Monday, October 24, 2011
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Strategic Defense
First, I want to mention that my sister wrote a really great post on her blog recently. You can skip through the first 10 paragraphs and just watch this youtube clip instead:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NpC-dZpD7eI
Around paragraph 11, though, Mandy writes a really touching and well-written bit about our dear friend Jeri Roberts, who we lost recently (and quite suddenly). It's worth taking a few minutes.
Moving on: After reading a really hilarious post on TheHairpin.com, I decided to make a list of things you can say to street canvassers. Some of you reading this might be lucky enough not to deal with strangers yelling at you to save-the-environment-or-else-you-are-a-demon. Unfortunately for DCists, this is a daily struggle. Therefore I give you, in random order:
Responses to Approaching Street Canvassers
"I shot a whale in Reno. JUST TO WATCH IT DIE."
"Just brushed my teeth, sorry!" (You can also say other hygiene-related things: Just got my nails done, Just had a wax, Just cut my hair...whatever will confuse and disarm the most effectively).
(This one involves props.) As soon as you see one honing in on you, get on your phone and start talking into it. When the canvasser tries to talk to you, cover the mouthpiece with your hand and say "My grandfather, who's been in a coma for 40 years, just woke up and is calling from the hospital. This is the first time he's ever heard my angelic voice and I was about to tell him I'm gay and that my life partner and I are adopting an Asian baby. I'd say that right now I really don't have 2 minutes to talk about the environment."
"I don't want this flier, but I think that other guy in the same shirt you are wearing would probably be interested."
"I'm sorry but this is misspelled."
(for use when dealing with scary Pro-Life people that commandeer street corners guerilla-style and shove photos of bloody fetus in your face) "OH MY GOD I have that SAME dead fetus pic as wallpaper on my computer! TWINS!!!" (follow through with a hug)
"I'll give you money but only if I can pay you in all coins. Also, I'd need to throw them at your face."
"I don't like your face."
"A dolphin stabbed my brother once, so if you'll please excuse me."
*These were all brainstormed while I was riding a bus with a fever. Apologies.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NpC-dZpD7eI
Around paragraph 11, though, Mandy writes a really touching and well-written bit about our dear friend Jeri Roberts, who we lost recently (and quite suddenly). It's worth taking a few minutes.
Moving on: After reading a really hilarious post on TheHairpin.com, I decided to make a list of things you can say to street canvassers. Some of you reading this might be lucky enough not to deal with strangers yelling at you to save-the-environment-or-else-you-are-a-demon. Unfortunately for DCists, this is a daily struggle. Therefore I give you, in random order:
Responses to Approaching Street Canvassers
"I shot a whale in Reno. JUST TO WATCH IT DIE."
"Just brushed my teeth, sorry!" (You can also say other hygiene-related things: Just got my nails done, Just had a wax, Just cut my hair...whatever will confuse and disarm the most effectively).
(This one involves props.) As soon as you see one honing in on you, get on your phone and start talking into it. When the canvasser tries to talk to you, cover the mouthpiece with your hand and say "My grandfather, who's been in a coma for 40 years, just woke up and is calling from the hospital. This is the first time he's ever heard my angelic voice and I was about to tell him I'm gay and that my life partner and I are adopting an Asian baby. I'd say that right now I really don't have 2 minutes to talk about the environment."
"I don't want this flier, but I think that other guy in the same shirt you are wearing would probably be interested."
"I'm sorry but this is misspelled."
(for use when dealing with scary Pro-Life people that commandeer street corners guerilla-style and shove photos of bloody fetus in your face) "OH MY GOD I have that SAME dead fetus pic as wallpaper on my computer! TWINS!!!" (follow through with a hug)
"I'll give you money but only if I can pay you in all coins. Also, I'd need to throw them at your face."
"I don't like your face."
"A dolphin stabbed my brother once, so if you'll please excuse me."
*These were all brainstormed while I was riding a bus with a fever. Apologies.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
Financial planning for any weather
Before I get into this, let me just note that I'm running a 100 degree fever right now and have been cooped up in my bed ALONE ALL DAY and might sound crazy.
On Friday, before I went home in a fever-induced funk (possibly related?) my co-worker and I went to TWO seminars on retirement planning/saving for the future. Just to be as ironic as possible, we got lunch at Kinkead's in between the seminars (stop it. We had a Groupon.) Sure, I was too sick to eat anything besides chowder and hot tea, but at least it was delllllicccciousssss chowder.
