A few months ago, I met someone in my neighborhood.
We were having a nice, pleasant conversation, and then she asked me what religion I practiced. I said I was a Unitarian.
Her face literally dropped at that point, and she fixed me with a cold stare.
"You must stop this," she informed me gravely. "This is not good. You must stop your adherence to this false religion and you must find the true God."
I said I appreciated her concern, but I was happy with what I practiced.
She continued to stare at me. "I will pray for you. I will pray for your eternal soul, that you do not burn in hell."
Honestly, if heaven is full of delightful people like her, I can't wait to get to hell.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Proof That I Am Not Evil Incarnate (I know, I was totally shocked too)
I have four modes of lunch:
Today was option #4. This is an easy option, as I have to walk across the quad and downstairs, and the nice lady at the counter knows exactly what I want.
After lunch, I made my way out of the bowels of SUB I, and as I gained the front sliding door, I heard an insistent BEEP BEEP BEEP.
I turned and looked at the ATM, which was flashing something. "Do you need more time?" the screen asked. I pressed "no."
A card ejected.
Oh dear.
I called the credit union and reported the card missing. The customer service rep thanked me, said she'd tell the customer his card was safe and unmolested.
I felt really good about me.
Now I'll have to kick THREE kittens tonight, instead of just one.
- No lunch at all
- Lunch off-campus
- Lunch on-campus, in which I eat a slice of startling delicious pizza and a salad
- Lunch on-campus, when I go to the on-campus bar (AN ON-CAMPUS BAR, PEOPLE)
Today was option #4. This is an easy option, as I have to walk across the quad and downstairs, and the nice lady at the counter knows exactly what I want.
After lunch, I made my way out of the bowels of SUB I, and as I gained the front sliding door, I heard an insistent BEEP BEEP BEEP.
I turned and looked at the ATM, which was flashing something. "Do you need more time?" the screen asked. I pressed "no."
A card ejected.
Oh dear.
I called the credit union and reported the card missing. The customer service rep thanked me, said she'd tell the customer his card was safe and unmolested.
I felt really good about me.
Now I'll have to kick THREE kittens tonight, instead of just one.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
The accident of aught-one
In February 2001, I was sitting, not moving, at a red light at the intersection of Elmwood and Main, in Columbia, when a car plowed into the back of Priscilla.
The car was driven by a guy who was drunk and unlicensed, and there were 6 witnesses who stuck around to talk to the police. The driver was actually taken away in handcuffs, as were the other passengers. I figured this was a slam-dunk.
But one should never assume anything with insurance companies.
The driver that night was not the owner of the car. The owner was IN the car at the time of the accident, was even one of the guys arrested . . . but the owner's insurance company refused to take responsibility for the accident, because, and I quote:
"The owner of the car says he never gave the driver permission to drive the car. Therefore, the owner's insurance agency cannot take responsibility for the accident."
So, let me get this straight: Six witnesses all saw what happened. The driver was drunk and had no license. The owner was IN THE CAR AT THE TIME OF THE ACCIDENT. But my insurance had to pay for it because the owner said the driver did not have his permission to drive the car WHILE HE WAS IN THE CAR WITH HIM.
It ended up being quite expensive, because my insurance company required me to leave my car at the body shop while the two insurance companies negotiated for a month over who would pay for what. I had to drive a rental car the whole time, to get back and forth from work. Then, my insurance company had to pay for both my rental car and the accident.
So my rental company dropped me. For an accident that was not my fault.
Oh, how I love insurance companies.
I just hope this doesn't turn into that. It makes me nervous that there's "uncertainty" (I'm being kind) about the owner of the car, and that they didn't give me insurance info.
The car was driven by a guy who was drunk and unlicensed, and there were 6 witnesses who stuck around to talk to the police. The driver was actually taken away in handcuffs, as were the other passengers. I figured this was a slam-dunk.
But one should never assume anything with insurance companies.
The driver that night was not the owner of the car. The owner was IN the car at the time of the accident, was even one of the guys arrested . . . but the owner's insurance company refused to take responsibility for the accident, because, and I quote:
"The owner of the car says he never gave the driver permission to drive the car. Therefore, the owner's insurance agency cannot take responsibility for the accident."
So, let me get this straight: Six witnesses all saw what happened. The driver was drunk and had no license. The owner was IN THE CAR AT THE TIME OF THE ACCIDENT. But my insurance had to pay for it because the owner said the driver did not have his permission to drive the car WHILE HE WAS IN THE CAR WITH HIM.
It ended up being quite expensive, because my insurance company required me to leave my car at the body shop while the two insurance companies negotiated for a month over who would pay for what. I had to drive a rental car the whole time, to get back and forth from work. Then, my insurance company had to pay for both my rental car and the accident.
So my rental company dropped me. For an accident that was not my fault.
Oh, how I love insurance companies.
I just hope this doesn't turn into that. It makes me nervous that there's "uncertainty" (I'm being kind) about the owner of the car, and that they didn't give me insurance info.
Fun with traffic
Today I was running a brief errand, very near our house. I was on Ellenwood, a two-lane road that connects two major streets; this road runs through our neighborhood.
I drove down Ellenwood toward Arlington. When I neared the point where Ellenwood ends at Arlington, there was a car some few car-lengths in front of me, nearing the stop sign where Ellenwood and Arlington meet. The car, let's say a Hyundai, stopped at the stop sign. I stopped to wait for a few pedestrians to cross the street; they crossed between the back of the Hyundai (which was still at the stop sign) and the front of my car. They were not in a crosswalk, by the way; this is basically a residential neighborhood, with a lot of foot traffic, and no one pays attention to where the crosswalks are.
Once the pedestrians had reached the other side of the street, I pulled up behind the Hyundai, which was still there. I wasn't a car-length away from it, but I wasn't right behind it, either. I was a good distance from the Hyundai.
There was traffic on Arlington, so I waited for the Hyundai to turn right. Suddenly, the Hyundai just . . . backed into me. And I don't mean a little "tap." They didn't accelerate or anything, but they hit my car pretty hard.
And then drove off down Arlington.
Their flight was not the fastest one, though, so I was able to memorize their license plate as they pulled out onto Arlington. I couldn't pull out right behind them, because another group of cars came, but as soon as I could, I turned right onto Arlington as well. I called 911 as I drove down to the next light and turned onto another residential street so that I could gather my wits and wait for the police to arrive.
Well, imagine my surprise when I saw the Hyundai there; they were sitting on the street I'd just turned onto, and they were preparing to get back out onto Arlington. But they couldn't go anywhere, because the traffic was so backed up at the light. So I jumped out of the car and started writing down their plate information.
