Two weekends ago I drove from Richmond to DC to go dancing and make out with strangers at my friend's party - which totally didn't happen this time (sad face). Then I drove to Baltimore the next day for dinner, and then I had planned to drive back to Richmond. But I ended up drinking and dancing in the rain in Columbia Heights where it was decided that we, the people currently there, were going to go tubing the following Sunday. I didn't actually think it was going to happen, though since going on the Fourth I've wanted a re-do.
Tuesday rolled around and plans were underway and what started as a drunken suggestion was coming to fruition. (note: Fruition is really fun to say.) Then Saturday morning I got a text message that started "Pt. 1 of 2..." explaining all of the details for the trip. You probably don't care about these details, but these small details are huge. You see, I am a planner. I like planning things. I have always had to be the person to plan anything that I've ever wanted to do. I mean, seriously I have planned every single birthday party I have ever had except for my 18th birthday where my mom attempted to give me a surprise party that turned into a roast, "write down something you've always wanted to say to Amanda, it doesn't have to be a compliment..." THANKS, MOM! Anyway, I have given up on birthdays and generally other people planning things because other people are lazy and prefer to wait around for someone else to do all the work. I got to be one of those lazy people this time. AND included in the plans was a driver and a van "so that everyone can drink." Yes. YES!
So yesterday I picked up a chick and we headed to the van! And the van not-so-quickly filled up with people and soon Brite - that's "beer plus Sprite" (actually Bud Light Lime), was being consumed and Powerade bottles were being emptied as to be filled with mixed drinks later. So everyone got their electrolytes and was fairly hydrated before we hit the river.
Once on the river we managed to not make it to the far, less rocky side like you're supposed to, but we too occupied with making sure that we were close to the coolers. And each rock we came to then became a "bar." Pretty soon we were divided and people had floated away but I fortunately (or unfortunately) was tied to the person tied to a cooler. This made going over and around rocks all the more fun, and as we caught up with people more attached themselves thanks to the rope and knife our Planner had brought.
When the rain came, and the tornado sirens were going off and it was raining harder, we stayed in the river and watched the lightening and finished our bottles of various fun things. It was at some point during the rain that we untied our "crafts" and the cooler tube got away before we were able to close the cooler. The cooler was saved as was an actual Sprite bottle full of vodka. And after that it's mostly a blur, a really fun, messy, painful blur.
I lost my tube at some point and somehow, thankfully, but not really helpfully, the Planner found it and returned it. Because he got back way before me. I'm pretty sure it was the lack of tube that resulted in all of the scrapes and bruises on my body. Except for my feet, they are perfect because I wore these.
Last night when we probably should have showered and sprayed our bodies down with bactine, we didn't. But if we had, our bodies may have felt slightly better this morning. I haven't seen all the spots on my body, but every time I move I feel something new that I didn't know could hurt before. It's all fine, I can deal, except for the gash on the left side of my left middle finger. For all you right handed people, the idea of this happening probably isn't very distressing, but for me I can't properly hold things and my handwriting has been reduced to third-grader scrawl.
The exchanges today have been along the lines of "my body hurts" and the reactions have been "what the hell happened to you?" But the best reaction was my sister who explained to her husband that I looked like "someone locked me in a cage with a rabid cat."
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label summer. Show all posts
Monday, July 26, 2010
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Storytime
Yesterday evening I met up with a friend with whom I have not seen a couple weeks. She is carless, so I picked her up and we went to our favorite burger place.
Me: Here we got these samples at work, but we just stopped carrying this line. Their great, but I don't need the moisture one, so I thought I'd give it to you.
Her: Thanks, and way to turn that into an insult.
She has curly hair and it's pretty, but it could be prettier.
Later we're sitting at a table on the patio of the restaurant and I see this guy with whom mutual friends tried to set me up with last year. He's cute and according to the mutual friends "looks just like Ian Curtis." We met up for dinner once and walked through Oregon Hill and then back to Broad Street for ice cream one evening last year. I'm pretty sure we haven't talked since then. He apparently has a girlfriend, she's probably an art student, he's getting his graduate degree in something art related. Anyway, so he and his assumed girlfriend end up sitting two tables over from me and my friend. Neither he nor I say anything to acknowledge the other.