The first seminar was for Fidelity and the next for TIAA-CREF. I went into them thinking I'd like TIAA-CREF better, because Andy's dad works for them (SCIENTIFIC REASONING), but it turns out the two presenters gave basically the exact same presentation. Points go to Lady TIAA-CREF for speaking faster and letting us out early, but overall both presentations were made up of:
--three parts crazy
--one part AGGGHH I'M POOR
--one part hackneyed, misused and/or confusing phrases
As many a Morocco PCV knows, my note-taking skills are...creative? At best? I started out earnestly, writing down things like "save more" but then it was suddenly more interesting to make note of every crazy thing the presenters said. Here are some favorite quotes and lessons I took away from this invaluable experience:
- TIAA-CREF lady, on the dangers of living past 65: "...and the last thing anyone wants to do is be a Wal-Mart greeter." Naturally, everyone kind of cringed when she said this so she back-pedaled and followed it up with something like "Now, if you WANT to be a Wal-Mart greeter, there's nothing wrong with that! HAHA! YAAAAA Wal-Mart! (roundhouse kick) Greeting is fun! Have you guys ever heard of Happy Feet? Because it's totally on sale at MY FAVORITE STORE WHERE RESPECTABLE OLDER LADIES AND GENTLEMEN WILL TOTALLY SAY HI AND BYE TO YOU IF YOU GO THERE."
- I know now that if I had invested $1 in stocks in 1926, I'd have over $2,000 today. I resisted the urge to raise my hand and ask how this fact was helpful for an individual whose grandfather was born in 1930.
- Fidelity lady, responding to a question: "As long as you've been saving 10% since you were 22, you're fine." Well, shit.
- The Fidelity lady was fairly slap-happy with the hackneyed quotes, and yelled "CASH IS KING" a few times near the beginning of her presentation. It was, therefore, confusing when, near the end, she pointed out that "cash is only king 12% of the time."
- TIAA-CREF lady, on the services her company provides: "I'm not sure how many of you know this, but we have a service called "advice."
- This is my favorite (!!!) quote from the TIAA-CREF lady because she said it TWICE, clearly demonstrating that she doesn't have a good grasp of the phrase "don't put all your eggs in one basket": "Now, you don't want to put all your eggs in one basket. You don't want just white eggs. You want some blue, some yellow, some green. You want to diversify." She literally said this, verbatim, twice in her presentation. I had so many questions on this concept but felt like it was smarter to stare at my notepad.
Of course, I can mock them all I want, but I'm still a bum that can't manage my money.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A quick one
Tonight, as I was sittin' on the curb in Farragut Square, eatin' some dinner and waitin' for my bus, I realized I totally looked homeless.
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Also.
Here is a true scene from my office:
It is midmorning in a quiet administrative office. Alli and Emily sit at their desks, minding their own GReaders, when A Random Dude walks in.
A Random Dude (to Alli): Hi there. Do you have a panic button?
Alli: I...what?
A Random Dude: A panic button. Under your desk.
Alli: No?
A Random Dude: checks something on his clipboard. Okay, great. Thank you!
A Random Dude exits.
Alli (to Emily): WHAT!
Emily: I don't know! Panic buttons?
Alli: DO I HAVE A PANIC BUTTON?
Emily: I don't know?
Alli: I THINK I'M SUPPOSED TO HAVE A PANIC BUTTON! I NEED ONE!
Emily: In case of thieves!
Alli: Yes! Except I'm not here whenever things are stolen.
Emily: Oh. That's a shame.
Alli and Emily return to their computer screens.
It is midmorning in a quiet administrative office. Alli and Emily sit at their desks, minding their own GReaders, when A Random Dude walks in.
A Random Dude (to Alli): Hi there. Do you have a panic button?
Alli: I...what?
A Random Dude: A panic button. Under your desk.
Alli: No?
A Random Dude: checks something on his clipboard. Okay, great. Thank you!
A Random Dude exits.
Alli (to Emily): WHAT!
Emily: I don't know! Panic buttons?
Alli: DO I HAVE A PANIC BUTTON?
Emily: I don't know?