The passenger, a young man probably in his early 20s, got out then, and came over to me. I doubt he would have gotten out of the car had I not gotten out and started writing things down.
He asked if I had any damage to my car; I did, and I showed it to him. The passenger gave me a piece of paper with a name and a phone number; the name on the paper ("Joe Brown") was his brother, he said; the phone number was Joe's, and Joe owned the car.
By this time, the driver, an older man, was out of the car. I got the older man's name ("Bob Smith") off of his driver's license. I wrote down "driver" next to it. I asked them for their insurance; they said they didn't have it with them, and reiterated that the car was Joe's. They asked if I'd called my insurance company; I said no. Before I could tell them that I'd called the police, they said that they had to go, they were going to a wedding . . . but that had to be the most casual wedding I've seen in a long, long time. They rushed off, reiterating that this was Joe's car, and that was Joe's phone number, I should get ahold of him. Fine, whatever. I had Bob's (the driver's) name, I had the owner's name and telephone number, I had the license plate info. I was not happy, but I couldn't imagine physically subduing these guys.
I'd called Curtis, and he came to be with me, as our house is about 2 minutes away.
Then the police got there. And things got interesting.
They got the information I'd been given, they got my info, and after filling out some paperwork, they asked me, "Now, who exactly was the driver?"
"Bob Smith."
"And did the passenger give you his name?"
"No."
"And who did they tell you the owner of the car was?"
"Joe Brown."
"Actually, no. Bob Smith is the owner."
"Wait, what?"
"The driver is the owner. When we did a search, we learned that Bob Smith is the owner. We're going to look further into who this Joe Brown is supposed to be."
Well, that's a hell of a thing.
Further bulletins as events warrant. I have to call my insurance agent now. Mostly I just don't want this to turn into another version of an accident that happened in 2001. Which will be in another installation . . .
I drove down Ellenwood toward Arlington. When I neared the point where Ellenwood ends at Arlington, there was a car some few car-lengths in front of me, nearing the stop sign where Ellenwood and Arlington meet. The car, let's say a Hyundai, stopped at the stop sign. I stopped to wait for a few pedestrians to cross the street; they crossed between the back of the Hyundai (which was still at the stop sign) and the front of my car. They were not in a crosswalk, by the way; this is basically a residential neighborhood, with a lot of foot traffic, and no one pays attention to where the crosswalks are.
Once the pedestrians had reached the other side of the street, I pulled up behind the Hyundai, which was still there. I wasn't a car-length away from it, but I wasn't right behind it, either. I was a good distance from the Hyundai.
There was traffic on Arlington, so I waited for the Hyundai to turn right. Suddenly, the Hyundai just . . . backed into me. And I don't mean a little "tap." They didn't accelerate or anything, but they hit my car pretty hard.
And then drove off down Arlington.
Their flight was not the fastest one, though, so I was able to memorize their license plate as they pulled out onto Arlington. I couldn't pull out right behind them, because another group of cars came, but as soon as I could, I turned right onto Arlington as well. I called 911 as I drove down to the next light and turned onto another residential street so that I could gather my wits and wait for the police to arrive.
Well, imagine my surprise when I saw the Hyundai there; they were sitting on the street I'd just turned onto, and they were preparing to get back out onto Arlington. But they couldn't go anywhere, because the traffic was so backed up at the light. So I jumped out of the car and started writing down their plate information.
The passenger, a young man probably in his early 20s, got out then, and came over to me. I doubt he would have gotten out of the car had I not gotten out and started writing things down.
He asked if I had any damage to my car; I did, and I showed it to him. The passenger gave me a piece of paper with a name and a phone number; the name on the paper ("Joe Brown") was his brother, he said; the phone number was Joe's, and Joe owned the car.
By this time, the driver, an older man, was out of the car. I got the older man's name ("Bob Smith") off of his driver's license. I wrote down "driver" next to it. I asked them for their insurance; they said they didn't have it with them, and reiterated that the car was Joe's. They asked if I'd called my insurance company; I said no. Before I could tell them that I'd called the police, they said that they had to go, they were going to a wedding . . . but that had to be the most casual wedding I've seen in a long, long time. They rushed off, reiterating that this was Joe's car, and that was Joe's phone number, I should get ahold of him. Fine, whatever. I had Bob's (the driver's) name, I had the owner's name and telephone number, I had the license plate info. I was not happy, but I couldn't imagine physically subduing these guys.
I'd called Curtis, and he came to be with me, as our house is about 2 minutes away.
Then the police got there. And things got interesting.
They got the information I'd been given, they got my info, and after filling out some paperwork, they asked me, "Now, who exactly was the driver?"
"Bob Smith."
"And did the passenger give you his name?"
"No."
"And who did they tell you the owner of the car was?"
"Joe Brown."
"Actually, no. Bob Smith is the owner."
"Wait, what?"
"The driver is the owner. When we did a search, we learned that Bob Smith is the owner. We're going to look further into who this Joe Brown is supposed to be."
Well, that's a hell of a thing.
Further bulletins as events warrant. I have to call my insurance agent now. Mostly I just don't want this to turn into another version of an accident that happened in 2001. Which will be in another installation . . .
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Happy . . . mostly.
I love my new job. I love what I do. I love that I work at a university library. I feel valued, and valuable, and trusted. I'm treated like an adult, and a professional, which is a welcome change from my last 2 employers. My coworkers are nice.
I love our new city. We have so much to do, and so many places to go. We've just barely scratched the surface. I love how diverse it is, and I love seeing the White House on CNN and thinking "That's 30 minutes away."
I love that we live near old friends up here. It's nice to move to a place with built-in friends, people you love dearly and haven't seen in years. When I told Julie I was moving up here, she screamed. When I told Sherri, she cried.
I love that there are Columbia transplants up here with us.
And I love that I have my husband up here with me, experiencing this new phase of our lives right along with me. In my life, I've barely been able to get a guy to go to a wedding with me, and Curtis uprooted his whole world, left a city and a state where's he's lived for the greater part of his life, to move up here with me. I know that that seems like a given: he's my partner, we're a team, we should do things together. Well, it doesn't always work that way. He could have said "I'm not leaving. I'm staying." But he didn't. Because I, and my happiness and well-being, are important to him. I've been the one who left (because the guy adamantly refused to untie the apron strings), I've been the one who gave up a dream (because the guy adamantly refused to move with me, no matter how many different options I offered), and I've been the one who was left (because the guy wasn't serious enough about me to take me with him, although I was willing to go). And then I found a wonderful man, who loves me, values me, wants to spend his life with me, and wants me to succeed and be happy.