I fill my friend in on all the ridiculous happening in my life, as per usual. My life cannot get cut a break, ever. I suppose it's better this way, otherwise I would be so bored.
Our food arrives and I have ordered onion rings. I love onion rings, but I had forgotten how large the order was.
Me: Do you want any?
Her: No, I don't like onion rings.
Me: Really?
Her: I've always hated them.
about half an hour goes by...
Her: Actually, can I have one?
Me: Sure, but I thought you didn't like them.
Her: Actually, I've never tried them...(takes bite)...these are delicious!
We then proceed to walk around Carytown looking for hiring signs because she is looking for a new job. We see that a barbecue place is hiring so she goes in and fills out an application, I sit by an ice cream store down the way.
A woman and her two children come out of the ice cream shop. The little boy called Jack-Jack asks if he can sit by me (I'm in one of four chairs) an as I say yes his sisters sits in it, so he sits in the next one over. A man with a motorcycle helmet is sitting on the other side of him and becomes distracted by the helmet and drops his ice cream. While he is screaming, his sister tells me all about Robin Hood which happens to be playing at the dollar theater across the street, and their mother gives the boy her cone. She picks up her son's cone and sees that it can be salvaged. She takes a napkin out of her purse and wipes it clean and then trades her son. "You got a decent bargain, two flavors instead of one," say the man with the helmet. The boy settles down and my friend comes out and we continue on our way.
Today I had English. My "Image Analysis" was due today, it required me to find a print add in a magazine and criticize it. I chose a Skinny Cow add in Glamour magazine. I usually don't pay attention to add that aren't fashion related, but I have found that all the non-fashion related adds in women's magazines are incredibly insulting compared to the adds in men 's magazines. Ugh.
Anyway, we were told before our break to meet in the library after the break. I got there with a buch of my classmates and we all sat in a circle of loveseats and chairs. There was a little girl sitting on one of the loveseats and we all started talking to her and asking her about her books. Okay, not everyone, but me and the guy that I flirt with in this class (you have to have someone to flirt with in all of your classes, duh). Anyway, she was telling me all about her books when she left for a moment. When she came back she asked me to read her a story... I hesitated before asking her to pick one. She chose The Mitten, the story about a boy who loses his white mitten in the snow and a bunch of animals make room in it to keep warm before it gives and they are put out and then he finds his very stretched out mitten. The end. Anyway, I didn't make it though the entire story because my class was meeting in one of the group study rooms, but the little girl didn't seem to mind and thanked me for reading as far as I did. She was probably about six, and very bored. I would have been too, it was just so sad to me. I suppose it shouldn't be, but I had no idea who her parents were, but I can infer from my fellow classmates that they were probably single and can't afford childcare, and probably don't have time between work and school for storytime. It's such a shame, because storytime is really the only thing that matters before the age of nine when most people are capable of reading fairly well on their own.
My dad was the storyteller when I was a child. If we weren't reading one of the books from the giant stack we brought home from the library, he was making one up. He is to blame for my overactive imagination, slight paranoia and love for reading. And I find it difficult when I realize that not everyone is as luck as I was to have someone read to them everyday. I may be making too much of this, perhaps that girl does get read to frequently and just has no problem asking strangers to read to her. That's would still be an incredibly different experience than what I had, and I hope that's the case. Even so, those few minutes were surprisingly enjoyable as I read to not just her, but that circle of people. It felt strange, but comfortable.
Me: Here we got these samples at work, but we just stopped carrying this line. Their great, but I don't need the moisture one, so I thought I'd give it to you.
Her: Thanks, and way to turn that into an insult.
She has curly hair and it's pretty, but it could be prettier.
