn't. God she was right.) 

And then they melted. It was the apricot baklava. I know it. Suckers.

Tomorrow I'm spending the entire day at the beach where the sound of their voices will be drowned out by waves and lots of beer.

Coffee Break For A While

Here is my new blog: As Food To Life. It's all about food, ideas on food, riffs on food, how to make things, where I get ideas for what I make, and general thoughts of this kind.
I've been realizing for awhile that nothing's happening in my life that I want to write about on here. Don't get me wrong, that's not a bad thing, it's good. I'm living a life and not worrying about how to get to where I want to be. I know where I want to be and I'm going to continue to work towards it. But right now an office job doesn't leave much to enlighten you all about. And everything else is private and shouldn't be broadcast about without regards to others.
I still plan to write on here about how things are going, but I feel the need to edit, write on a theme, expand on something I love. And along with books, food's the next best thing that won't complain when I bring it up. My blog on food will be about food and drink but also the friendship that comes with a good meal, the literature that I love that mentions eating well, and any other ideas I have about food, food, food.
And now I'm going to take a break and eat a salad. I'm starved.

We Have A Winner!

Hahahaha! I feel quite vindicated right now. You've heard me speak the name of the beast here, right? The woman I work with that sometimes terrifies me? Actually occasionally we have very nice chats about things that aren't work related. But when it comes to work she morphs back.

Anyway, I'm editing these certificates of appreciation she had to make for some stupid conference when I come across the typo she made: 'Gorgon Doe'. Obviously Doe isn't his real last name. And neither is Gorgon. It's Gordon. But you know what a Gorgon is?? Medusa was a Gorgon. According to Wiki, the Gorgon comes from Greek mythology and was 'a vicious female monster with sharp fangs who was a protective deity from early religious concepts. Her power was so strong that one attempting to look upon her would be turned to stone'.

Immediately the beast has a new name. That's how I feel about her sometimes. That to look at her I will be turned to stone, quaking in my sandals, bitten by her sharp fangs.

Lost New York

How I feel about New York, both before I moved there and after I moved back has been well summed up in this Vanishing New York interview with Chris Stein of Blondie. Sad, sad, sad. I think New York has lost its cool--temperwise and culturally too. It used to be the center of the scene. How many artists, writers, musicians, directors and actors got their starts there? Countless numbers of young people moved there, broke and idealistic, to follow their dreams. They created their own music, clothes, style and culture. It was co-opted by a hungry nation, hungry for the percieved air of cool in New York. And then, slowly young college grads moved there to be part of the scene, developers discovered this rich cache of iconography and hipness associated with the dirt poor styles that started there. It's been gentrified and swept up, tidied into a place tourists can marvel at but never really see. And of course it's brought millions to the city, but those tourists' dollars come at a price. Lose what you used to be and what are you left with?

Electrical Storm - U2

Outside my office window the sky grew a sickly yellow. Leaves were brushed by unseen brooms and a bird struggled to maintain a straight flight. The trees bent backwards in unison like a corps de ballet. Wind swirled down the spears of the Air Force Memorial as though demons had made themselves visible in the here and now. The sky darkened from its unearthly yellow to a dark gray fog. The city was swallowed under its heavy blanket. Thunder began to rumble and rain fell in gusts and torrents. Lightning zapped through the dust in bright white cracks.
Now the storm has past us by, the rain has slowed and the trees are waving gently, they are washed bright green. The slate gray sidewalks by the memorial shine, as does the air around it. I can still hear the thunder overhead, and see white lines of lightning in the distance, and some still close, but we aren't in the middle of it anymore. Once again we breath a sigh of relief and go back to our work. The immediacy of the electric storm doesn't get in the way of the work day.

I am always awed by the natural power of these storms. So often we forget just what that power means. So often we view it as troublesome or a nusiance in our day. Occasionally we are reminded of what nature can do, Katrina, the cyclone in Myanmar. But here, where nothing seems to happen, where no recessions or house market crashes or food shortages seem to affect us much these little storms are like wake up calls for me. They shake me out of my safe coccoon that I get lost in and wash everything clean from the dust 'more dangerous than silica'.

Lately I have been reading about Johnny Cash and his life and times. It makes me want to do something with my own life and times, the storm reminds me of how wild and unpredictable life really is. Sometimes I forget that and think it is a mundane cycle of working for money, paying bills with that money, going home to your apartment which is supplied by working. I'm trying to find ways to subvert the cycle, to use the freetime I have at my job to get out of the cycle and actually do some living. More tomorrow on the small details of what that living is.

Sunshine Days

Today is such a beautiful day that not even my dead car battery, watery eyes and earth shattering sneezes, tripping on the way into work and sore muscles from yoga can keep me down. Looking out of my large window onto the city below me I feel like one of my plants, soaking up the sunlight. Okay, that sounds cheesy, but it's springtime, I'm allowed to go a little crazy.

The only problem is, I know this mood won't last. I'll start to feel trapped in this office, trapped in the apartment, trapped by my finances. I need a plan in order to prevent this malaise to start creeping back up. I think by reading more, getting a library card for my part of town and checking out parts of Alexandria that I hadn't known about before might be a good way to start. I need to get out more, but I want to save money, not blow it on drinks and going out.
-Find a recipe for Sangria, make a bunch, invite friends over.
-Go to the waterfront in Alexandria (I got lost here a few days ago. It looked beautiful.)
-Have a card night, as suggested by a friend.
-Have a board game night. I'm totally into Scrabble. But Trivial Pursuit is good too.
-Hang out at Gravelly Point. This has actually been on my 'Cheap Things To Do' list for awhile, but now I live and work so close that it makes a lot of sense.
-Dan's Cafe & Joe's Saloon. I'm going out for a drink on Friday with a friend and haven't got much money. Saturday means another drink for a friend going away. More money I don't have. But searching through my trusty friend Yelp I came across these two diviest of dive bars. And they look awesome. I'm down for dives these days. And summer makes me all the more eager to go. So I'll go and check them out. Dan's comes highly recommended because apparently when you order a vodka tonic they hand you a bottle of vodka, a bottle of tonic, a bucket of ice and a glass and you get to make your own. Awesome.

Any more suggestions????

One other thing I'm excited about today is the research I did on my grad professors today. Both of them look very promising and I'm starting to look forward to taking their classes. One of them is currently doing research on Leo Tolstoy, who I am currently reading. Is this a sign? I think so. The other one has a blog all about being an ex-pat in Mexico. Yeah, I know, how does she teach at Mason and be an ex-pat? I think she does both part time. Anyway, here's a link to her blog if you feel like looking. She was just on the Diane Rhem show. http://livingethnography.blogspot.com/

Now get off this computer and go out and enjoy the weather for me!

Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary, How Does Your Garden Grow?

On our back porch there is a beige box that holds a fan (I think). On top of it I have begun my first foray into gardening. Or really, I shouldn't say my first--I had a patch of dirt once, outside of one of our houses, where I attempted to grow the pansies my mother gave me. Apparently pansies don't like full, blazing sun all day long because I succeeded in roasting them, but that was about it. And of course, there was the summer we had a vegetable garden in our backyard. All that remains of that is a ridiculously adorable picture of the four of us kids crowded around a squash. Apparently we grew tomatoes and squash and I remember pumpkin blossoms. And once we grew something we never expected because it grew from the compost we made.



My grandmothers were always tending to something they grew, my maternal one grew tomatoes and sunflowers in the little plots by her door. My paternal one had a garden with lemongrass, a koi pond and a stretch of vegetables staked out on the other side of the house. She was always tending to the garden. I even have a birthday card that says 'Oops, we forgot!' And inside her excuse is that the garden's been keeping her busy.


Ever since I was a kid I've wanted to try my hand at growing things, but I was always too busy reading a book, or going for a swim, or hanging out with friends to bother with it. And it seemed so antiquated. Who was I? A little old lady in a floppy hat with flower print gloves? Who gardens these days? When my mom was weeding it just looked like a pain, hot, sweaty and without much happening. She always got poison ivy all over her hands, too.