There is so much to love about living here. I am so lucky not only to have found a job, but to have found a job that I sincerely love. I am so lucky to have wonderful friends up here. I am so lucky to have my beloved husband up here.
I am genuinely happy. Most of the time.
But today, for some reason, I'm terribly sad. It's a combination of things.
It's missing our house. I saw a commercial for Lowe's and started crying because we used to go buy plants to make our house look nice.
It's missing the places we went in Columbia. I've gone to some great restaurants up here, but I haven't found "our" places yet. There's no Utopia. There's no Mr. Friendly's. There's no Art Bar. There's no Sheraton. There's no Gourmet Shop. And, of course, at the end of those statements, there is "yet." I didn't find Utopia, Mr. Friendly's, or the Sheraton 4 months after I moved to Columbia. Yes, I found Art Bar and the Gourmet Shop within a month or two, but I have to remind myself that Columbia is a smaller place, a more closed community. I will find the off-beat, casual restaurant where the owners know your name and make you a cake for your graduation party. I will find the upscale restaurant where I eat lunch at the bar and, to quote Cheer's, everyone knows my name. I will find the bar where I feel at home, where I suddenly find the perfect community. I will find the right hotel bar. I will find the perfect chicken salad. But I haven't "yet."
It's missing the things we did in Columbia. Artista Vista, Runaway Runway, and the Rosewood Crawfish Festival all happened this week. There are so many things to do up here, I know, but we haven't found our patterns yet.
It's missing the friends we made in Columbia. We've been extremely fortunate that we've had friends come to visit: Crystal, J, and Carolyn have already been up to see us. Tracy will be up in a few weeks. Jim, Jill, Wade, Kim, and Erika are all making tentative plans about coming up. Erica has mentioned visiting. Carolyn wants to come up again. Shannon is talking about coming up, maybe with the new baby, which would be exciting. We're making plans to get to SC during the summer, and to spend more than a week in December/January; we'll be staying with Curtis's family. But I miss our friends. I missed Jim and Jill's birthdays. I won't be there when Lulu is born.
I'll be okay, but I'm just down today. 95% of my time, I am so thrilled to be living up here. I love my new life. But in that 5%, on days like today, I'm happy . . . mostly.
I love our new city. We have so much to do, and so many places to go. We've just barely scratched the surface. I love how diverse it is, and I love seeing the White House on CNN and thinking "That's 30 minutes away."
I love that we live near old friends up here. It's nice to move to a place with built-in friends, people you love dearly and haven't seen in years. When I told Julie I was moving up here, she screamed. When I told Sherri, she cried.
I love that there are Columbia transplants up here with us.
And I love that I have my husband up here with me, experiencing this new phase of our lives right along with me. In my life, I've barely been able to get a guy to go to a wedding with me, and Curtis uprooted his whole world, left a city and a state where's he's lived for the greater part of his life, to move up here with me. I know that that seems like a given: he's my partner, we're a team, we should do things together. Well, it doesn't always work that way. He could have said "I'm not leaving. I'm staying." But he didn't. Because I, and my happiness and well-being, are important to him. I've been the one who left (because the guy adamantly refused to untie the apron strings), I've been the one who gave up a dream (because the guy adamantly refused to move with me, no matter how many different options I offered), and I've been the one who was left (because the guy wasn't serious enough about me to take me with him, although I was willing to go). And then I found a wonderful man, who loves me, values me, wants to spend his life with me, and wants me to succeed and be happy.
There is so much to love about living here. I am so lucky not only to have found a job, but to have found a job that I sincerely love. I am so lucky to have wonderful friends up here. I am so lucky to have my beloved husband up here.
I am genuinely happy. Most of the time.
But today, for some reason, I'm terribly sad. It's a combination of things.
It's missing our house. I saw a commercial for Lowe's and started crying because we used to go buy plants to make our house look nice.
It's missing the places we went in Columbia. I've gone to some great restaurants up here, but I haven't found "our" places yet. There's no Utopia. There's no Mr. Friendly's. There's no Art Bar. There's no Sheraton. There's no Gourmet Shop. And, of course, at the end of those statements, there is "yet." I didn't find Utopia, Mr. Friendly's, or the Sheraton 4 months after I moved to Columbia. Yes, I found Art Bar and the Gourmet Shop within a month or two, but I have to remind myself that Columbia is a smaller place, a more closed community. I will find the off-beat, casual restaurant where the owners know your name and make you a cake for your graduation party. I will find the upscale restaurant where I eat lunch at the bar and, to quote Cheer's, everyone knows my name. I will find the bar where I feel at home, where I suddenly find the perfect community. I will find the right hotel bar. I will find the perfect chicken salad. But I haven't "yet."
It's missing the things we did in Columbia. Artista Vista, Runaway Runway, and the Rosewood Crawfish Festival all happened this week. There are so many things to do up here, I know, but we haven't found our patterns yet.
It's missing the friends we made in Columbia. We've been extremely fortunate that we've had friends come to visit: Crystal, J, and Carolyn have already been up to see us. Tracy will be up in a few weeks. Jim, Jill, Wade, Kim, and Erika are all making tentative plans about coming up. Erica has mentioned visiting. Carolyn wants to come up again. Shannon is talking about coming up, maybe with the new baby, which would be exciting. We're making plans to get to SC during the summer, and to spend more than a week in December/January; we'll be staying with Curtis's family. But I miss our friends. I missed Jim and Jill's birthdays. I won't be there when Lulu is born.
I'll be okay, but I'm just down today. 95% of my time, I am so thrilled to be living up here. I love my new life. But in that 5%, on days like today, I'm happy . . . mostly.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Slow Saturdays in DC
There's a lot to do in DC, but right now, while Curtis looks for a job, we're generally lying low on the big-night-out thing. Don't get me wrong, we're going out and doing things, particularly searching out restaurants and visiting the free stuff (monuments, museums), but we're being careful with money, and trying to keep our adventures to a minimum.
Besides enjoying nights in, I'm pleased that we have IFC Saturday nights. Last Saturday, the offerings were Affliction
Reservoir Dogs
and Bad Lieutenant
Which, alone, was great. But add in one of my favorite movies of all time, if not my favorite, and it was a great night . . .
Tonight, the greatness continued. First, there was Chapter 27, which I'd never seen, but was glad I had the chance to do so tonight. Later, Bully is on; I saw that, and it's quite disturbing. Thirteen is also on, and while I find that movie terribly entertaining, I don't think it's quite the chilling gaze into the dark soul of American Teens it's supposed to be.
But, now, there is The Usual Suspects.