Later we're sitting at a table on the patio of the restaurant and I see this guy with whom mutual friends tried to set me up with last year. He's cute and according to the mutual friends "looks just like Ian Curtis." We met up for dinner once and walked through Oregon Hill and then back to Broad Street for ice cream one evening last year. I'm pretty sure we haven't talked since then. He apparently has a girlfriend, she's probably an art student, he's getting his graduate degree in something art related. Anyway, so he and his assumed girlfriend end up sitting two tables over from me and my friend. Neither he nor I say anything to acknowledge the other.
I fill my friend in on all the ridiculous happening in my life, as per usual. My life cannot get cut a break, ever. I suppose it's better this way, otherwise I would be so bored.
Our food arrives and I have ordered onion rings. I love onion rings, but I had forgotten how large the order was.
Me: Do you want any?
Her: No, I don't like onion rings.
Me: Really?
Her: I've always hated them.
about half an hour goes by...
Her: Actually, can I have one?
Me: Sure, but I thought you didn't like them.
Her: Actually, I've never tried them...(takes bite)...these are delicious!
We then proceed to walk around Carytown looking for hiring signs because she is looking for a new job. We see that a barbecue place is hiring so she goes in and fills out an application, I sit by an ice cream store down the way.
A woman and her two children come out of the ice cream shop. The little boy called Jack-Jack asks if he can sit by me (I'm in one of four chairs) an as I say yes his sisters sits in it, so he sits in the next one over. A man with a motorcycle helmet is sitting on the other side of him and becomes distracted by the helmet and drops his ice cream. While he is screaming, his sister tells me all about Robin Hood which happens to be playing at the dollar theater across the street, and their mother gives the boy her cone. She picks up her son's cone and sees that it can be salvaged. She takes a napkin out of her purse and wipes it clean and then trades her son. "You got a decent bargain, two flavors instead of one," say the man with the helmet. The boy settles down and my friend comes out and we continue on our way.
Today I had English. My "Image Analysis" was due today, it required me to find a print add in a magazine and criticize it. I chose a Skinny Cow add in Glamour magazine. I usually don't pay attention to add that aren't fashion related, but I have found that all the non-fashion related adds in women's magazines are incredibly insulting compared to the adds in men 's magazines. Ugh.
Anyway, we were told before our break to meet in the library after the break. I got there with a buch of my classmates and we all sat in a circle of loveseats and chairs. There was a little girl sitting on one of the loveseats and we all started talking to her and asking her about her books. Okay, not everyone, but me and the guy that I flirt with in this class (you have to have someone to flirt with in all of your classes, duh). Anyway, she was telling me all about her books when she left for a moment. When she came back she asked me to read her a story... I hesitated before asking her to pick one. She chose The Mitten, the story about a boy who loses his white mitten in the snow and a bunch of animals make room in it to keep warm before it gives and they are put out and then he finds his very stretched out mitten. The end. Anyway, I didn't make it though the entire story because my class was meeting in one of the group study rooms, but the little girl didn't seem to mind and thanked me for reading as far as I did. She was probably about six, and very bored. I would have been too, it was just so sad to me. I suppose it shouldn't be, but I had no idea who her parents were, but I can infer from my fellow classmates that they were probably single and can't afford childcare, and probably don't have time between work and school for storytime. It's such a shame, because storytime is really the only thing that matters before the age of nine when most people are capable of reading fairly well on their own.
My dad was the storyteller when I was a child. If we weren't reading one of the books from the giant stack we brought home from the library, he was making one up. He is to blame for my overactive imagination, slight paranoia and love for reading. And I find it difficult when I realize that not everyone is as luck as I was to have someone read to them everyday. I may be making too much of this, perhaps that girl does get read to frequently and just has no problem asking strangers to read to her. That's would still be an incredibly different experience than what I had, and I hope that's the case. Even so, those few minutes were surprisingly enjoyable as I read to not just her, but that circle of people. It felt strange, but comfortable.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Cartwheel Fail!
"I'm running late. I may or may not have fallen..."