But now I have my own herb garden calling to me every time I make tomato sauce or a sandwich with chicken, mozzerella and tomatoes. A strawberry plant is producing little green sprouts that will turn into ripe strawberries if I can be patient, and I feel as excited and proud as if I was making them grow myself. I sort of get how someone could feel like a garden is a home, a child, a friend. Sometimes I go outside just hoping it needs watering. Or just to look at the blossoms on my tomato plant that haven't even started to open. And the visions of one day increasing my garden keep coming. I see beets and carrots and...other vegetable things. And raspberry brambles and blackberries, just like we had in our yard. But no cucumbers. Not ever.

I know I've been talking about growing up and doing all those unpleasant adult things while trying to also remain young at heart but I have to let you in on a little secret--I'm terrified.
Moving into our new apartment has been exciting, and decorating it just as I wish has been sweet, having all my friends over to christen it with a party was fun, but Sunday morning when I woke up puking it was as if all my fears came up with the alcohol I had so unwisely consumed. I had my mother over for Mother's Day brunch, and it gave her and my other sister a chance to check the place out. Then when they left it was nice to sit in the silence of my own home, not being bothered by anything my mother asked me to do. Doing dishes is much nicer when you're not nagged about doing them.
Jules and I made a run to Target, since I had a birthday gift card in hand, and then came home to watch About A Boy in the comfort of her down covered bed. Watching that movie gave me a voice for what I've been feeling lately. A little homesick, actually. Marcus, the little boy in the movie makes an insightful statement, about how a couple's not enough. You have to have more people to be your backups. Having a chain of people makes that frightening feeling of loneliness fade away a little more.
I've never really lived away from home, except that five months in New York and a year living in a freshman dorm I've always woken up to the sounds of my parents' house. There have always been an inordinate amount of people coming through our home, and sometimes I longed for silence, my own space where I could do what I wanted. But often I reveled in the boisteriousness of my home and my family. But things fall apart, as Yeats said, and my family crumbled a little. That safety net of grandparents fell away in a span of a few years, my parents seperated and divorced, my brother joined the army and went to Iraq, my sister got married and also joined the army. And now my mother's selling the house that we lived in for 13 years. By the time I was 11 my family had moved 11 times, but finally we stayed put and I grew up. And now that I am an adult, and supposedly ready to face going out on my own I really am being shoved out of the nest. Part of me is excited about being on my own and part of me is terrified at the prospect of being without that safety net, as restrictive as it could be sometimes, it was also comforting.

I think, like Marcus said, we need more than just two people, right now Julia and I are in the place by ourselves, and soon Kirbs will be joining us, more people will be coming too, someday I'll fall in love and start my own family and the safety net will be one I'm providing. But I wonder if the safety net I create for my children will be enough for me too, or if I'll see past it into the great unknown as I do now, and realize that being grown up means feeling a little unbalanced and uncertain.

Flip That Apartment

The 'partment's coming along nicely. I'm all domesticated and shit. Seriously, I've always been into design and making my surroundings look nice but lately it's been out of control. I guess before my domestic side was resting dormant because I was in my mom's house and even when I did a little it was still her house and her way. I couldn't throw out the godawful furniture that I hated. Or keep her from going all country in the modern box of a house we had. I settled for painting my walls and buying furniture I liked, cooking meals in her (very nice kitchen) for friends on days she would be out so I could pretend it was my own home I was inviting friends over to. And it worked, reasonably well for a number of years. But now...I have my own place and like a little well spring that finally found an outlet I've been kirking out on cheap design ideas for the new place. We don't have a lot of money right now to spend on things so we've been making do with what we could borrow or steal from home. And a trip to IKEA tomorrow when my paycheck comes in...

Jules and I were looking around the place last night and we both sort of sighed in relief. It was ours, and it was looking pretty good. For obvious reasons we've gone with the eclectic look, not too hippie, hopefully. We have the flowery, cushionless kitchen couch covered in a tapestry blanket I had in my closet (I honestly can't figure out where it came from) and a folded down comforter acting as the cushions. Austin donated some end tables that an old roommate left. At first I wasn't sure about them, but I must admit they look good. Especially with Jules' blue Hindu goddess sculpture and the orchid plant she bought me. Pictures and artwork I've been hoarding has come out of the woodwork and found a place on our walls. A kitchen table donated by a woman who overheard Jules at work isn't perfect but it's pretty nice. And then I get to go crazy with all the Design It Yourself stuff I can imagine. Pictures will follow soon, I hope.

My Silver Anniversary & the Golden Girls

Today is my 25th birthday. It's a little anticlimactic, because with everything else going on I almost forgot. I didn't have that thrilled feeling in my stomach like I used to. Ohh, I just remembered birthdays equal presents! How did I forget that?! Wow. Now I do sort of have that excited feeling. Actually, the government gave me the birthday present of the year. My federal tax return came in the mail. How did they know I only had $16 in my bank account and ate ramen noodles for dinner in my empty apartment? They could have sent a card too. Just saying.

Julia brought the check home with her after work, along with a little balloon and a chocolate cake, which we ate at midnight while catching each other up on the day.

Anyone? We still need a Sophia. Peas? Wanna step in? I think I could be a pretty good Rose. Kirbs, you and Julia can fight over who gets to be Blanche and who gets to be Dorothy. I think in this photo there's another little old lady who's Sophia's sister, so Designer you've got a place with us too.

In the meantime, I'll be here, getting slowly older and older. 25 is a big deal. It feels like a very adult age. Fortunately I have an apartment and a pile of bills to make me feel like I deserve to be 25, and lots of fun planned in the form of a birthday/housewarming party to come. And lots of friendly notes to make me feel extra special. Thanks guys!

Proving Youth Isn't Wasted On The Young

Amid all of the growing up I've been doing lately I haven't had as much time to appreciate the perks of youth as I usually do. I love love love being in my twenties. I hope I'll love the rest of my decades as much as this. But when you spend a weekend like the one I just had, it's hard to believe.

As you may have read, I'm in the process of renting my very first, very own apartment. I've been decorating the place in my mind's eye ever since I first saw it, even before I knew whether we'd get it. It's hard to top one's first apartment, especially if one is 25 and has been living at home forever (despite a brief jaunt up to New York).

Saturday I spent showing my future roommate the place and then with my family at home. My brother and an army buddy came up for the weekend. Julia's best friend and her 2 1/2 year old daughter (who is becoming so much fun to play with) came for the week too. Our house was filled with the fun sounds of our family and those friends who feel like family and a child who demanded our finest shoes to wear and ice cream to eat.

That's her over the summer, wearing my pointy toed shoes, those are my barefeet in the background. Who could resist giving her what she wants?

After dinner of suprisingly good lasagne and vegetables that prove my mom was born in the fifties, I went to DC to hang with a friend at a party.

The party was at a friend of my friend's studio apartment. It says a great deal about a group of people that can hang out in a studio apartment and have a good time. It says that we're young and newly liberated and that we don't need a thing like space to have a good time. And it says that the host is an adventurous person who doesn't mind 25 people in an apartment smaller than my new room.

Mark joined me later and quickly became the life of the party, teasing the cute girls (of which there were many) and turning up the music so we could dance. By this point some people had left and so the rest of us joined the dance party that had previously been a single girl. We used Limewire downloads like our own personal jukebox. When the party winded down around 4:30 I gave the dancing girl, a new friend, a ride to the airport, since she was going to be taking the metro and bus in the same direction as me and Mark (who had passed the point of driving early on). Before we left DC she called to doublecheck that she was flying out of Dulles and discovered she was really supposed to be at Regean, so we dropped her off there and headed home at sunrise.

Or, actually we headed to Great Falls and the little hiking trails off of Georgetown Pike, where we climbed a muddy path, crossed creeks, and enjoyed a virginal spring morning by the waterfalls and the silent, silvery spread of the Potomac. After a breakfast in Great Falls we headed back to my place where we crashed while my family got ready to go to the zoo all around. Actually, Mark crashed, I don't know how. I was woken up by hairdriers, shouts of schedules, the smell of pancakes, loud shushes to be quiet! People are sleeping, and the little girl above running around looking like a grumpy angel.