And I love this movie. It always reminds me of Tracy, although it is not, as Curtis thought, her favorite movie. That would be The Godfather.
I also just like the shock at the end. There are many critics who find the twist at the end too "cute," and I get that. But I don't care; I still love that movie. The first time I saw it, I'd been talked into watching it by someone whose taste in movies I found questionable at best, so I sulked through the entire thing, unimpressed and somewhat bored. The second Chazz Palmintieri looked at the fax sheet, though, I started to pay attention. I watched it again, I believe immediately after watching it the first time. And every time I've watched it since then, to this day, I start to smile when he looks at that fax. Even though I know what's coming.
I also like thinking about the career arcs of the actors in it.
Benecio Del Toro, for example. I'd never seen him before, and found his mushmouthed slickster Fenster attractive and charming. Then I saw him in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which piqued my interest. His "Viva Las Vegas" montage in Snatch locked me in. Then he was in the heavy-handed Traffic and 21 Grams, and I let out a sigh.
And then there's Kevin Spacey. These were his glory days: this movie, Se7en, LA Confidential. Then American Beauty, which really didn't age all that well . . . and then came K-Pax and Pay It Forward, and, God help me, The Life of David Gale.
Of course, there's Stephen Baldwin. He was in this movie. And then he was in Bio-Dome. And that's all I have to say about Stephen Baldwin.
Next week, it's Another Day in Paradise, a movie I've never seen; Dancing at the Blue Iguana, an entertaining little ensemble piece about strippers, chock-full of stars; and The Notorious Bettie Page, a movie we borrowed from Carolyn. Pulp Fiction is also on, and I believe I'm the only living human being who does not think Quentin Tarantino is a genius. But that's another blog post.
February 26th, I'll be at a wine-and-cheese party at a friend-of-a-friend's house. And either later that night, or perhaps the night before, at a midnight showing, I will be at a theatre in DC, watching one of the best worst movies ever made.
Besides enjoying nights in, I'm pleased that we have IFC Saturday nights. Last Saturday, the offerings were Affliction
Reservoir Dogs
and Bad Lieutenant
Which, alone, was great. But add in one of my favorite movies of all time, if not my favorite, and it was a great night . . .
Tonight, the greatness continued. First, there was Chapter 27, which I'd never seen, but was glad I had the chance to do so tonight. Later, Bully is on; I saw that, and it's quite disturbing. Thirteen is also on, and while I find that movie terribly entertaining, I don't think it's quite the chilling gaze into the dark soul of American Teens it's supposed to be.
But, now, there is The Usual Suspects.
And I love this movie. It always reminds me of Tracy, although it is not, as Curtis thought, her favorite movie. That would be The Godfather.
I also just like the shock at the end. There are many critics who find the twist at the end too "cute," and I get that. But I don't care; I still love that movie. The first time I saw it, I'd been talked into watching it by someone whose taste in movies I found questionable at best, so I sulked through the entire thing, unimpressed and somewhat bored. The second Chazz Palmintieri looked at the fax sheet, though, I started to pay attention. I watched it again, I believe immediately after watching it the first time. And every time I've watched it since then, to this day, I start to smile when he looks at that fax. Even though I know what's coming.
I also like thinking about the career arcs of the actors in it.
Benecio Del Toro, for example. I'd never seen him before, and found his mushmouthed slickster Fenster attractive and charming. Then I saw him in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, which piqued my interest. His "Viva Las Vegas" montage in Snatch locked me in. Then he was in the heavy-handed Traffic and 21 Grams, and I let out a sigh.
And then there's Kevin Spacey. These were his glory days: this movie, Se7en, LA Confidential. Then American Beauty, which really didn't age all that well . . . and then came K-Pax and Pay It Forward, and, God help me, The Life of David Gale.
Of course, there's Stephen Baldwin. He was in this movie. And then he was in Bio-Dome. And that's all I have to say about Stephen Baldwin.
Next week, it's Another Day in Paradise, a movie I've never seen; Dancing at the Blue Iguana, an entertaining little ensemble piece about strippers, chock-full of stars; and The Notorious Bettie Page, a movie we borrowed from Carolyn. Pulp Fiction is also on, and I believe I'm the only living human being who does not think Quentin Tarantino is a genius. But that's another blog post.
February 26th, I'll be at a wine-and-cheese party at a friend-of-a-friend's house. And either later that night, or perhaps the night before, at a midnight showing, I will be at a theatre in DC, watching one of the best worst movies ever made.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Finishing up my series of posts about The Big Weekend
A few weeks ago, Curtis and I drove to the Uno pizzeria at Potomac Mills to meet up with Julie and Sherri. That was a good, but surreal, experience. It was, as always, wonderful to see Julie and Sherri; that goes without saying. (I know, I know: So why did I say it? Yeah yeah ha ha shut up.)
No, it was surreal because, for one thing, after being joined at the hip for some time, suddenly we were 6 - 8 hours apart after we graduated from Virginia Tech. The only times I saw them after 1997 occurred because I was in VA or they were in SC for a bridal shower, or a baby shower, or a graduation party, or a wedding, and then I went back to SC or they went back to MD and/or VA, or we all met in NC for a weekend.
Now, suddenly, I'm an hour and a half from Sherri, 40 minutes from Julie.
On one hand, one BIG hand, that's fantastic. I get to see them a few times a month, rather than a few times a year.
On the other, it's so strange. Because I'd become reluctantly used to seeing them a few times a year. IF I was lucky.
The strangeness contributes to my belief that I don't really live here. I feel like I'm on an extended vacation. Every time I've been in DC, well, EVER, it's because I'm here for a weekend, a week at the longest, and then I'll be leaving.
It started in 1983, when I was in the Gifted Program in War, WV. The Gifted Program was one of the few things I liked about my childhood, for a lot of reasons, one being the yearly end-of-year trip. In May that particular year, we went on a trip to Washington, DC, which was the first time I'd ever gone. We went to a variety of monuments . . . we saw a show at the Kennedy Center . . . we went to the Smithsonian. My favorite was the Natural History Museum. Also at the Smithsonian snack bar: I had the best hot dog I've ever eaten. Not kidding. We also went to the zoo, where I was enchanted by this wee teeny antelope called a dik-dik.
That's a baby, but they don't get much bigger than a small dog. Like 2 feet tall. TEENY.
But I digress.
Later, when I was in undergrad at VT, I heard about these mysterious areas in The DC Metro Area, collectively known as NoVa. I imagined these places to be fantastic wonderlands. Reston, you say? No doubt the streets are made of candy.