"You are too old to be scraping your knees."
"Drinking wine and then doing cartwheels is a bad idea."
"Duh."
"But I'm usually coordinated enough to do relatively simple, fun tasks on whims."
"Did you skin your knee?"
"And my hands."
"How did you do that?"
"I did a cartwheel that started on the grass and ended on the sidewalk."
"Was there alcohol involved?"
"Yes..."
"Well I wasn't sure what was happening. One minute you were walking beside me, the next you were like, falling in slow motion, and I couldn't do anything at that point."
"My knee! Watch the knee!"
"How does my face look?"
"Beautiful."
There was this one time, not at all related to the above, where my sister thought it was a good idea to do a cartwheel on my bed and got her foot stuck in the wall. Unfortunately we have neither cartwheel incident on video, so I found this instead.
And this:
"You are too old to be scraping your knees."
"Drinking wine and then doing cartwheels is a bad idea."
"Duh."
"But I'm usually coordinated enough to do relatively simple, fun tasks on whims."
"Did you skin your knee?"
"And my hands."
"How did you do that?"
"I did a cartwheel that started on the grass and ended on the sidewalk."
"Was there alcohol involved?"
"Yes..."
"Well I wasn't sure what was happening. One minute you were walking beside me, the next you were like, falling in slow motion, and I couldn't do anything at that point."
"My knee! Watch the knee!"
"How does my face look?"
"Beautiful."
There was this one time, not at all related to the above, where my sister thought it was a good idea to do a cartwheel on my bed and got her foot stuck in the wall. Unfortunately we have neither cartwheel incident on video, so I found this instead.
And this:
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Mr. Potato-head
So, this summer has been fun…ish. Totally. Funish. So fun that I am spending a Thursday night in my room with a flat bottle of wine and Florence and the Machine. I have turned my phone off and closed all the doors and have decided to address two of the male species. First, Mr. Potato-head and second, Gray.
Dear Mr. Potato-head,
As a rule I am usually a fairly easy person to get on with , given that whoever the other person is willing to deal with all my opinions. They usually are, but you, you have this thing where you like to address all of them and then tell me why, in your opinion, they aren’t valid. Most people take them with a grain of salt and don’t think any more of them.
It is my ability to be incredibly direct and honest to a fault that allows people to either love me or love to hate me. You, supposedly found yourself in the former category. I like these things about myself and find that in my being direct I don’t feel the need to deal with others’ inability to be direct. You are one of those people. As you may have noticed I have not talked to you for the past two weeks.
It is your complete dishonesty and indirectness that allows me to write you off without feeling the least bit sorry. Now, now, I have been more than accommodating over the past year in listening to what you had to say for yourself, I gave you who knows how many chances to redeem yourself, and you failed miserably. What’s more, is that you failed in being a friend. I may have wanted you as a significant other at one point, but that time came and went quite some time ago. Why you could not find it in yourself to be a friend is beyond me as I went out of my way to be yours.
Lying. It is not something that I choose to have as part of my life. Now, given I have lied before, to my parents. But you and everyone else for that matter will find that lying is not something that I do to anyone I know well or care about. I cared about you, and to a certain extent I trusted you, and you had to go shit all over it. You lied about petty, little things, that should not have mattered. Who you were with, where you were, etc. I was not your girlfriend, I didn’t have ulterior motives. I am curious by nature and don’t find it intrusive when I ask my friends what they’re doing. If anything I’m hoping that whatever they are doing is more exciting than what I’m doing and that they’ll invite me to join them. If you were say, driving to Roanoke to fuck your ex that isn’t my concern, but don’t claim to be hanging out in Richmond. Small things have a way of floating to the surface.
The majority of my close relations have encouraged me to do this for a long time. Some though have excused YOUR behavior, saying that it’s only because you’re so young. That’s correct, they wrote you off because you were so young, and for the most part they regard me as fairly precocious with my heart at the root of all that I do. You took advantage of that. And it is for that, that I am choosing to not include you as a significant part of my life.