Alli: I THINK I'M SUPPOSED TO HAVE A PANIC BUTTON! I NEED ONE!
Emily: In case of thieves!
Alli: Yes! Except I'm not here whenever things are stolen.
Emily: Oh. That's a shame.
Alli and Emily return to their computer screens.
No homo? part two
These gems come largely from the second and third installments in the series, A Clash of Kings and A Storm of Swords.
"They plunged through Stannis like a lance through a pumpkin, every man of them howling like some demon in steel."
"His father had spent his life grubbing in other men's fields..."
"Harwin had pushed ahead of Anguy, but both were coming hard."
"House Manwoody"
"Anguy, on the morrow, take the rear with Beardless Dick."
And finally...a touch of bestiality:
"The Dornish leader forked a stallion..."
"They plunged through Stannis like a lance through a pumpkin, every man of them howling like some demon in steel."
"His father had spent his life grubbing in other men's fields..."
"Harwin had pushed ahead of Anguy, but both were coming hard."
"House Manwoody"
"Anguy, on the morrow, take the rear with Beardless Dick."
And finally...a touch of bestiality:
"The Dornish leader forked a stallion..."
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
No homo? part one
I've been pretty into George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones series. It's sort of got a LOTR feel, but with more of a focus on politics and feuding families than fantastical elements. There ARE fantastical elements, to be sure: dragons, sorcerors, people who see the future, whathaveyou.
Of course, my favorite fantastical element is the homoerotic writing style of Mr. GRRM. It doesn't always show up, and sometimes only mildly, but I've been taking note of the gayer quotes as I make my way through the series. What follows is the first installment of what I hope will be a riveting series called "No homo?" No big spoilers!
5. I will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach.
4. It made Jon remember cold nights long ago at Winterfell, when he'd shared a bed with his brothers. These men were brothers too, though the bed they shared was stone and earth.
3. Stannis will never march north with Storm's End untaken in his rear.
2. Renly will scarce have unlimbered his siege engines before Father takes him in the rear.
1. Yet he could scarcely tell Lord Mormont it was another man's sword he dreamt of...
Of course, my favorite fantastical element is the homoerotic writing style of Mr. GRRM. It doesn't always show up, and sometimes only mildly, but I've been taking note of the gayer quotes as I make my way through the series. What follows is the first installment of what I hope will be a riveting series called "No homo?" No big spoilers!
5. I will go to my grave thinking of my brother's peach.
4. It made Jon remember cold nights long ago at Winterfell, when he'd shared a bed with his brothers. These men were brothers too, though the bed they shared was stone and earth.
3. Stannis will never march north with Storm's End untaken in his rear.
2. Renly will scarce have unlimbered his siege engines before Father takes him in the rear.
1. Yet he could scarcely tell Lord Mormont it was another man's sword he dreamt of...
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Ladies thinkin' lady thoughts
On the bus this morning, I received an email with the following photo from Unearthed Caravan (try clicking the picture to see a larger version):
And I just...no. I mean I get what it's trying to say. OH BOY. Woman are from Venus and Men have Penises. Or something. And who doesn't love a good stereotype? I don't want to go all angry Hulk feminist about this, as one of my roommates might, but this is just such a poorly thought-out chart.
I have notes.
1. Shoes = pot of gold
First of all, am I the only one that thinks those shoes are disgusting? On closer inspection they seem to be Prada, but that doesn't matter. They look very dated and I don't want to put my feetses in them. I feel like if the Pope were into women's footwear, he'd totally wear these. If these shoes are unattainable in the way that a leprechaun's gold is unattainable, that's probably a good thing.
2. A ladies' room sign = a large round table
This is just stupid. I'll give you that some women like to go to the bathroom with their girlfriends. But who actually CONCEPTUALIZES the bathroom as a place where businesspeople talk about budget reports and upcoming projects? I have never prepared a Power Point presentation in anticipation of a visit to the bathroom.
3. Teeny spider + penny = little girl being mauled by a giant muppet
WHAT is that child doing with her face? Other than that, though, this is pretty accurate.
4. butter knife = screwdriver
Nope. Since when is this even a stereotype? I'm not going to pretend I know anything about tools, but what woman (who hasn't suffered from some sort of stroke) confuses a butter knife with a screwdriver?