During undergrad, I went to DC a few times, but always just for a few days, and it was one big party the whole time I was there.
Right before my exciting trip to San Francisco with Julie, I stayed just outside of DC with her. Again: big party.
After that, I found myself in the DC metro area every now and again, mostly for friends' weddings and wedding-related things.
Over this past year, I've been to DC quite a few times. In June, I went to the American Library Association conference, which was in DC. I was unemployed at the time, but I was looking for a job in the library field, and I believed that going to the conference would help me. I'd network, meet people, learn things. I could talk about it in job interviews. This would be great. Also, I could see some friends and look at a city I really liked.
Then, months later, I was flown up to the area to go to an interview for George Mason University.
I got the job, and flew back up to look for a place to live.
So for my entire life, and definitely for the past year, I found myself in DC many times, in vacation-y ways. I was there for weddings and all their satellite parties--dressed up, having fancy foods and champagne! I was there for educational purposes--visiting neat museums! I was there for career purposes--staying in hotels, exploring various areas, eating at restaurants!
Now, suddenly, I live here. Driving on the Beltway used to seem like an exciting adventure; now it's part of my life. The shopping centers had interesting names; now they're just where I go to pick stuff up. All those monuments and DC landmarks are just 30 minutes away; I see them on CNN, and it's somewhat jarring. I think "That's half an hour from me now." The areas I always heard about in undergrad (Manassas, Falls Church, Vienna) are demystified--they're just areas.
And there's a part of me that still feels like I'm on a vacation. That I'm going to stop staying in this time-share townhouse that looks eerily like my own home . . . and I'm going to pack up all of my stuff (strange how much I brought this time) . . . and I'm going to get back on the plane at Dulles (or was it BWI?) . . . and I'm going to fly back home to . . .
Wait, where do I live again?
Right, the magical land of Fairyfax.
No, it was surreal because, for one thing, after being joined at the hip for some time, suddenly we were 6 - 8 hours apart after we graduated from Virginia Tech. The only times I saw them after 1997 occurred because I was in VA or they were in SC for a bridal shower, or a baby shower, or a graduation party, or a wedding, and then I went back to SC or they went back to MD and/or VA, or we all met in NC for a weekend.
Now, suddenly, I'm an hour and a half from Sherri, 40 minutes from Julie.
On one hand, one BIG hand, that's fantastic. I get to see them a few times a month, rather than a few times a year.
On the other, it's so strange. Because I'd become reluctantly used to seeing them a few times a year. IF I was lucky.
The strangeness contributes to my belief that I don't really live here. I feel like I'm on an extended vacation. Every time I've been in DC, well, EVER, it's because I'm here for a weekend, a week at the longest, and then I'll be leaving.
It started in 1983, when I was in the Gifted Program in War, WV. The Gifted Program was one of the few things I liked about my childhood, for a lot of reasons, one being the yearly end-of-year trip. In May that particular year, we went on a trip to Washington, DC, which was the first time I'd ever gone. We went to a variety of monuments . . . we saw a show at the Kennedy Center . . . we went to the Smithsonian. My favorite was the Natural History Museum. Also at the Smithsonian snack bar: I had the best hot dog I've ever eaten. Not kidding. We also went to the zoo, where I was enchanted by this wee teeny antelope called a dik-dik.
That's a baby, but they don't get much bigger than a small dog. Like 2 feet tall. TEENY.
But I digress.
Later, when I was in undergrad at VT, I heard about these mysterious areas in The DC Metro Area, collectively known as NoVa. I imagined these places to be fantastic wonderlands. Reston, you say? No doubt the streets are made of candy.
During undergrad, I went to DC a few times, but always just for a few days, and it was one big party the whole time I was there.
Right before my exciting trip to San Francisco with Julie, I stayed just outside of DC with her. Again: big party.
After that, I found myself in the DC metro area every now and again, mostly for friends' weddings and wedding-related things.
Over this past year, I've been to DC quite a few times. In June, I went to the American Library Association conference, which was in DC. I was unemployed at the time, but I was looking for a job in the library field, and I believed that going to the conference would help me. I'd network, meet people, learn things. I could talk about it in job interviews. This would be great. Also, I could see some friends and look at a city I really liked.
Then, months later, I was flown up to the area to go to an interview for George Mason University.
I got the job, and flew back up to look for a place to live.
So for my entire life, and definitely for the past year, I found myself in DC many times, in vacation-y ways. I was there for weddings and all their satellite parties--dressed up, having fancy foods and champagne! I was there for educational purposes--visiting neat museums! I was there for career purposes--staying in hotels, exploring various areas, eating at restaurants!
Now, suddenly, I live here. Driving on the Beltway used to seem like an exciting adventure; now it's part of my life. The shopping centers had interesting names; now they're just where I go to pick stuff up. All those monuments and DC landmarks are just 30 minutes away; I see them on CNN, and it's somewhat jarring. I think "That's half an hour from me now." The areas I always heard about in undergrad (Manassas, Falls Church, Vienna) are demystified--they're just areas.
And there's a part of me that still feels like I'm on a vacation. That I'm going to stop staying in this time-share townhouse that looks eerily like my own home . . . and I'm going to pack up all of my stuff (strange how much I brought this time) . . . and I'm going to get back on the plane at Dulles (or was it BWI?) . . . and I'm going to fly back home to . . .
Wait, where do I live again?
Right, the magical land of Fairyfax.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
A bad day
I stayed home from work today because I've been feeling pretty bad. I thought I had an ear infection, but after a visit to an ENT, I learned that I have a form of vertigo. I was given a prescription for Antivert, and a list of exercises to do.
After the appointment, Curtis and I went next door for lunch.
While we were eating, it started to snow, so we hurried up and left for our home, which was 6 miles away. That was at 4:30 or so.
At 8:35, I realized we were getting nowhere, so we parked in a parking lot and walked the last 1.3 miles in a foot of snow. We walked through our front door at 9:15.
The DC metro area is in total gridlock.
I also was overjoyed to find a letter from United telling me that they would not be reimbursing me for the bag that they, or the Columbia Metropolitan Airport, lost or stole or caused to be stolen in November.
This was not the best day I've had.
After the appointment, Curtis and I went next door for lunch.
While we were eating, it started to snow, so we hurried up and left for our home, which was 6 miles away. That was at 4:30 or so.
At 8:35, I realized we were getting nowhere, so we parked in a parking lot and walked the last 1.3 miles in a foot of snow. We walked through our front door at 9:15.
The DC metro area is in total gridlock.
I also was overjoyed to find a letter from United telling me that they would not be reimbursing me for the bag that they, or the Columbia Metropolitan Airport, lost or stole or caused to be stolen in November.