Unsurprisingly enough, you have not offered an apology. Though I did ignore your calls and gchat inquiries. I wasn’t away, I didn’t have my phone turned off, I choose to ignore you completely, because I am tired of putting too much effort in to relationships, let alone platonic ones, where the other person simply doesn’t give a damn. And despite your words, yours actions have always spoken louder.
-ap
Dear Mr. Potato-head,
As a rule I am usually a fairly easy person to get on with , given that whoever the other person is willing to deal with all my opinions. They usually are, but you, you have this thing where you like to address all of them and then tell me why, in your opinion, they aren’t valid. Most people take them with a grain of salt and don’t think any more of them.
It is my ability to be incredibly direct and honest to a fault that allows people to either love me or love to hate me. You, supposedly found yourself in the former category. I like these things about myself and find that in my being direct I don’t feel the need to deal with others’ inability to be direct. You are one of those people. As you may have noticed I have not talked to you for the past two weeks.
It is your complete dishonesty and indirectness that allows me to write you off without feeling the least bit sorry. Now, now, I have been more than accommodating over the past year in listening to what you had to say for yourself, I gave you who knows how many chances to redeem yourself, and you failed miserably. What’s more, is that you failed in being a friend. I may have wanted you as a significant other at one point, but that time came and went quite some time ago. Why you could not find it in yourself to be a friend is beyond me as I went out of my way to be yours.
Lying. It is not something that I choose to have as part of my life. Now, given I have lied before, to my parents. But you and everyone else for that matter will find that lying is not something that I do to anyone I know well or care about. I cared about you, and to a certain extent I trusted you, and you had to go shit all over it. You lied about petty, little things, that should not have mattered. Who you were with, where you were, etc. I was not your girlfriend, I didn’t have ulterior motives. I am curious by nature and don’t find it intrusive when I ask my friends what they’re doing. If anything I’m hoping that whatever they are doing is more exciting than what I’m doing and that they’ll invite me to join them. If you were say, driving to Roanoke to fuck your ex that isn’t my concern, but don’t claim to be hanging out in Richmond. Small things have a way of floating to the surface.
The majority of my close relations have encouraged me to do this for a long time. Some though have excused YOUR behavior, saying that it’s only because you’re so young. That’s correct, they wrote you off because you were so young, and for the most part they regard me as fairly precocious with my heart at the root of all that I do. You took advantage of that. And it is for that, that I am choosing to not include you as a significant part of my life.
Unsurprisingly enough, you have not offered an apology. Though I did ignore your calls and gchat inquiries. I wasn’t away, I didn’t have my phone turned off, I choose to ignore you completely, because I am tired of putting too much effort in to relationships, let alone platonic ones, where the other person simply doesn’t give a damn. And despite your words, yours actions have always spoken louder.
Friday, July 17, 2009
my friends are better than your friends
Between me and my roommate this morning:
Jessica: "That girl is coming to see the apartment again, really soon..."
Me: "Oh, does that mean I have to put pants on?"
Jessica: "Yeah, I did..."
Me: (putting on yesterday's clothes)
Jessica: "You don't have to put real clothes on."
Me: "I want to look somewhat presentable."
Jessica: "Well I've already met her, so I'm fine." (While wearing her jimjams)
I am going tubing on Sunday. I'm going with my gay friend, Markus. Usually I don't mention people's sexuality, race, etc, but...
Yesterday:
Me: "Who else is going?"
Markus: (lists a bunch of people I don't know, but all are male)
Me: "Are any of them attractive, straight and will make out with me and aren't put off by my being significantly younger than them?"
Markus: "Pretty much all of them. I don't hang out with the gays - they annoy me. I don't generally hang out with ugly people. I'm highly judgmental. Can't speak to age requirements, but those kinds of concerns generally fade with beer and lies."
Do you see why we're friends? And to think all it took was a lot of bourbon and crying over our deceased pets.
And all this chatting reminded me of a conversation we had a few weeks ago.
Me: "Do you like bananas?"