In the evening we headed back to DC to get Mark's car and go to an open bar at Saki with house music. An open bar on a Sunday night from 10-11? Obviously I'm young. I realized this morning that I went out every night this weekend but the only money I spent on drinks was tipping the bartender at Saki. That's a great way to spend a weekend. This weekend is one for the history books or my future books.

Roller Coaster Rides & Apartments

We found an apartment. It was all by chance. I found it and made an appointment to see it butwhen I went in on Friday morning it turned out the one she was about to show me was another 3bd 2ba that was not in our price range but had been renovated, adding on $200. I didn't know this and was disappointed but I figured I was here, I'd look anyway. The lady asked when we were hoping to move and I told her mid May, since everyone I'd talked to had been saying they wouldn't have anything until then, even though we'd been hoping to move the end of April. She continued talking and then paused, thinking and asked if we'd be able to move sooner, because someone had just cancelled last night, a 3bd, 2ba that hadn't been renovated but was within our price range. Yes!! I said quickly, afraid it would disappear before I even saw it.

We looked at it and I was so certain it was for us I could have signed a lease then, but figured I should wait to show it to Julia and Kirby. Julia couldn't make it on Saturday, but Kirby came and took pictures. We filled out the applications and I took them, along with two money orders to the office Sunday. We'll sign the lease Friday and start moving in Saturday. At least, I hope.

When I was a kid and we moved a lot my parents would take us to look at potential houses. The four of us would run though the house, deciding who would get what room, where our toys and stuffed animals would go and what our lives would be like, living in these places. Needless to say, many times I got my hopes up to unattainable levels only to have them dropped back down with a realistic crash. I've always been wary of imagining the future of events that seem certain, ever since. And now, with our new apartment dangling tantalizingly in front of me, promising freedom, shorter commutes, my own decorations and organizations I'm sitting here with my heart in my mouth afraid of that roller coaster fall back down, but enjoying the ride as we go.

The Joys of Apartment Searching

I know I complain on here a lot about the difficulties I encounter in daily adult life. I guess it's because no one ever stops to tell you what it's going to be like when you're a kid. Of course they tell you it's hard and difficult and all that stuff, and sometimes they're right. Sometimes they're wrong. My twenties have been unbelieveably better than my teens. I wouldn't trade these years for anything. At the same time, when you're a teenager you don't have to go apartment hunting.

Apartment hunting for a 3 bedroom apartment reasonably priced (under$1500) reasonably near a metro stop, and with a backporch (we love our backporches) is unreasonably difficult. My sister and I are taking that giant leap into adulthood that we've been dreaming about for years. Problem is, we've only had to dream about it before. It was a nice fantasy, an escape from the annoyances of living at home with your mother, your other sister and her husband, not to mention all the other people who drifted through our home over the past few years.
Now, my mom is putting the house on the market in the next few weeks and Julia and I are getting the boot. We're happy about it, we need to move out and the sooner the better.
Unfortunately, we're having a hard time reconciling our dreams with our realities. Champagne tastes and beer pockets isn't us, exactly. We don't want an apartment that's more like a hotel. We'd feel out of place. But neither do we want a slum. So after weeks of looking I've come back to Julia with an ultimatum. We can have the price and the porch, and we'll try our hardest to get the location, but the time, the distance and the quality might not be what we'd wanted. Meaning, I found us a potentially great place that is further from Julia's job than she'd like, but closer to her school (which she won't be going to next semester, taking a break.), and closer to my school and job. But it's a lot cheaper than we'd thought (bonus!) and near the metro, but isn't available until a month from now (bummer!) I'm getting fed up with practically being laughed off the phone when I call up rental offices and I'm getting fed up with Julia's disappointment when I'm the one doing all the work. I just want a place now. I don't know how much longer I can take living under my mother's roof. I need my own place. I need my own place.

Now I Know Why We Need Cheerleaders

I used to get these panic attacks whenever I thought about my future. I'd get so scared that I wouldn't be able to accomplish all the things I wanted and that I would end up broke and homeless on the street, my teeth falling out and all my belongings in a garbage bag beside me. I'd have grown old without knowing how to grow up. I used to get this feeling when I had to do anything remotely related to paperwork, where mistakes would come back to haunt me, hanging over my head like storm clouds pouring down that rain that leaves you soaked to the bone, and would prevent me from getting a credit card, car, apartment or anything else I might need in this life. I once started crying in the DMV because they had skipped my number and I didn't know how to fix the problem. My mom was with me and she had to go up to them to correct their mistake. It hadn't occured to me that I could just do that.

And when I wasn't worrying about getting a job that would pay me a decent wage I was worrying about how to pay for the stuff I thought I needed, even before I bought it. I had a panic attack when I crunched the numbers trying to figure out if I could move out, if I could buy a car, if I could pay my credit cards off.

Things are going okay right now. I'm not freaking out, even though I know I'll be paying for grad school soon, and moving out of my mom's house for good. But I remember that feeling all too well, and the attitude I took about it, not wanting to think of all the downsides, wanting just to stay in that self contained coccoon of childhood a little longer. Others might be able to do it, but I wasn't ready. I admired the people who could get it together, work as hard as they had to in order to make the money, the grades or whatever it was that needed to be done. I think I'm starting to learn how it's done, but it hasn't been an easy task. Having someone like my sister starting to go through it and needing my help makes me realize I know more than I thought I did. It makes me realize that taking those little steps I insisted on taking on my own--the steps I knew I could handle, and the ones that scared me a little but I knew weren't going to destroy me, helped me build a foundation I could stand on.

Moving to New York, getting a real job- I was just bluffing my way through it all. I was terrified. I had to carry around a Kenyan coin in my pocket to rub when I got nervous. Not because it was a good luck charm in the traditional sense. But because it helped me remember that I had been across the world by myself at 19, and if that worked out well then what could New York give me that I couldn't handle?

There is this list of quotes tacked up on my cubicle wall that I used to look at when I got scared in my grad class. I look at them from time to time, taking little sips of courage from them. Here are two of my favorites:

Many of our fears are tissue-paper thin, and a single courageous step would
carry us clear through them. -Brendan Francis

There are very few monsters who warrant the fear we have of them. -Andre
Gide

I read them when I think my fears are going to come crashing over me and I think about how far I've come and what I've done. It seems like nothing sometimes, and compared to Mozart, or this girl but compared to what I thought I would achieve at those moments when I was scared? They're huge. I also realize just how important it is to have a cheerleader there, someone who will listen to you spout these fears and won't give you solutions. Will be there when you need a hug because you failed miserably and will go up to the frightening DMV people to fix the little things that make it easier for you to tackle the bigger ones. I'm grateful that my mother was this kind of cheerleader and I'm looking forward to being one for my sister and any friend that will take me up on the offer.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Find out what it means to me--OR ELSE!

Man! When the head graphic designer talks down to me like a child it makes me so glad I went to college all those years to be treated this way!
And when I speak to her and she doesn't look at me but goes on with her work as though I'm not there. God I love being ignored as though I'm this pest that she can't be bothered with.
Or when I come into work thinking I look pretty cute in work clothes, which is not that easy to do! And I see her face looking at me with this expression of disapproval. I'm so sorry you can't fit into anything decent and are forced to wear black daily, and clomp around like a tank in ugly clogs.
I really, really wish that things like spilling hot coffee all over her purposefully, or grabbing her shiny, fat nose and twisting weren't considered assault. Or doing things like Amelie does to rude people wouldn't result in me getting caught and fired. Hmm....that is an idea. I wonder what Amelie would do in this situation?
I wish I could make horrible faces at her or kick her cubicle. But I guess part of growing up means not being immature in the work place, right?

Best! Weekend! Ever!