This was not the best day I've had.
Monday, January 17, 2011
A busy weekend, part 2
After fun with beer tasting on Friday, Curtis and I drove to Catonsville, Maryland, to visit our fellow ex-South Carolinians, Mich and Eric. It was really good--and somewhat disorienting--to see people we knew from our other life. It served to increase my idea that I'm just on vacation, and will be returning to Columbia in a week or so.
We traveled up 66, then 495, then 95, then 695 to meet Mich and Eric at their new house, which is absolutely adorable. I have total house envy. I like our townhouse fine; it's in good shape, it has a lot of room, it has a huge amount of closet space . . . but I'm not crazy about it. It just doesn't have any character. But M&E's house? Character out the yang. It's a free-standing house, for one thing, which I really like; and, for another, it has beautiful hardwood floors, pretty bathrooms, great kitchen, and so many interesting architectural details. I would love to live in a neighborhood like this, and it was interesting to see; I'd really been under the impression that all the areas up here are on the cookie-cutter side. However, Catonsville is an hour from our house. I'll come back to this subject later; for now, our trip.
From Catonsville, we headed to Ellicott City, which is extremely close by. Catonsville alone was adorable, with charming little buildings and businesses, but I was wholly unprepared for Ellicott City. It was literally like something out of a dream.
It is weirdly reminiscent of Welch, West Virginia; maybe even more so Kimball or Keystone or Northfork. Driving there, I commented to Curtis that it looked like the road between Bluefield and Welch, Route 52. As soon as we saw Ellicott City's downtown, I gasped; it really did look exactly like Welch: steep, bare mountainsides, houses crawling up the rock faces, houses clinging to the edges of the cliffs, businesses pressed close against the streets, apartments above the businesses.
The similarities, however, did not extend themselves to the financial success that Ellicott City appears to be enjoying; whereas Welch has been dying a slow, painful death since the 80s, maybe even the 70s, Ellicott City is thriving--a charming, touristy mountain town. It makes me sad to think about where my hometown, and its nearby towns, is headed, and I wonder if there's anything to be done. I heard, once, that the success of America was built on the back of Appalachia, leaving the state and its citizens with very little capital in return.
But that's another blog, for another day.
Curtis, Mich, Eric, and I made our way down the steep sidewalk, wandering in and out of wine shops, antique stores, furniture stores, and a truly inspiring vintage clothing store. We debated restaurants for a while before deciding on Cacao Lane. While they screwed up Mich's bacon, and our waitress seemed less than interested in serving us, everything else was fantastic. Curtis got a roast beef sandwich; Eric had a portobello sandwich; and I had quiche. Mich stuck with water, but Curtis had his standby, Sierra Nevada, and Eric and I split a bottle of pinot grigio. And Mich and Eric very kindly treated us, which we greatly appreciated.
Afterward, I pondered checking out a tea room, Tea on the Tiber, but decided to head to the Pure Wine Cafe instead. We each had a glass of wine, then headed back to Mich & Eric's for a fudge tasting. The fudge came from a really interesting store: Southwest Connection & Silver Arrow Fudge. Where else can you get dreamcatchers and fudge all at the same place?
We sampled five different kinds: chocolate, peanut butter, chocolate explosion (which was chocolate fudge with three kinds of nuts), tiger fudge (which was vanilla fudge with stripes of chocolate and peanut butter), and cappuccino. The chocolate explosion was my least favorite, mostly because I just don't like nuts. The chocolate was delicious, and always an excellent standby. But the surprise winner for me that day was the tiger fudge; really quite tasty.
Attending us at our tasting that day was Mich and Eric's sweet baby pit bull Roxie, who stared mournfully at us while we tortured her with our delicious fudge.
We hugged goodbye, and as we got in the car, I was handed an extra treat: a man was out walking his pomeranian, who was a sweet fluffy blond baby who looked at me excitedly as we got into the car. Had I had my wits about me, I would have had Curtis knock said man out while I tossed our new pet into the car, but that idea didn't occur to me until we were already in the car and they'd gotten away.
We came home that night and passed out, as apparently a major ingredient in the fudge is Nyquil.
As I said before, though, there's a subject that I've been pondering, that was driven home especially hard when we visited Mich and Eric. It's something I've thought about since we first learned we'd be moving here: where to live. The potential commute. Areas. I was spoiled by the ability to drive about 7 minutes each way for my job in Columbia. The longest commute I had was about 20 minutes, from Broad River Rd. to Middleburg Office Park, off of Forest Dr. Now I drive about 15 minutes each way to George Mason, and I know how very lucky I am.
But I know for a fact we won't live in this townhouse forever; like I said, it's fine. There's nothing wrong with it. But it's not where I want to live while we're here. We're going to start looking for a house somewhere around August or September, and until then, we're going to be looking at neighborhoods and thinking very seriously about where we'd like to be, and what we're willing to put up with re: commutes and re: mortgage.
Well, enough about real estate and driving about for now; in my next installment, we'll be meeting Sherri and Julie in yet another newly visited area.
We traveled up 66, then 495, then 95, then 695 to meet Mich and Eric at their new house, which is absolutely adorable. I have total house envy. I like our townhouse fine; it's in good shape, it has a lot of room, it has a huge amount of closet space . . . but I'm not crazy about it. It just doesn't have any character. But M&E's house? Character out the yang. It's a free-standing house, for one thing, which I really like; and, for another, it has beautiful hardwood floors, pretty bathrooms, great kitchen, and so many interesting architectural details. I would love to live in a neighborhood like this, and it was interesting to see; I'd really been under the impression that all the areas up here are on the cookie-cutter side. However, Catonsville is an hour from our house. I'll come back to this subject later; for now, our trip.
From Catonsville, we headed to Ellicott City, which is extremely close by. Catonsville alone was adorable, with charming little buildings and businesses, but I was wholly unprepared for Ellicott City. It was literally like something out of a dream.
It is weirdly reminiscent of Welch, West Virginia; maybe even more so Kimball or Keystone or Northfork. Driving there, I commented to Curtis that it looked like the road between Bluefield and Welch, Route 52. As soon as we saw Ellicott City's downtown, I gasped; it really did look exactly like Welch: steep, bare mountainsides, houses crawling up the rock faces, houses clinging to the edges of the cliffs, businesses pressed close against the streets, apartments above the businesses.
The similarities, however, did not extend themselves to the financial success that Ellicott City appears to be enjoying; whereas Welch has been dying a slow, painful death since the 80s, maybe even the 70s, Ellicott City is thriving--a charming, touristy mountain town. It makes me sad to think about where my hometown, and its nearby towns, is headed, and I wonder if there's anything to be done. I heard, once, that the success of America was built on the back of Appalachia, leaving the state and its citizens with very little capital in return.