5. Compass rose = ...does that really say "toward the mall"?
GUILTY. FINE. I don't understand cardinal directions and generally have no concept of where I am in space. Andy tries to teach me and I honestly try to learn, but after a few seconds the first few electric guitar chords of the overture from Jesus Christ Superstar sound in my head and all is lost because I'm too busy putting together my fantasy JCS cast. No, I won't tell you who I think should play Caiaphus. (It's that kid from the Chocolate Rain video.)
6. Parallel parking = a slimmed-down Pillsbury Doughboy trying to push a ball through a square hole.
Well if you're going to park like THAT, then yes, I would assume it would feel like that.
7. butt = larger butt
I get what this is trying to say. Women think they are fat. I have definitely looked in the mirror and thought I looked like a fatass. It happens. However, I have never stuck my butt out and took a photo of it, then looked at the photo and thought "Wow, so THIS is what that "apple bottom jeans" song is talking about, and also I have a rattail and may be black!"
8. 7:00 = 7:55
I don't really understand this one. I have a vagina, so when I read time I add 55 minutes? At first I thought this was trying to say something about how women are stereotypically late, but then wouldn't the clock that ladies see be earlier in time?
9: check engine = engine is fine, ignore this
I don't know about you, but I FREAK OUT if that light comes on and want to take care of it immediately. I freak out about lots of things, though, so I guess maybe this could be a stereotype I didn't know existed.
Thoughts? Am I being too critical?
And I just...no. I mean I get what it's trying to say. OH BOY. Woman are from Venus and Men have Penises. Or something. And who doesn't love a good stereotype? I don't want to go all angry Hulk feminist about this, as one of my roommates might, but this is just such a poorly thought-out chart.
I have notes.
1. Shoes = pot of gold
First of all, am I the only one that thinks those shoes are disgusting? On closer inspection they seem to be Prada, but that doesn't matter. They look very dated and I don't want to put my feetses in them. I feel like if the Pope were into women's footwear, he'd totally wear these. If these shoes are unattainable in the way that a leprechaun's gold is unattainable, that's probably a good thing.
2. A ladies' room sign = a large round table
This is just stupid. I'll give you that some women like to go to the bathroom with their girlfriends. But who actually CONCEPTUALIZES the bathroom as a place where businesspeople talk about budget reports and upcoming projects? I have never prepared a Power Point presentation in anticipation of a visit to the bathroom.
3. Teeny spider + penny = little girl being mauled by a giant muppet
WHAT is that child doing with her face? Other than that, though, this is pretty accurate.
4. butter knife = screwdriver
Nope. Since when is this even a stereotype? I'm not going to pretend I know anything about tools, but what woman (who hasn't suffered from some sort of stroke) confuses a butter knife with a screwdriver?
5. Compass rose = ...does that really say "toward the mall"?
GUILTY. FINE. I don't understand cardinal directions and generally have no concept of where I am in space. Andy tries to teach me and I honestly try to learn, but after a few seconds the first few electric guitar chords of the overture from Jesus Christ Superstar sound in my head and all is lost because I'm too busy putting together my fantasy JCS cast. No, I won't tell you who I think should play Caiaphus. (It's that kid from the Chocolate Rain video.)
6. Parallel parking = a slimmed-down Pillsbury Doughboy trying to push a ball through a square hole.
Well if you're going to park like THAT, then yes, I would assume it would feel like that.
7. butt = larger butt
I get what this is trying to say. Women think they are fat. I have definitely looked in the mirror and thought I looked like a fatass. It happens. However, I have never stuck my butt out and took a photo of it, then looked at the photo and thought "Wow, so THIS is what that "apple bottom jeans" song is talking about, and also I have a rattail and may be black!"
8. 7:00 = 7:55
I don't really understand this one. I have a vagina, so when I read time I add 55 minutes? At first I thought this was trying to say something about how women are stereotypically late, but then wouldn't the clock that ladies see be earlier in time?
9: check engine = engine is fine, ignore this
I don't know about you, but I FREAK OUT if that light comes on and want to take care of it immediately. I freak out about lots of things, though, so I guess maybe this could be a stereotype I didn't know existed.
Thoughts? Am I being too critical?
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
Why you shouldn't wear a heating pad around in the summer months
Today I have The Menstrual Cramping.