Markus: "I'm a gay man, that's a loaded question."
I have yet to make him a banana cake, but maybe I'll do that this weekend.
Jessica: "That girl is coming to see the apartment again, really soon..."
Me: "Oh, does that mean I have to put pants on?"
Jessica: "Yeah, I did..."
Me: (putting on yesterday's clothes)
Jessica: "You don't have to put real clothes on."
Me: "I want to look somewhat presentable."
Jessica: "Well I've already met her, so I'm fine." (While wearing her jimjams)
I am going tubing on Sunday. I'm going with my gay friend, Markus. Usually I don't mention people's sexuality, race, etc, but...
Yesterday:
Me: "Who else is going?"
Markus: (lists a bunch of people I don't know, but all are male)
Me: "Are any of them attractive, straight and will make out with me and aren't put off by my being significantly younger than them?"
Markus: "Pretty much all of them. I don't hang out with the gays - they annoy me. I don't generally hang out with ugly people. I'm highly judgmental. Can't speak to age requirements, but those kinds of concerns generally fade with beer and lies."
Do you see why we're friends? And to think all it took was a lot of bourbon and crying over our deceased pets.
And all this chatting reminded me of a conversation we had a few weeks ago.
Me: "Do you like bananas?"
Markus: "I'm a gay man, that's a loaded question."
I have yet to make him a banana cake, but maybe I'll do that this weekend.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
All Grown Up
Dear Internet,
I would like to start by apologizing for not being around for the last month, not that anyone reads this, but let's pretend. I have been exceptionally busy having a life which unfortunately doesn't leave much time for blogging. And I'm sorry to those that took offense at the above comment, but let's be real, non-bloggers constantly ridicule bloggers for not having lives, though, in out defense if we didn't have lives we wouldn't have anything to blog about in the first place. Now, if I had any sort of time management skills I would have a time each day or week set aside for blogging, but again, my life is insane.
I work. A lot. Like a ton. Like all the time. And when I'm not working I am typically driving or in transition to someplace else. Travel time takes up a good portion of my life also. My week, starting Mondays looks something like this:
Monday and Tuesday - Wake up and go to work at the Going Out Guide 7 am-5ish pm, from here I find someone in DC to put up with me for a few hours so that I can avoid my parents and all the uncomfortable questions my mother likes to ask me.
Wednesday - This is the craziest day of my week. It starts like Monday and Tuesday, but I leave at 1 pm so that I can be at work in Richmond at Images by 4 pm. Then I work until 8 pm. Then I have sister bonding time, otherwise known as being overly critical of the contestants of So You Think You Can Dance. Brownies are usually a part of this. I get home around eleven and pass out, hopefully after I've brushed my teeth.
Thursday and Friday - I get up sometime between nine and ten. Eat, obsessively clean my apartment and kill all bugs I see, tell someone about the bugs I just killed, put something presentable on and bike to work at noon where I stay again until eight. Thursdays I watch SYTYCD results.
Saturday - I work from 9 am-5 pm. This sucks, mostly because of the 9 am part. It often prevents me from doing all that I want to on Friday nights, or I just don't sleep.
Sundays are a toss up depending on whether I chose to dance in DC the night before, stay with my parents, or crash in the city.
So I work about fifty hours a week and drive at least ten and am on the metro for another five each week, and as you can seeI am going, going, going, all the time. Though, this is preferable to having too much spare time. I don't deal well with having to occupy myself and when I have free time it's usually spent nit-picking over stupid things.
The Going Out Guide, or for those of you that don't know what that is, I am an intern for Washington Post-Digital, or the website. I enjoy it. It gives me an excuse to look cute most days. Their dress code only states that employees can't wear sweatpants and shorts, so most people keep it fairly casual, but I like wearing skirts and heels and being dressed better than most of the people in the office. It's comparable to going to church with my parents in that I can usually count on being the best dressed one there. I won't even get into makeup, or the lack thereof and the ill applied makeup , that's a rant for another day.