I had pretty much the best weekend ever. Except for a couple of minor things to worry over, I really enjoyed it tremendously. I took Friday off from work, and chose the best possible day to do it too. It was absolutely gorgeous, hot and lazy. Flowers blooming and fat bumblebees buzzing through the perfumed air. I woke up early enough to do everything I wanted, but not so early that I didn't feel rested. Went downstairs for some coffee from my french press coffeemaker, which I miss so much on weekdays, and found a letter from George Mason. I got into their M.A. program in Literature. I have been doing little happy dances ever since, insanely excited about the prospect of returning to school. Getting to read books and study, discuss and think for two years makes me ridiculously excited. I know, I know, huge dork. Unbelievably, but I've been flogging away here in the real world for about 9 months, and the thought of using my brain again, for something I love, is refreshing. Of course, now I'm worrying about how to pay for it, and the thought that I might end up hating what I've spent the past two years preparing for, but if my current excitement is any indication, I've chosen wisely. And, my very dear friend, Corey, of the Corey Beasley Story, will be joining me on the quad, to look cool as usual.
The rest of Friday was spent exactly as I imagined it. I went to get breakfast with the Designer and the Pea, and then took a walk with the Pea, discussing art and Mason. I headed into the city that afternoon for a summer haircut, shopped at Paper Source and Urban and then caught a movie with a friend and had a beer in the summery night.

Saturday I was woken up by Mark to go downtown and check out the National Portrait Gallery with Alex, which if you have not seen yet, I encourage you to do. The three of us meandered through the halls looking at portraits of people we had studied in History, and so much more. The museum isn't named very well, but it is very interesting.

Then, it was off to a birthday dinner where friends from all over gathered together to celebrate Mark's birthday. I won't tell you how old he is, because he wouldn't like that, but it is a very grown up age (something I can't say about him!! just kidding! kinda). It was really nice that everyone was available to celebrate his birthday with him. I'm sure I would have shed a few tears if it had been me, because there new friends and old friends and the friends you make when people grow up, get married and engaged. I had the $20 I had to borrow from Julia to spend, which did not go far.
Afterwards we went to our monthly minimal techno night at Be Bar, where I ran into an old boss from Tower Records. Unfortunately, everyone was drinking around me and I was too broke to even take advantage of the drink specials. We sort of left early, at least early for what we normally do. It was sort of strange going home at 12pm, but also a relief. I felt a little bad though, that all of Mark's friends made an early night of it, but we had all been out to dinner for three hours before, three hours that were hardly seen by a waiter.
Sunday Julia and I started the Great Apartment Hunt, in the rain. It was nice to come home and watch movies after that.

Spring

She looked up from her book and saw the bright sky in front of her as the sun staved off its descent, promising longer and longer days. A feeling of bouancy and life rose up in her as she thought of her plans for the night. A secret smile slipped over her face like a shadow and she thought of all the summer nights that would shortly be coming. She was still young and there were to be many more. Many moments of excitement and hope to come.
She recognized the bouancy in her. It came out now and then and she had been waiting on its arrival so she could turn into her excitable, laughing self again, daring herself and her friends on. It had been a few weeks at least since she had felt this joy rising in her. She felt brave and life and love for everything carried her up higher. Perhaps it was the light, and spring's arrival too. Suddenly she felt alive again, having cast aside all doubts, fear or anxieties like cherry blossoms in a breeze.
She waited for these moments so that life--the life she intended to live--could begin again. She was so young that disappointments in the past were shaken off like cherry blossoms in a breeze. She was young, but better yet--she knew it.

Death & Taxes

I  just paid $408, $408! for someone to do my taxes. Holy Fucking Shit. I don't know how I feel about that. And considering the fact that I owed  less money than that. Wow. The only way I can feel better about that fact is that I had tax forms for 2 different states, one of which is New York. As my taxman (I have a taxman?!) says "New York is pretty hairy." Don't I know it. I lived there for five months, never saw so much hair in my life. Or American Apparel V necked tees. 

And the fact that I get very confused by the intricacies of tax language. He was saying stuff and I wasn't understanding any of it. It was like watching my dad help me with my homework, only to let him figure out all the formulas for me. He'd say something and I'd just nod, "Sure, whatever you say must be the best way to do it. x + y - z = 5 ? I guess, why not? Let's go with that." 

But I'm getting some money back, from that sweet assed stimulus packet. Yeah, I think it's a dumb plan, but I also need a sweet assed computer. And the rebate I'm getting back is going to cancel out what I'd owe, so I owe nothing! 

So, why the discussion of taxes? I mean other than the fact that it's in the description of my blog? Is there any other reason I need to mention taxes? Because I'm a grown up. That's what it means. I don't know what it's actually like to be an adult so I judge it based on obvious and stereotypical cues that I think prove I'm an adult. How's it working? Am I getting more boring and deadened as this blog goes on?  

April Is The Cruelest Month

I know T.S. Eliot meant by that quote that I have co-opted as a title that April teases you, going back and forth with the weather, making it chilly one day and beautiful another, never letting you get your bearings or let your gaurd down. Maybe that's why it's been a particularly difficult week. Or maybe it would be a bad week even if it weren't April.

It's going to be a painful week. It has been already. I've not gotten enough sleep, forgotten my wallet, sat in traffic (more miserable than listening to Bush speak), been more broke than I care to think about and scheduled 2 doctor's appointments for the week, on top of all the rest.

I had a dentist's appointment on Monday, and I have a laaaaady doctor's appointment on Friday. What a good way to start and end a week (And is it just me, or did you totally do the Little Britain 'ladies' voice in your head right then?). Someone told me I should do a pro & con list to decide which one is worse. But I don't think I can. They're both pretty awful. But for very different reasons.

I hadn't been to the dentist for awhile, thanks to my dad's tangled mess of an insurance problem, and I think the dentist decided to take it out on me because I told her I have good teeth so I didn't really worry about missing the dentist. My teeth were hurting for the rest of the day. Not just twinging, like they usually do, but hurting so that I was afraid to eat solid foods, hurting so much I thought one of them might be a little loose. Then of course, there's the pleasant polishing of the teeth, and the rinse and spit flouride treatment that keeps you from eating for half the day. And the lady doctor, who will make me feel uncomfortable and ask all sorts of questions so that I will not only feel physically uncomfortable, but mentally too. Maybe I should take the rest of the day off.

Last night I went to a comedy club open mic night in a Best Western. I probably don't have to set the stage for you any more than that. You can probably picture exactly what this club was like, and you're probably thinking 'Don't do it! You're going to regret it! Why would you put yourself through that? You, a person who has never seen Meet the Parents all the way through because it's too painfully embarassing!' It's true. I haven't ever seen it all the way through, because I feel so bad for Ben Stiller's character, when all he wants to do is impress the parents and marry the girl. If I can't watch a scripted, pre-recorded movie full of embarassment, where the actors signed up for the task, how could I go to a live open mic night comedy club where people embarass themselves without meaning to?

When comedians don't have anything actually funny to say but have to think of something they usually resort to sex jokes. I quickly learned that there is a limit to how many jokes about sex I care to hear. It is a very low limit. After that night I pretty much don't care to ever hear about sex again. Or ever hear a security gaurd in his late 50s talk about how good sex with a parapalegic can be. I don't need to know. I need a shower, is what I need. And I don't want to know about a skater kid's money making schemes using the one thing he's got going for himself-- endless amounts of time and lotion. I went to the bathroom twice to give my ears a break.
The MC, a very funny man, who happens to be dating the friend that convinced me to go, came over and said, 'Please come back, don't let the awfulness of tonight frighten you away, it's usually better than this. And it is FREE. REMEMBER THAT.' I guess I can't complain. Or ask for my money back. Stabbing myself might have been more enjoyable than the comedy last night. But, because this week hasn't been painful enough, and I feel like dragging it out, I'll probably be back next week for more.

There once was a lion who caught a mouse between his paws, and toying with the mouse before he ate it he said, "You are weak, pathetic, ridiculous and helpless." The mouse, tired and lost, says "I've been sick."

This is an anecdote from one of my favorite authors, talking about life, and how we never see ourselves as the weak, pathetic things we can sometimes be. And when we are faced with those relizations we make excuses. It's one of those anecdotes that make me sort of want to cry and laugh through my snotty tears at the same time, remembering how ridiculous life is, even when it's beautiful.