In most areas, I have a fairly high tolerance for pain: I have a tattoo, I used to dance around on blistered toes for hours, and one time I broke my arm and then pretended it wasn't broken for a full day before seeking medical attention because, WHAT THE FUCK MY ARM IS SWOLLEN TO TWICE THE SIZE.
For some reason, however, menstrual pains get me. And not like they get me as in:
me: I was so freaked out! It was a total mistake.
menstrual pain: Like that time that Michael Showalter shot a guy in "Stella" and was like "I. THOUGHT. HE. WAS. A. TURKEY. I SWEAR TO GOD."
me: (pregnant pause) That is exactly what I mean.
I mean that they get me in the way that I feel like I've been shot in the lower back and just want to cry about it all day and eat cookies.
Anyway, I was saying that today I am experiencing this type of pain. Since I'm stuck at work and can't be a little ball of miserable, I decided to at least invest in one of those little heating pads that you just slap on to whatever part of your body is acting up. After a few minutes of being THAT girl in CVS with my Midol and my heating pad and my laundry detergent (to make it less obvious that I'm obviously on my period) I was back in my office wrapping that magical heating pad around my belly.
And it was good. Friends, the next few hours sitting at my desk were a glorious blur of warmness. The heating pad felt so natural that I completely forgot it was on me!
This is where it gets good. At lunch time, I decided to run into Georgetown real quick to pick up a new concealer from Sephora. I'm sorry this post is so insufferably girly.
I was about ten minutes into the walk when I started thinking to myself, "Oh my is it warm out today. Especially around my midsection!"
Then a few paces later, "I mean, it's like the sun is lasering in on my lower back! How odd!"
Then about a block later, "That freaking heating pad is still on my back isn't it?"
I guess I can count myself lucky because the shirt I'm wearing today camouflaged the heating pad. But Christ, once I realized I was wearing it, and that I had no safe place to duck into to take it off, it seemed to just get warmer and warmer.
By the time I got to Sephora I was a sweaty mess. This is generally always an embarrassing thing to be, but in Sephora I'm always hyper aware of the judgmental, mascara'd eyes of the gays who work there. I always feel like I need to immediately apologize for my fashion, makeup and hair choices whenever a salesperson approaches me in that store.
Thankfully, I knew exactly where my concealer was, picked it up and got out of there pretty quickly. A steamy 20 minutes later, I was in my office bathroom frantically peeling the heating pad off my person then chugging a bottle of water. Not spazzy at all.
In most areas, I have a fairly high tolerance for pain: I have a tattoo, I used to dance around on blistered toes for hours, and one time I broke my arm and then pretended it wasn't broken for a full day before seeking medical attention because, WHAT THE FUCK MY ARM IS SWOLLEN TO TWICE THE SIZE.
For some reason, however, menstrual pains get me. And not like they get me as in:
me: I was so freaked out! It was a total mistake.
menstrual pain: Like that time that Michael Showalter shot a guy in "Stella" and was like "I. THOUGHT. HE. WAS. A. TURKEY. I SWEAR TO GOD."
me: (pregnant pause) That is exactly what I mean.
I mean that they get me in the way that I feel like I've been shot in the lower back and just want to cry about it all day and eat cookies.
Anyway, I was saying that today I am experiencing this type of pain. Since I'm stuck at work and can't be a little ball of miserable, I decided to at least invest in one of those little heating pads that you just slap on to whatever part of your body is acting up. After a few minutes of being THAT girl in CVS with my Midol and my heating pad and my laundry detergent (to make it less obvious that I'm obviously on my period) I was back in my office wrapping that magical heating pad around my belly.
And it was good. Friends, the next few hours sitting at my desk were a glorious blur of warmness. The heating pad felt so natural that I completely forgot it was on me!
This is where it gets good. At lunch time, I decided to run into Georgetown real quick to pick up a new concealer from Sephora. I'm sorry this post is so insufferably girly.
I was about ten minutes into the walk when I started thinking to myself, "Oh my is it warm out today. Especially around my midsection!"
Then a few paces later, "I mean, it's like the sun is lasering in on my lower back! How odd!"
Then about a block later, "That freaking heating pad is still on my back isn't it?"
I guess I can count myself lucky because the shirt I'm wearing today camouflaged the heating pad. But Christ, once I realized I was wearing it, and that I had no safe place to duck into to take it off, it seemed to just get warmer and warmer.