But that's another blog, for another day.
Curtis, Mich, Eric, and I made our way down the steep sidewalk, wandering in and out of wine shops, antique stores, furniture stores, and a truly inspiring vintage clothing store. We debated restaurants for a while before deciding on Cacao Lane. While they screwed up Mich's bacon, and our waitress seemed less than interested in serving us, everything else was fantastic. Curtis got a roast beef sandwich; Eric had a portobello sandwich; and I had quiche. Mich stuck with water, but Curtis had his standby, Sierra Nevada, and Eric and I split a bottle of pinot grigio. And Mich and Eric very kindly treated us, which we greatly appreciated.
Afterward, I pondered checking out a tea room, Tea on the Tiber, but decided to head to the Pure Wine Cafe instead. We each had a glass of wine, then headed back to Mich & Eric's for a fudge tasting. The fudge came from a really interesting store: Southwest Connection & Silver Arrow Fudge. Where else can you get dreamcatchers and fudge all at the same place?
We sampled five different kinds: chocolate, peanut butter, chocolate explosion (which was chocolate fudge with three kinds of nuts), tiger fudge (which was vanilla fudge with stripes of chocolate and peanut butter), and cappuccino. The chocolate explosion was my least favorite, mostly because I just don't like nuts. The chocolate was delicious, and always an excellent standby. But the surprise winner for me that day was the tiger fudge; really quite tasty.
Attending us at our tasting that day was Mich and Eric's sweet baby pit bull Roxie, who stared mournfully at us while we tortured her with our delicious fudge.
We hugged goodbye, and as we got in the car, I was handed an extra treat: a man was out walking his pomeranian, who was a sweet fluffy blond baby who looked at me excitedly as we got into the car. Had I had my wits about me, I would have had Curtis knock said man out while I tossed our new pet into the car, but that idea didn't occur to me until we were already in the car and they'd gotten away.
We came home that night and passed out, as apparently a major ingredient in the fudge is Nyquil.
As I said before, though, there's a subject that I've been pondering, that was driven home especially hard when we visited Mich and Eric. It's something I've thought about since we first learned we'd be moving here: where to live. The potential commute. Areas. I was spoiled by the ability to drive about 7 minutes each way for my job in Columbia. The longest commute I had was about 20 minutes, from Broad River Rd. to Middleburg Office Park, off of Forest Dr. Now I drive about 15 minutes each way to George Mason, and I know how very lucky I am.
But I know for a fact we won't live in this townhouse forever; like I said, it's fine. There's nothing wrong with it. But it's not where I want to live while we're here. We're going to start looking for a house somewhere around August or September, and until then, we're going to be looking at neighborhoods and thinking very seriously about where we'd like to be, and what we're willing to put up with re: commutes and re: mortgage.
Well, enough about real estate and driving about for now; in my next installment, we'll be meeting Sherri and Julie in yet another newly visited area.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
A busy weekend, part 1
Part of our new life in the DC Metro area has involved finding our way around, getting oriented to the area, discovering new and interesting things to do, and, not least of all, seeing friends.
We combined all of those things this past weekend.
On Friday, we went to Ashburn, Virginia, to visit our friend Mike. He was hosting a beer tasting, as he and his circle of beer aficionado friends do every month, and the husband I were lucky enough to be invited. Curtis is much more knowledgeable on the beer topic than I am, and he's definitely more of a beer enthusiast than I, but I always like a chance to a) see people I know and like; b) meet new people; c) see new parts of the world; and d) drink alcohol.
Mike had told us that Ashburn was "out in the country," but I had trouble envisioning it. I came up here with the idea that Northern Virginia was just one big parking lot linking an endless string of strip malls, and while our area does have its fair share of pavement and the aforementioned linked stores and restaurants, I'm pleasantly surprised to find trees, forests, and parks. And, as Mike promised, there was, indeed, country all over his neighborhood. The drive there was a two-lane road sandwiched between farmland, and it was extremely reminiscent of the Virginia near where I grew up, Tazewell County, and the Virginia of my undergraduate years, Blacksburg and greater Montgomery County.
On the way there, we saw the charming Evergreen Market. It was one of those rickety old markets made of cinderblocks, the kind you see mouldering on back roads, about to be torn down, until someone comes along and rehabs it. Kudos to the Evergreen Market folks; if we didn't live so far from you, we'd shop there.
We met two of Mike's friends, Tony and Trisha, who are fellow West Virginians, and that was interesting; of the five people there that night, four were from WV, and I can't remember the last time that has happened outside of family reunions. After 13 years in South Carolina, I became accustomed to seeing no West Virginians, ever.
Mike had made a really delicious chicken chili, and I tried Frito Pie for the first time. Only last week I ate Chili Mac for the first time, from Hard Times Cafe, here in Fairfax. I can't remember who told me about Chili Mac, but it sounded vile the first time I heard of it: spaghetti with chili on it? Oh, HORK. But I tried it at Hard Times, with their Terlingua chili (they have 4 different kinds, including a vegetarian version), and found it unexpectedly delicious. So, armed with my new knowledge of Chili Mac, I felt comfortable branching out to Frito Pie, which is, for those who don't know: Fritos topped with chili. It was good, and a good experience, but next time I'll eat the chili by itself.
We tried 6 different Imperial Stouts that evening, one of which tasted exactly like chocolate Tootsie Roll Pops. There was another I drank right afterward, which was literally tasteless in the beginning, but after it had neared room temperature, was quite flavorful. Sadly, I do not remember the names of these. I will have to ask Mike.
We also had Sierra Nevada's 30th Anniversary Imperial Stout, easily my favorite. Curtis is a fan of all things Sierra Nevada, and this particular gem did not disappoint. After it, I'm sad to report that we drank the one Curtis and I had brought, Young's Chocolate Stout, and it did not stand up as well. While it boasted a truly prodigious head, it was surprisingly thin.
I'd also used the Young's to make my dessert, a chocolate toffee trifle, of which Carolyn is a fan. When I made it before, I used Kahlua to soak the chocolate cake; this time, I soaked it all day in Young's. I wasn't sure how it would turn out, but was pleased in the end.
We had a lovely night with old and new friends, then headed home to rest up before our jaunt to Catonsville and Ellicott City, Maryland, to see fellow SC transplants Mich and Eric.
That trip will be the subject of the next installment of No One's Wearing Pink Here . . .
We combined all of those things this past weekend.