It's All About the Details

Ahhhhahahah! That is the sound of me gleefully free from the mindless repetition of cutting 1,500 brochures with my exact-o knife. Don't even ask why we had to do that. My company is a lot like me--we'll gladly do things the hard way to acheive perfection. Nevermind the short cuts, we like exact-o knifes! Anyway, we finished yesterday and can I tell you, I literally sang Zippity do-dah on my walk to the metro. Honest. It was so beautiful outside and I was freed from work and had been watching a musical online that I remembered from childhood (we watched a lot of musicals as kids). Who sings musicals on their way home from work? This girl. I also know all the words to 'How Do You Solve A Problem Like Maria?' I sang that one too. You're probably wondering why you read this blog right now. I would be too.

Today I came into the office and my desk was cleared, I could sit and drink a cup of coffee and read the New York Times and I couldn't figure out why I felt so happy. Then I remembered, it was Thursday, I was done with that work and had time to relax a little. I had an amazing sandwich waiting for me in the fridge. When I made it last night (because I make my lunch the night before) I actually did a little dance at how good it looked, and how much I was going to enjoy it the next day. Again, you're wondering why you're reading this? I know, I know. But it's been a long week, and I'm tired. But I am relaxing, enjoying the freedom and the view in front of me. Why, I might even get some writing in. The possibilities are ENDLESS!!!!

The Ties That Bind And Gag.

Sometimes living at home can be fun. Free cable and internet. All you can eat tomato paste and 7 grain crackers. Piles and piles of useless furniture collecting dust and reminding you of your childhood.
Sometimes living at home is less than fun. Not being allowed to play Rock Band past 11 with your friends. Waiting until Perry leaves to throw parties, even the ones that do not include hookers, coke on the glass topped table and massive amounts of beer and big, hairy bikers. Having to restrain your make out sessions to cars (if you're lucky enough to have make out sessions, not being able to find boys that think living at home is less than lame).

And then, there's the family. Sometimes having them around to keep you entertained is special and fulfilling. Sometimes it's exhausting and loud, like when my mother and sister watch American Idol and compare their opinions with Simon's. Sometimes it's just confusing.

Take Saturday for example. We have a small couch in our kitchen, and a table with chairs all around it. The table is small but it does take up space in the middle of the kitchen. Nonetheless, it provides a place for me to prep food, and a place for us to gather around for a cup of tea with friends. More importantly it provides a place for us to rest our plates on when we want to eat. However, my mother decided that the couch could fulfill all these functions just as well as the table, and she moved the round table into the dining room to take its place next to the OTHER table that already sat in the the dining room. I must confess, I helped her move it. I naively thought it would be moved back, after she finished the mopping she was about to start. And then I left to go to Virginia Beach for the weekend, so the absence of the table in the kitchen hadn't struck me until Monday night, when I came home and mistakenly thought we were moving out sooner than expected. The kitchen sat, bare except for a flowered couch, with chairs left over from the table, crowded around it.
When we had spaghetti for dinner I asked aloud, where are we going to eat it? thinking that we were going to be like a real family, my mother, sister and I, sitting down together. Again, I was mistaken. My mother sat in front of the TV, my sister on a stool by the counter in the kitchen, and I sat at the computer desk, continuing the conversation I was having online.
"I think we should move the table back." I said. I was ignored.

In the morning it was no better. My sister sat at the counter in her bathrobe, eating a bowl of cereal. My mother leaned against the counter drinking coffee. I asked where I was supposed to eat my breakfast. My mother said, "I find that you can sit on the couch and put your plate on the chair in front of you and eat."
"You know what's easier than that?" I asked, before I had had my morning coffee, "A table."

Thanks for Keeping It Real, Mason.

Today began badly. I woke up and went right back to bed. Too bad I couldn't stay there. It didn't seem so bad when I finally got up though. I made it into the shower and got dressed easily enough. I didn't even need to change outfits. I was happy enough with what I settled on. Looking out the window I could tell it was going to be foggy, but I wore my new blue wedges anyway, compensating by wearing a warm button up. I made myself breakfast, the last blueberry bagel was all mine. And I even remembered to pour my perfect French-pressed coffee into a carry cup so I could take it with me and stave off the brown mud at the office a little longer. I used the last of my filet mignon to make an excellent sandwich and was ready to face the day.

But somewhere between my house and the office the day turned on me. Traffic on Rt. 7 forced me to take a shortcut through Great Falls that I didn't know so well. Looking at the clock I groaned. It was 9:42am and I hadn't even made it to the George Washington Parkway yet. I was in trouble.
Getting into the office I'm greeted with the news that the 300 pamphlets I hand cut all day Friday were not up to par and we get to start over. We have 1500 due by the end of the week. We only have 250 completed.
Then I called GMU to check on my letter of recommendation. I had forgotten to get my professor to send one to GMU at the beginning and she was kind enough to print another copy and stick it in her mailbox so I could hand deliver it to the Admissions office. Taking out that extra step I thought would save some time. A week later and I get an email saying my application is incomplete. I call and they say it probably just hasn't been processed yet, everyone's on Spring Break. Call back next week they say. So I do. This morning. Apparently I didn't drop it off at the Graduate Admissions office like I should, even though that had never been mentioned and they said they would put it in that mailbox for the Graduate Admissions people to check. So I am told to call the General Admissions office to check. They tell me to try calling the Graduate Admissions, or the Graduate ENGLISH Dept. I call the Graduate English Department. Nothing. No one has heard of my application at all, because the Graduate Admissions people are still holding onto it, waiting for the letter that the General Admissions people have lost. I start to cry. I have already recieved 2 rejections out of the 4 schools I applied to, I'm expecting to hear a 3rd from the other school in London, but I hadn't really cared, because I want to go to Mason. I've been counting on going to Mason, and now, all of a sudden those hopes and expectations might be dashed, thwarted, deferred! Thanks to an idiotic underclassman working as a receptionist in Admissions, who wasn't quite awake enough at 9:00am to take my letter and actually read the name on the mailbox that she slipped it into. THANKS MASON.

I emailed my professor again, crossing my toes and fingers, hoping that this sort of thing happens all the time and my 3rd request for this letter isn't the one that sends her over the edge. She's a really nice professor, kind and humorous, but I don't want to give her the impression that I'm a foolish, thoughtless, unreliable person, who shouldn't be going to grad school at all, and certainly shouldn't be recommended by her. Because that's how I feel right now.

Speakeasies

Last night I met up with my friend in Old Town Alexandria to catch up, as he had been in Europe for the past month playing shows all over Germany, in Amsterdam and Paris. That asshole. Just kidding, it was nice to talk to someone about recent trips to Europe. Especially someone who feels the same way about travel etiquette as me.



We met on the corner of King St. as the evening got dusky and the lights in the trees lit up. I had just passed a Greek restaurant that smelled incredible so we went to check it out. I like it when those spontaneous meal decisions that are based on smell and feel alone turn out to be wise ones, because I have never been so entertained at a restaurant before in my life. Did you know that it is apparently a Greek tradition to throw plates on the ground while people are dancing around them? Yes.

We sat near the second level of the restaurant, which allowed us a perfect view of the two old musicians as they slowly set up their mics and guitars. Then, a chubby nine year old boy from a nearby table made his way onto the dance floor. I wish we had cameraphones for that moment so that I could show you his dance. It was unlike any other I've ever seen. It began by him hopping up and down on one leg, the other held up in the air as he sawed it, like it was a washboard instrument. Don't ask. I don't know why. But he seemed to be loving it, and the crowd was too. Then his mother came out on the dance floor too, taking his hands and twirling around with him, his tongue hanging out like an innocent, overeager Gene Simmons.