By the time I got to Sephora I was a sweaty mess. This is generally always an embarrassing thing to be, but in Sephora I'm always hyper aware of the judgmental, mascara'd eyes of the gays who work there. I always feel like I need to immediately apologize for my fashion, makeup and hair choices whenever a salesperson approaches me in that store.
Thankfully, I knew exactly where my concealer was, picked it up and got out of there pretty quickly. A steamy 20 minutes later, I was in my office bathroom frantically peeling the heating pad off my person then chugging a bottle of water. Not spazzy at all.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
I'm not joining your bicycle gang.
This is a graphic representation of how good I am at certain activities:
As you can see, a fair amount of the activities on this very scientific, unbiased illustration are things that I do VERY well.
You can also see that a few of my “areas for improvement” involve wheel-based transportation.
Why even bring this up? Since you’re asking, and I admire curiosity, I’ll tell you. For the past six months or so, I’ve been put under increasing amounts of peer pressure to first purchase, then commit to riding, a bicycle. My parents and childhood friends can probably explain why this would be such a poor life decision for me. You can go ask them if you want, and I’ll sit here and prepare a list of Reasons Why I Don’t Want to Ride Bikes with You:
1. I can haz bike fundz? (see previous posts about being a poor Peace Corps Volunteer).
2. I prefer modes of transportation that don’t require helmets.
3. I don’t trust myself to not freak out if a car is anywhere near me at any given time on the road.
4. I don’t want to roll up my pants on one side.
5. This one time I was riding my bike in my neighborhood and I ran into a parked car.
6. Helmets are sweaty.
7. Helmets mess up your hair.
8. Is walking really so horrible? Why am I the only person that likes walking to places?
Friends, I really am sorry. I love you, but we’re not going for a bike ride.
As you can see, a fair amount of the activities on this very scientific, unbiased illustration are things that I do VERY well.
You can also see that a few of my “areas for improvement” involve wheel-based transportation.
Why even bring this up? Since you’re asking, and I admire curiosity, I’ll tell you. For the past six months or so, I’ve been put under increasing amounts of peer pressure to first purchase, then commit to riding, a bicycle. My parents and childhood friends can probably explain why this would be such a poor life decision for me. You can go ask them if you want, and I’ll sit here and prepare a list of Reasons Why I Don’t Want to Ride Bikes with You:
1. I can haz bike fundz? (see previous posts about being a poor Peace Corps Volunteer).
2. I prefer modes of transportation that don’t require helmets.
3. I don’t trust myself to not freak out if a car is anywhere near me at any given time on the road.
4. I don’t want to roll up my pants on one side.
5. This one time I was riding my bike in my neighborhood and I ran into a parked car.
6. Helmets are sweaty.
7. Helmets mess up your hair.
8. Is walking really so horrible? Why am I the only person that likes walking to places?
Friends, I really am sorry. I love you, but we’re not going for a bike ride.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Strangers- WHO NEEDS EM.
I left Morocco with lots of things, despite my manic tendency to purge whenever I move. Cute sandals and memorable anecdotes about my bowels definitely made it on the plane home, but so did another, small thing: an all-consuming fear that approaching strangers want to burgle me.
I guess it didn't help when I actually WAS robbed a few months ago, but that's beside the point.
A few weeks ago, I was on the metro platform waiting for my train when a young guy sidled up to me and said, a little too loudly, "so when do ya think the train's coming, EH?"
I was confused. I mean, there's a sign! And it says when trains come! Obviously, this dude wanted my wallet.
Clutching my purse to my chest, I stabbed my index finger at the sign and said something like "I believe it arrives in one minute, SIR." Then I turned and faced the tracks, still hugging my possessions for dear life.
"Oh, ha," the thief said. "I'm new here, I guess I missed the sign. Are you new here?"
"NO." (ha! This chump won't pull some sort of tourist-trap pickpocket trick on THIS girl.)
"Oh. Okay."
By now the train was pulling up, and I sprinted away from the criminal and into a car a bit further down the platform. Another day, another thief defeated.
...it was only after the train started moving again and I released the vice-like grip on my bag (I've been working out) that I realized he was probably just hitting on me.
I guess it didn't help when I actually WAS robbed a few months ago, but that's beside the point.