On Friday, we went to Ashburn, Virginia, to visit our friend Mike. He was hosting a beer tasting, as he and his circle of beer aficionado friends do every month, and the husband I were lucky enough to be invited. Curtis is much more knowledgeable on the beer topic than I am, and he's definitely more of a beer enthusiast than I, but I always like a chance to a) see people I know and like; b) meet new people; c) see new parts of the world; and d) drink alcohol.
Mike had told us that Ashburn was "out in the country," but I had trouble envisioning it. I came up here with the idea that Northern Virginia was just one big parking lot linking an endless string of strip malls, and while our area does have its fair share of pavement and the aforementioned linked stores and restaurants, I'm pleasantly surprised to find trees, forests, and parks. And, as Mike promised, there was, indeed, country all over his neighborhood. The drive there was a two-lane road sandwiched between farmland, and it was extremely reminiscent of the Virginia near where I grew up, Tazewell County, and the Virginia of my undergraduate years, Blacksburg and greater Montgomery County.
On the way there, we saw the charming Evergreen Market. It was one of those rickety old markets made of cinderblocks, the kind you see mouldering on back roads, about to be torn down, until someone comes along and rehabs it. Kudos to the Evergreen Market folks; if we didn't live so far from you, we'd shop there.
We met two of Mike's friends, Tony and Trisha, who are fellow West Virginians, and that was interesting; of the five people there that night, four were from WV, and I can't remember the last time that has happened outside of family reunions. After 13 years in South Carolina, I became accustomed to seeing no West Virginians, ever.
Mike had made a really delicious chicken chili, and I tried Frito Pie for the first time. Only last week I ate Chili Mac for the first time, from Hard Times Cafe, here in Fairfax. I can't remember who told me about Chili Mac, but it sounded vile the first time I heard of it: spaghetti with chili on it? Oh, HORK. But I tried it at Hard Times, with their Terlingua chili (they have 4 different kinds, including a vegetarian version), and found it unexpectedly delicious. So, armed with my new knowledge of Chili Mac, I felt comfortable branching out to Frito Pie, which is, for those who don't know: Fritos topped with chili. It was good, and a good experience, but next time I'll eat the chili by itself.
We tried 6 different Imperial Stouts that evening, one of which tasted exactly like chocolate Tootsie Roll Pops. There was another I drank right afterward, which was literally tasteless in the beginning, but after it had neared room temperature, was quite flavorful. Sadly, I do not remember the names of these. I will have to ask Mike.
We also had Sierra Nevada's 30th Anniversary Imperial Stout, easily my favorite. Curtis is a fan of all things Sierra Nevada, and this particular gem did not disappoint. After it, I'm sad to report that we drank the one Curtis and I had brought, Young's Chocolate Stout, and it did not stand up as well. While it boasted a truly prodigious head, it was surprisingly thin.
I'd also used the Young's to make my dessert, a chocolate toffee trifle, of which Carolyn is a fan. When I made it before, I used Kahlua to soak the chocolate cake; this time, I soaked it all day in Young's. I wasn't sure how it would turn out, but was pleased in the end.
We had a lovely night with old and new friends, then headed home to rest up before our jaunt to Catonsville and Ellicott City, Maryland, to see fellow SC transplants Mich and Eric.
That trip will be the subject of the next installment of No One's Wearing Pink Here . . .
Thursday, January 13, 2011
This ain't my first time at the rodeo
If you look at my profile info, you'll see that this isn't my first blog. Curtis started one, which is somehow attributed to me, dedicated to our trips to the cabin in Virginia. Well, that's what we liked to call it, because "Driving 4 hours to get hammered for three straight days" makes us sound like a bunch of drunks, and no one likes that. I prefer "lush."
Then I did one this summer, at Tracy Haisley's urging. But, as I was in a bad, bad headspace, it was mostly just me bemoaning my lot in life and trying to keep my head out of the oven. Eventually, I realized we didn't have a gas oven, and writing, for the first time in my life, was only making me feel worse. I kept writing the same things over and over, about how depressed I was, how my life would never get better, how pointless my existence was. In the past, I would have reveled in my dissolution and misery, but that was when I was younger and imagined that life would somehow turn out well. And this summer, I did not entertain that fantasy at all. Furthermore, I couldn't figure out what on earth I'd write about that would make anyone want to read my blog. Today's pajamas: black! Today's lunch: tuna salad on white! Today's best television show: Law & Order SVU! Today's accomplishment: getting out of bed!
So I stopped with the blogging. I was depressing myself, and it wasn't at all cathartic.
Then life changed, and life changed drastically.
On one level, I suppose this blog could be viewed as gloating, or crowing about my life. And maybe there's something to that, although that's not what I intend. I hate reading "Look how awesome my life is" bullshit, and that's not what this is supposed to be.
Instead, this is more a report of something I haven't had in a while: happiness. Peace. Hope. A goal. Sure, there's adversity: the stress of a new job; no pay until the beginning of February; chinchilla freakouts; missing our friends in SC; leaving our house. But there's also the excitement of a new city; of learning new things; of meeting new people; of having a job where I feel valued.
So maybe there's some gloating, sure.
But there's also some relief.
Then I did one this summer, at Tracy Haisley's urging. But, as I was in a bad, bad headspace, it was mostly just me bemoaning my lot in life and trying to keep my head out of the oven. Eventually, I realized we didn't have a gas oven, and writing, for the first time in my life, was only making me feel worse. I kept writing the same things over and over, about how depressed I was, how my life would never get better, how pointless my existence was. In the past, I would have reveled in my dissolution and misery, but that was when I was younger and imagined that life would somehow turn out well. And this summer, I did not entertain that fantasy at all. Furthermore, I couldn't figure out what on earth I'd write about that would make anyone want to read my blog. Today's pajamas: black! Today's lunch: tuna salad on white! Today's best television show: Law & Order SVU! Today's accomplishment: getting out of bed!
So I stopped with the blogging. I was depressing myself, and it wasn't at all cathartic.
Then life changed, and life changed drastically.
On one level, I suppose this blog could be viewed as gloating, or crowing about my life. And maybe there's something to that, although that's not what I intend. I hate reading "Look how awesome my life is" bullshit, and that's not what this is supposed to be.
Instead, this is more a report of something I haven't had in a while: happiness. Peace. Hope. A goal. Sure, there's adversity: the stress of a new job; no pay until the beginning of February; chinchilla freakouts; missing our friends in SC; leaving our house. But there's also the excitement of a new city; of learning new things; of meeting new people; of having a job where I feel valued.
So maybe there's some gloating, sure.
But there's also some relief.
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