Our waiter, and three other waiters joined in, forming a line of dancers, who probably weren't greet at all, but had been taught the dances. They grabbed an older woman from the table in front, who looked as if she had seen a gypsy dance or two in her day. She didn't care that her husband was left dumbfounded when Greek waiters stole his wife away to wind through the tables. At last they came back to the dancefloor, where they formed a circle, and those plates I mentioned? They got tossed at their feet. Dollar bills got thrown in the air. We took sips of our licorice tasting ouzo and ate our anchovies.



After that, it was hard to find a place where the entertainment could compare, but we had made it our purpose to go to a speakeasy that night. It's this little place where--shhhh. I'm not supposed to be telling you this, so listen carefully--it's only open when the flag is in the window and the blue light is on. You have to be dressed properly, and ring the buzzer, having made reservations, or hoping to get a seat at the bar. You'd probably want to sit at the bar anyway, because that's where the action happens. No, I'm serious. This is a place that takes its cocktails very seriously. As in, they have dropper bottles of flavoring and jars of fresh herbs. The bartender cuts his garnishes to order, and if you get the Sherlock Holmes he burns a sliver of lemon peel then runs it along the rim of the glass for that extra smoky flavor. Then he finishes the drink off with a brisk rub and slap of mint leaf. I don't know what the slapping does, but he does it with panache. And he's quietly listening to everything you say as he moves around the bar doing a dance much more refined and elegant than that of the Greek dancers. We were talking about Hot Toddies because that's what he recommended I use some honey liquer for, brought back from a farmer's market in Germany. I couldn't remember what liquor was used with it and he corrected my guess of whiskey. Apparently it's brandy. And you don't use Earl Grey, they use a jasmine tea in theirs.
All in all, an elegant sort of night on the town with a friend. I wish I could make it my local bar.

Freedom From Work

I was reading one of my favorite blogs today- Girl's Gone Child and her post about her great grandmother's life made me want to immediately quit my bland office job in favor of sunny writing rooms in the Frank Lloyd Wright homes of Southern California. Yes, I know that that's not a very realistic version of what would happen if I quit this job, but it does harden my resolve to not remain in this gray office forever. Occasionally I look around me and am forcibly reminded of the Theodore Roethke poem, Dolor which only depresses me further. I think this desire to work in an environment that is more open, and creative is one of the very strong reasons I want to go back to grad school and become a professor. It is a way for me to have the creative and intellectual freedom that I want so much. Staying in this world is deadening. You lose too much of your spirit here. I cannot condone this career path. I want something else. Even if I have to be a wandering nomad to seek it.

Freedom of Speech

Sometimes I write posts on here and forget they aren't in my own private world, or my notebook journal (which I really should start keeping again, much less trouble). That people might read them and disagree! I have a hard time with knowing what I should and shouldn't put out there. I know this cyberspace sometimes seems like an anynomous realm, but I learn all too often that it's a very small neighborhood.

So please, comment, criticize, take me to town on things, but know that when I post on here it is often out of frustration, passion or simple musings. They are opinions that I try on like clothes to see which ones fit me, which ones will stick. It is very common for me to feel like a retraction should be made, maybe I need an omsbudman to edit me. I don't disagree with what I write, but I often change perspectives. I think it over a little more and realize, with a flush of horror, that I wrote something for everyone to see that I don't want anyone to see. Or that I might have said something off the cuff that might have hurt someone I care about (a fact that was made all too clearly to me on Friday night). I'm slow, people! I spend so much time in my own head that I forget what it's like in other's heads, and it takes a while for that process to filter out things that I should restrain myself from saying.

Sometimes I say things and forget how they might be viewed, or how I might be viewed by them. I forget that you're not all in my head, that you have your own thoughts and opinions. And I know this sounds juvenile, like I'm a two year old that hasn't realized that other people still exist when they leave the room. I still want you to like me! Really like me!
I'm not saying this as an excuse, that you should ignore what I say because I don't really mean it, like some dumb ingenue that shouldn't be allowed to speak to the public. Or that I immediately disagree with everything I've ever said and flip flop like a politician. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm still trying to figure out where I stand on issues, where I belong, and how to censure myself enough that my friends don't hate me, but speak my mind enough that I have something to say creatively. Read this blog if you will, but don't hold it against me if you disagree. And I will try to leave the philosophical discussions that go on in my head out, but the amusing anecdotes of twentysomething life will remain. The only problem is NOTHING'S HAPPENING!

Love Is The Answer, But Sex Raises Some Interesting Questions.

You go down to the pick up station

Craving warmth and beauty

You settle for less than fascination

A few drinks later you're not so choosy

When the closing lights strip off the shadows

On this strange new flesh you've found

Clutching the night to you like a fig leaf

You hurry

To the blackness

And the blankets

To lay down an impression

And your loneliness

-Down To You, Joni Mitchell

In the vein of Carrie Bradshaw I present a love & sex question. I hope you don't mind.
"Is it wrong to sleep with someone you don't love? Someone you care for, but don't 'like like that' as the kids say?"
I wonder about this as I think about all the cruel, hurtful things we do to one another, out of our own selfish desires. I'm not talking about getting my feelings hurt because of misplaced affections, I'm talking about the moral toll my actions take, not only on myself but on another. Granted, sex between two consenting adults who are not in relationships with others isn't genocide, terrorism, theft or anything like it. But I also think that the little things in life count too. Just as opening the door for a mother with a stroller is a small kindness, there are small hurts too. Is this situtation one of them? Can you be a good person and still allow yourself to indulge in selfish desires? Because sex for sex's sake alone is a selfish desire--wanting to be desired for your physical attraction, using someone else's attraction to you to make yourself feel better, that's selfishness. Is this just a small example of the world's obsession with instant gratification, living only for one's self, and tossing aside anything that acts as a barrier to stop us from what we feel like doing?

Perhaps it is because I have been re-reading Jane Austen, and thinking about how different the acceptable social behaviors of those times are, compared to today's. It almost feels like fiction from another planet, not from a culture that existed 200 years ago and influenced our own. Today it is perfectly acceptable, indeed even expected, for people to sleep together who are not married, have no intentions of marrying, or barely even know each other. Jane Austen's heroines are so very proper and concerned with moralistic behavior, caring for others and concerned with what is good, proper and kind. In comparison my own behavior, which I consider pretty good normaly, seems out of sync with what is good and kind.
How can sleeping with someone that you care about, but not love be good or kind? It isn't. Sex is, I was always taught, something that expresses love and increases the intimacy of two people who want to be closer. The fact that it is fun is just an added benefit. When I had sex for the first time I wanted it to be with someone I cared about, and did love, even if I wasn't planning on loving him forever. I was fortunate enough to have that, and I felt no guilt. I didn't feel guilty that I had 'pre-marital sex', as I thought I might. I felt fine. I wondered what the big deal was.

And now that I have a little more time and experience I see that even if it isn't the deadly sin I was led to believe, engaging in sex without those commitments (be it marriage or other ties that bind) does let other problems slip in. I'm not even talking about the obvious ones, pregnancy scares, STD concerns, etc. I'm talking about the ways that sleeping with another person can make you vulnerable, something that is never comfortable unless that saftey net of love is there to stop your fall. Sex opens up possibilities I hadn't considered before. The possibility that I could get hurt, get dumped, get rejected, get lonely and do something unwise in order to feel less lonely, get drunk and it gets easier.

I have no answers to this moral situation. I agree with that Woody Allen quote above, Love is the Answer, and while I'm waiting for it Sex does raise interesting questions. I don't want to give up these selfish impulses, but I also want to be a person who cares for others. I want to be free to love who I want, like the intellectual bohemian I pretend to be, but is that just an illusion? Do we call it 'free love' because we don't want to own up to the posibilities that love is not free, that sex is not as easily forgotten as we seem to think?

It's Only 11 a.m.