A few weeks ago, I was on the metro platform waiting for my train when a young guy sidled up to me and said, a little too loudly, "so when do ya think the train's coming, EH?"
I was confused. I mean, there's a sign! And it says when trains come! Obviously, this dude wanted my wallet.
Clutching my purse to my chest, I stabbed my index finger at the sign and said something like "I believe it arrives in one minute, SIR." Then I turned and faced the tracks, still hugging my possessions for dear life.
"Oh, ha," the thief said. "I'm new here, I guess I missed the sign. Are you new here?"
"NO." (ha! This chump won't pull some sort of tourist-trap pickpocket trick on THIS girl.)
"Oh. Okay."
By now the train was pulling up, and I sprinted away from the criminal and into a car a bit further down the platform. Another day, another thief defeated.
...it was only after the train started moving again and I released the vice-like grip on my bag (I've been working out) that I realized he was probably just hitting on me.
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Oh hey..no I haven't been avoiding you! I just...you know. SO BUSY!
So I didn't die. I'm very much alive, and have been meaning to blog, but didn't really know what to talk about.
To put it simply, I left Peace Corps in late November and have since moved back to Washington. Leaving was not an easy choice, in fact it kind of ripped me apart. It was, however, what needed to be done. The situation I was in wasn't safe or healthy any more, and even on my most Morocco-sick days I can see that I'm still happier here than I was at the bitter end of my Peace Corps career.
Adjusting to life in the states has been a joy. I freaked out the first time I entered a Sephora and couldn't remember what I needed to buy, and just sort of stood in the middle of the store panicking. I've let the occasional "maskina/inchallah/hamdullah/bsa7a" slip here and there (it just feels so RIGHT) and I've had a few random crying spells. Sitting in an office all day is rough. I can't drink the way my friends do. I think I will always have digestion problems now. No one makes bread the way my host mom does, and NO one makes couscous. Much like Buster, I seem to find both crowds AND large, open spaces overwhelming. On top of everything, I miss my family and friends so much I often lose my train of thought. All in all, transitioning back to America is more difficult than entering Morocco was. Granted, this is a problem I was expecting to encounter.
One aspect of life in Washington that hasn't disappointed has been having my boyfriend back. We can go wherever we want together! In public! Of course, the places we usually end up at are more in the "Blockbuster going-out-of-business sale" category than anything else, but I can't complain. It's what we do. One day we DID go to a fancy restaurant and ate churros for dessert. That was a good day.
Drinking is an ongoing struggle. My tolerance is getting better, little by little, but sometimes I think I don't really want it to. All my light-weight stories are just too entertaining. Here are a few snippets:
I went to this little restaurant around the corner to eat dinner and read for a bit and, on a whim, ordered one glass of red wine. By the time I had finished my glass I was noticeably wobbly. I stumbled home and babbled at my roommate for a few minutes ("OH MY GOD. SWEET POTATOES ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE NORMAL KIND. THE NORMAL KIND SHOULDN'T EVEN EXIST.RIGHT?! RIGHT?!")until he found an out. Alone in the kitchen, I decided I should make my lunch for the next day. I took my time fixing lunch then went upstairs, called Andy and sounded crazy and passed out. The next morning, I discovered the lunch I had put together---a very tiny peanut butter sandwich and one clementine orange. Why did that take 15 minutes to prepare? I don't know.
Last night I was out with some girl friends. After a two drinks I could tell I needed to slow down. We were going into a bar when the bouncer told us there was a $3 cover charge. I FREAKED out about it, left my friends and took a cab home. Except I didn't go home. I called my boyfriend and said "ARE YOU AWAKE?!I'MF COMING OVER. OKAY BYE." I arrived, stripped down to my underwear and promptly fell asleep. (booty call fail).
The problem is I'm still really messed up emotionally, and you never can tell when drinking will lead to a cute story or a freak out.
At the risk of sounding like a total hot mess, I'll move on to non-alcohol related topics.
Surprising things about America:
I forgot your shit can get stolen just as easily here as in Morocco. Last week my bag was stolen from my desk at work. Considering the past 12 months or so, this was not that big of a deal. But getting new keys, ordering new credit cards and a new phone and losing some irreplaceable memories kind of sucked.