You ever have those days when you wake up and realize your alarm didn't go off and the only reason why you woke up was the warm sun on your face and a yarling cat trying to get some love? Yeah.
And then you crawl out, worrying about the fact that you're going to be late again to work, and just as you're about to dash into the bathroom for the fastest shower known to man you hear your sister shutting the bathroom door. Twenty minutes later you figure you should probably change up your morning routine and have breakfast before showering because it's like waiting for a pot to boil with her.
After your shower, where you decide you like your hair dirty and tussled today, even though everytime you decide to leave it unwashed you begin to regret it around 2pm, you get dressed in about three variations of what you will eventually wear, ignoring the fact that you are seriously late.
And then your sister gives you a ride, but first she has to google map it, and sit there and wonder about the best route to get to her location after she drops you off at the metro. And makes you listen to Carrie Underwood and deep voiced country boys make awkward jokes about pop culture while she's too busy talking to bother slowing down, so that she can then slam on the brakes and make you wonder if maybe you would have been safer just staying in bed today.
And then the train closes its doors just as you're coming down the escalator trying not to look like an idiot as you run along in heels. The next one doesn't come for 12 minutes, making you even later.
And then the bus decides its going to sit around hoping for last minute stragglers while you impatiently huff and try to ignore the time, that was so easily forgotten earlier.


But at least what you're wearing is colorful, warm, comfortable and stylish enough to make you hope The Sartorialist is in town early for his opening and maybe possibly, hanging out in Rosslyn metro to take your picture.

Six to Ten

And now we are six...Oh Winnie the Pooh.
1989- Six years old We move back to Charlotte, NC. Another house at the end of a cul-de-sac. When we move in Wendy and I get my aunt's old bedroom furniture, complete with a canopy bed that my friend eventually breaks by swinging on it. It is white, and princess-y. Our pillows are lacy and peach colored. We have a peach colored canopy and dust ruffle too. We have white ruffled curtains at the windows. This beauty is almost too much for my sister and I to bear. But, we have to share the bed. Wendy rolls around in the bed until she is pressed up against me and I can't sleep with her hot little limbs and rhythmic breathing on my neck. I start wondering if a chainsaw could cut through a bed, giving us each our own.

My mother comes upstairs one afternoon to find Wendy and I playing tea with a makeshift tea set. Books are used as plates, batteries from various toys are teacups. She buys us a real set.

On my side of the bed I set up a 'nursery' for my babydoll Megan. Every night I put her to bed and every morning I wake her up to feed her plastic bottles that make the milk magically disappear. I can still smell that distinctive powdery smell of plastic Megan. Wendy has a doll baby named Rachel that is similar to Megan, but instead of having lifelike eyes that open and close Wendy's doll has eyes that are scrunched close. To make her mad I constantly refer to her baby as 'Blind Rachel'. As in, 'Wendy, did you leave Blind Rachel on the floor again! I'd never do that with Megan. You must be a bad mother!'

The next door neighbors have two children, a girl, Jennifer, a year older than me, and a boy, Christopher, who is Wendy's age. We spend all of our time in the playhouse my dad put together in the backyard, or making up clubs in our room. When a hurricane hits we spend all of the next morning prancing around the neighborhood in Jennifer's dance tutus while the adults clean up broken branches and shingles.

Jennifer is in second grade at the local elementary school. My mom home schools me. I am so jealous of Jennifer's obvious coolness, and the fact that she gets to ride the school bus, that I decide I want to go too. One morning I wake up early, put all of the books I know how to read into a little purse that will be my backpack and go into the bathroom to take a shower, like I've seen my parents do in the morning. My parents wake up when they hear the water running and find me trying to figure out how to make it hot. They decide it is time for me to go to public school and I start soon after. The second day I discover I hate public school and want to be back safely home.

1990-Seven I might be wrong about this, but from what I can remember it was around the time of the Gulf War. I remember being afraid my dad would be drafted. Somehow I knew that had happened in previous wars, but I didn't understand that it wouldn't happen in this one. I was seven and I understood what a draft was! How did I know that?

I had a birthday party, the only home video my family owns, since we never had a camcorder. My friend's father videotaped it and this video has gone down in Byrd history. To this day my friend the Pea occasionally breaks out into a Southern accent and quotes me.
Let me explain the awesomeness of this video. I am turning seven, sitting in the middle of the living room with presents and friends all around me. I open a present and get very excited. My mother sticks her head into the the room: 'What did you get, Meredith?' she asks. I hold it up proudly and say...'It's saidwaulk chaulk!'
Later on we have an obstacle course designed by my parents, consisting of filling up an aquarium with water at the bottom of a little hill, while wearing my dad's giant sneakers, and crawling through things until eventually reaching the slip 'n slide at the bottom. Julia, who is two, doesn't understand the taking turns concept, so she decides she's going to fill it up whenever she damn well pleases. I have to wrestle the cup away from her to take my turn. Wendy, ever the supportive cheerleader, is jumping up and down like she's desperate to pee, squealing 'Go Meredith! Go Meredith!'

1991-Eight years We move to Montreat, NC, near Asheville. I begin the third grade. There is an apple orchard across the street from us and we make apple pies as the leaves change. I still remember the crisp sweet smell of those apples in the cool dusky mountain air.
We play in creeks in the spring, imagining the dust swirling around our ankles to be dust angels, and pick raspberries and blackberries from the tangled thickets along the streams. We slide down the sides of mountains getting black dirt and leaf mulch down our pants. There is a baseball field down the hill and across the street where we meet up with friends to play baseball after school in the fall. I think I knew, even at the time that this must be the most idyllic place to grow up as a child.

1992-Nine years We are on the way home from swim practice one evening when we look up to the mountain we live on and see black plumes of smoke. There is a forest fire and they aren't letting anyone into the cove. My mother manages to get us through because my grandmother, who is 80 is still at the house. Once we arrive home my mother realizes there is no danger because the fire is a few streets up the mountain from us. We children don't understand this and in a mad panic we run into the house to gather our most precious posessions. Coming out of the house we drag giant suitcases behind us filled with our stuffed animals. We are desperate to escape the fire but my parents see no reason to leave. After dinner we drive up to the opposite side of the cove and look across the valley to see the fire burning on the mountain above our house. This sight does not comfort my siblings and I. My mother has to lie with me until I fall asleep.

1993- Ten years A couple of days before I turn ten I tell my mom I'm really relieved to be leaving nine behind me. 'It feels like a great weight off my shoulders' I tell her. We are driving in the car and she starts laughing uncontrollably.
I have my first girl-boy party, inviting all the guy friends I have, including my crush. All but one have to cancel, for various reasons. Ben, the only one not to get sick, have a Boy Scout camping trip, or something else going on, is stuck playing charades with six girls.

Hail to the Thief

I just watched the President's helicopters land from my office window. Weird to see an obvious symbol of what goes on in this city go right past me. I'm not used to thinking of Washington as anything other than my home. You can tell it's the President's helicopter because there's three of them, all in a row, equidistant from the other, and they all circle around and land right where I estimate the White House to be.

Zero to Six

Because you probably don't want to hear me moaning and complaining about my job or my impending rejections from various graduate programs, but I should still probably post something on here I thought of something that fulfills all the requirements of this blog--specifically, that it remain about me (or what I'm thinking and doing). Here now, in a blatant plagarism of a blog I admire, Nothing But Bonfires, I will tell you choice tidbits about my life so far. We begin.
Zero to Five

1983, Zero- I am born in Columbia, South Carolina. My mother wants to stop for a Big Mac on the way to the hospital but my dad refuses. They finish various errands, such as going to Walgreen's for film, my mother waddling behind my father in the store, and then go to the hospital. After I am born my father brings my mother a Big Mac. I am called Tweety Bird by the nurses because I am little and my last name is Byrd. I am born the Thursday before Mother's Day, just in time for my mother to qualify.

I am an only child for almost two years. My favorite hobbies include being pulled around in a box tied to my father's waist as he walks around the living room reading a book, and rolling across the floor to get to my destinations.

1985, aged one and nine months- We move to Nashville, where my sister Wendy is born. My maternal grandmother moves in to help with the new baby. Ten days after Wendy is born in January my parents go out to a movie with my grandmother and the baby. I am at a family friend's. A snowstorm starts and my parents are trapped, forced to get a hotel and use towels as diapers. I make snow cones with my babysitter. Apparently I am fascinated by the baby, but unclear as to gender or what, exactly it is, because when I want to hold the baby, sitting on the couch I say, 'I hod it.' I am also quite independent, telling my parents, "let ME do it!" when they try to help.