Justin Bieber is actually a big deal. (I was hoping it was just one of those weird trends that had picked up internationally)
WMATA (http://www.wmata.com/) is almost totally useless. My bus is late so often that I miss it if it shows up on time, and Metro has been using every three-day weekend as an excuse to do major construction on one or more metro lines.
You have to like, go to a doctor for prescription meds. I don't understand why I can't just text the pharmacist what I need and have her send it to my house, free of charge.
That's enough posting for now, considering I didn't even stretch first and it's been like three months. To everyone that is still making it work in Morocco, thala fraskum, twa7echtkum bezzaf o nchoufkum inchallah.
To put it simply, I left Peace Corps in late November and have since moved back to Washington. Leaving was not an easy choice, in fact it kind of ripped me apart. It was, however, what needed to be done. The situation I was in wasn't safe or healthy any more, and even on my most Morocco-sick days I can see that I'm still happier here than I was at the bitter end of my Peace Corps career.
Adjusting to life in the states has been a joy. I freaked out the first time I entered a Sephora and couldn't remember what I needed to buy, and just sort of stood in the middle of the store panicking. I've let the occasional "maskina/inchallah/hamdullah/bsa7a" slip here and there (it just feels so RIGHT) and I've had a few random crying spells. Sitting in an office all day is rough. I can't drink the way my friends do. I think I will always have digestion problems now. No one makes bread the way my host mom does, and NO one makes couscous. Much like Buster, I seem to find both crowds AND large, open spaces overwhelming. On top of everything, I miss my family and friends so much I often lose my train of thought. All in all, transitioning back to America is more difficult than entering Morocco was. Granted, this is a problem I was expecting to encounter.
One aspect of life in Washington that hasn't disappointed has been having my boyfriend back. We can go wherever we want together! In public! Of course, the places we usually end up at are more in the "Blockbuster going-out-of-business sale" category than anything else, but I can't complain. It's what we do. One day we DID go to a fancy restaurant and ate churros for dessert. That was a good day.
Drinking is an ongoing struggle. My tolerance is getting better, little by little, but sometimes I think I don't really want it to. All my light-weight stories are just too entertaining. Here are a few snippets:
I went to this little restaurant around the corner to eat dinner and read for a bit and, on a whim, ordered one glass of red wine. By the time I had finished my glass I was noticeably wobbly. I stumbled home and babbled at my roommate for a few minutes ("OH MY GOD. SWEET POTATOES ARE SO MUCH BETTER THAN THE NORMAL KIND. THE NORMAL KIND SHOULDN'T EVEN EXIST.RIGHT?! RIGHT?!")until he found an out. Alone in the kitchen, I decided I should make my lunch for the next day. I took my time fixing lunch then went upstairs, called Andy and sounded crazy and passed out. The next morning, I discovered the lunch I had put together---a very tiny peanut butter sandwich and one clementine orange. Why did that take 15 minutes to prepare? I don't know.
Last night I was out with some girl friends. After a two drinks I could tell I needed to slow down. We were going into a bar when the bouncer told us there was a $3 cover charge. I FREAKED out about it, left my friends and took a cab home. Except I didn't go home. I called my boyfriend and said "ARE YOU AWAKE?!I'MF COMING OVER. OKAY BYE." I arrived, stripped down to my underwear and promptly fell asleep. (booty call fail).
The problem is I'm still really messed up emotionally, and you never can tell when drinking will lead to a cute story or a freak out.
At the risk of sounding like a total hot mess, I'll move on to non-alcohol related topics.
Surprising things about America:
I forgot your shit can get stolen just as easily here as in Morocco. Last week my bag was stolen from my desk at work. Considering the past 12 months or so, this was not that big of a deal. But getting new keys, ordering new credit cards and a new phone and losing some irreplaceable memories kind of sucked.
Justin Bieber is actually a big deal. (I was hoping it was just one of those weird trends that had picked up internationally)
WMATA (http://www.wmata.com/) is almost totally useless. My bus is late so often that I miss it if it shows up on time, and Metro has been using every three-day weekend as an excuse to do major construction on one or more metro lines.
You have to like, go to a doctor for prescription meds. I don't understand why I can't just text the pharmacist what I need and have her send it to my house, free of charge.
That's enough posting for now, considering I didn't even stretch first and it's been like three months. To everyone that is still making it work in Morocco, thala fraskum, twa7echtkum bezzaf o nchoufkum inchallah.
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