1986- aged three We move to Charlotte, North Carolina. In the apartment next to us is a little boy my sister's age, whose mother keeps him on a rainbow wrist leash. We stay with his family when my mom goes to the hospital in the middle of the night to give birth to my brother, Michael Gordon. At the hospital when we first saw him his forefinger was crooked in his mouth, like a little old wise man, as if to question who these people were.

When my mom cries because breastfeeding hurts my sister and I run for band aids.

1987-aged four We move into a house that has been built just for us. I make friends with the girl next door who fills me with jealousy by riding around the cul-de-sac with her power wheels Barbie car, or until she runs over her sister and it gets taken away from her. I get a Snoopy skateboard for Christmas but am too afraid to ride it down the hill, so I ride it while sitting. This will come to characterize my relationship with any sort of extreme sports from here on out.

My little sister, Julia, is born thirteen months after Gordon. When my mother's cousin's husband comes with her to visit he asks if we've been eating raisins. He thinks the dried up umbilical cord on her belly button is a dropped raisin.

Julia has a hernia that must be operated on. For years afterward I tell her they operated on the wrong end and took out her brain instead. Sadly, she believed me.

I ask my mom if we can move to Sesame Street. She says we can. I'm convinced I'll be living next to Oscar and hanging out with Big Bird, with my parents and without my siblings. We never move there.

At a church picnic my friends and I are playing in the creek and looking for crawdads when I step on something. I drag myself up the hill to where the adults are playing volleyball and make a commotion with my bloody foot.

When we go visit our friends out in the country the boys throw shed snakeskins on me. We swim in the lake and get leeches and play in the woods, getting ticks. But, Jeff, the older brother carries me through a poison ivy patch and gives me a shiny rock. My heart is stolen by this chivalrous act.

1988- aged five We move to Winston-Salem, North Carolina. There is one of those 'living history' areas in Old Salem. We join 4H and my friend's older sister gets to handsew her costume and be one of the living historians. I think I'm still a little jealous. When we visit Old Salem we go to the bakery and buy amazing bread and gingersnaps that are so thin they could cut your tongue.

The night before my sixth birthday a hurricane hits and my mother and sisters and I huddle in the bathroom. My brother and dad are stuck at a friend's house. I am supposed to get my first storebought cake for my birthday but the store was damaged. My mom has to make my cake, and hours after the party the store calls to see if we still want it.

In 4H I have to make a pillow on the sewing machine, and then model it in a fashion show. My mom makes the rest of my outfit. I'm so shy I can barely stand up there. My sister, Wendy, stands on her chair in the audience clapping and cheering me on. She's incredibly proud and maybe a little envious. I must have seen her because in the picture I'm clutching my pillow tightly and my smile is so wide it looks like it's about to leap off my face.

Sunshine

This morning I woke up with the sun. There is something amazing in waking up to sunshine through your window. I did hit the snooze a few times but once I was up I rejoiced in the bright light. FINALLY. I got ready in record time, had a nice little breakfast of coffee, peanut butter toast and pear slices (Oh, I should have added some cheese!). And I read the New York Times online while eating. I came across this little celebration of grammar and it made me laugh, then question my own use of the semicolon, which I feel is too flagrant and wildly wielded. You can tell I'm an English major by that statement alone, can't you?

I got out of the house and to work early, but my lovely silk pants caused me to trip on the stairs, fortunately no one was around to witness my fall from grace.

Here's hoping I continue to have a graceful, peaceful day and even get some writing in.

Hmm. I think if I decide to go blonde, as someone asked if I ever considered, she's going to be my inspiration: Kim Novak.

My Funny Valentine

This morning as I was waiting to catch the bus for work I saw a bunch of high school students waiting for theirs. Standing out in the early morning cold with them reminded me of being back in high school. That was my school bus stop all throughout it, after all. A few years ago that would have been me. They were standing around in those big puffy down coats that I remember became so popular when I was there. I thought about how I sort of wanted one back then, even though I thought they were a little dumb, because at that age you're always trying to fit in, feeling out of place, not wanting to conform but wanting to belong somewhere. And as I stood there I began to wonder, what kept me from becoming a boring Reston suburbanite? Why didn't I succumb to those puffy jackets that were all the rage, and Aeropostale, and A&F? I could say it was my inherent dislike for looking like a slob, or the fact that I read about other places so much it made me want to see them for myself, and strive for something better, and those are partially true. I find it very hard to try and force myself to become something I'm not. And I definitely was not formed in that mold.
But something else helped me realize that not conforming to those ideas could be cooler, more interesting and lead to adventures unimagined by the likes of most of my peers-- my partner in crime, my 'hetero life partner', the one person besides my family, who will keep coming back for more, will put up with my stupid mistakes, laugh at all of my jokes, get into international trouble with me, tell me honestly what she thinks of the clothes I try on, and most importantly, inspire me to greater heights, my closest friend of 15 years.

The Designer's uniqueness and individuality, her desire to set herself apart from the pack, through clothing, music, travel or whatever it may have been, definitely inspired my own search for something greater than what was in front of me. So on this day, the day when we profess our love for those around us (whether prompted to by Hallmark or otherwise), I'm professing my love to the amazing friends that I have, but most importantly, to one friend in particular. I just want to thank you for being such an awesome, inspiring, cool friend to my young high school self, and to myself now. I know we fight sometimes, and make stupid mistakes, get annoyed with the other and get tangled up in each other's affairs, but you really have been an amazing friend, one I'm grateful for, and one I hope to always have.
Love, Meredyth

Modern Times

Wow. There's nothing like filling out a generic, self-assessment profile with an acronym that doesn't mean anything for your corporate HR department to make you feel like an unimportant cog in the giant industrial machine. They want you to assess yourself, but if you do it too specifically you might have to take a class in order to learn how to improve, so everyone does them in a vague enough way to avoid having to do anything about it. In order to help develop some more perseverance I could have taken a class called 'Turning the Pessimistic into the Optimistic' but I decided that would only make me more pessimistic about the future of humanity, and my HR manager, Ms. Sparrow (who is anything but birdlike) in general. Besides, aren't I showing more perseverance if I persevere in my belief that corporations are a parasitic monstrocity?

Rock Band Meets Real Life

So my sister Wendy came back from her Army training in Fayetteville, NC, bringing along her Korean husband, a slew of Army training and more importantly (at least for this blog) a Wii and Rock Band. Julia and I have been playing nonstop since Monday night when she broke it out. Or, well, Julia's been playing and I've gotten to play the few times I can tear it away from her. Because we only play the guitar. Or I should say, we only play the guitar decently, as compared to the drum set. To hear Julia or I play the drums is like hearing a deaf, white baby play (you, know, because we're tone deaf, and rhythmless, and uncoordinated, just like a deaf white baby). It's pathetic. We aren't so bad when we play the drums together. It's like a two headed baby then, I play the kick pedal, she attempts to hit the drum on beat.
But, when we play the guitar, we can hear our band fantasies coming true, or about as true as they will ever get for us. It's one step up from air guitar, but an important one. I practiced the same two songs over and over last night and can now say I get about a 94% Awesome on 'Maps' by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and 88% on the Pixies' 'Waves of Mutilation'. I'm feeling pretty proud of myself.

You know how sometimes you'll be so focused on something that you then dream about it?
I had a dream last night, after shredding the Pixies for about 45 minutes, that the applause-o-meter in the game was applied to my real life. Wouldn't that be awesome? You go to get dressed and run for the bus and when you make it on you hear a crowd cheering in your head, the little green thermometer goes up, and you have more life/energy for the rest of the day?
Or you finish a task extra well and get added points? Or you're in bed with someone and you can see you're doing pretty well based on the way things keep, um, rising. And I mean the green approval meter. Because how else do you know when you're doing really well? I wish my life did have an approval rating that I could check out, and try harder if it wasn't going up. That would be as awesome as being able to 'play' your favorite songs for a crowd.