I spend my time there fact checking and calling people and getting transferred to different people and after I've done this and eventually found someone to email me a press release with all of an events information, I put it into the calendar. Then I write a sentence describing the event, these are supposed to funny, but I'm not funny so I've given up trying to be. Sometimes I write a paragraph of two in addition to the "teaser" sentence. So, if you check out the Guide, and want to know about all the county fairs in the DC Metro area I will have put that information up. And let me tell you what, people that run county fairs do not have their shit together.
Throughout the day I spend a good portion on Gchat figuring out what I'm going to do that evening. It usually involves dinner and watching a movie/tv at someone else's house. I don't know why, but I just don't do well in the suburbs. I mean, I have to be doing something and if I'm not doing something I like to know that I could be doing something that is only happening a few blocks away.
I love my parents, but they don't do anything except watch criminal investigation shows. And it's difficult to have a conversation with them without them saying something like, "If you went to church...wouldn't happen." Boys for example, I can count on my friends telling me that their a waste of time, or agreeing with me that certain ones are assholes, etc, but my mother is quick to point out that I'm too abrassive, aggressive, intimidating, not sensitive enough, not soft enough, too confident, etc. And I'm always like what? Did you just suggest that I need to be meek and vulnerable and passive? Because I can't stand those type of people. Well maybe you should try being nice. Mother, nice? Nice is a word we've been over. It's a word that is used when you don't have anything better or worse to say about someone. I hope that people have a stronger opinion of me either way... Our conversations go on like that, unless she complains about me not liking her. She says that. And I have finally started aggreeing. Yes, Mom, I can't stand being around you. But really, it's because she says stuff like that. I mean, really? It's so depressing.
My dad is a little bit better. He isn't as intrusive. And we've gotten to the point where we can talk more openly about what I do, even if he doesn't approve, I think he's finally realized that it's helathier for us to talk to each other than constantly argue about who or what is right.
When I'm in D.C., as previously stated, I'm out most of the time. But, when I'm in Richmond I stay in most of the time. My apartment is really starting to feel like home. I have finally hung things on the walls. It's nothing fabulous, but it certainly makes a difference. I still have tons of things that I want to do.
I spent last Friday cleaning and de-bugging. I cleaned every surface in the house except for those in my roommate's room. I made a special trip to the hardware store and bought boric acid and fly tape, for our roach and fruitfly problems. The fruitflys were a gift from my mother that accompanied a pineapple. The roaches came with the apartment. You may be asking yourself why my landlord hasn't done anything about this, let me explain, roaches own Richmond. They are everywhere. And because I live on a ground level apartment, they're probably worse.
After I cleaned out all of the kitchen cabinets, I mixed cocoa with the boric acid and spooned thin lines of it around the edges of all the cabinets, into any and all cracks, holes and spaces between the wall and floorboards. Then I shot Combat into many of the same cracks and sprinkled more of the boric acid mixture under the stove and refrigerator. The fly tape was hung and has mostly solved that problem, and while fly tape is gross it's also satisfying to see all the flies that are not interrupting my breakfast anymore. The roaches and other brown bugs are becoming fewer and I am feeling better about living here.
Of course keeping the floors swept and the dishes clean also helps. We do not leave dirty dishes in the sink ever. It's awesome. We eat our meal and then wash our dishes as soon as we are done eating. I had heard of this before and seen it take place growing up when I would have dinner at friend's houses, but never have I experienced it until now. Mind you, it is largely due to the bugs. They keep us motivated.
I could go on, but I feel that most of you probably stopped reading about three paragraphs ago.
-ap
I would like to start by apologizing for not being around for the last month, not that anyone reads this, but let's pretend. I have been exceptionally busy having a life which unfortunately doesn't leave much time for blogging. And I'm sorry to those that took offense at the above comment, but let's be real, non-bloggers constantly ridicule bloggers for not having lives, though, in out defense if we didn't have lives we wouldn't have anything to blog about in the first place. Now, if I had any sort of time management skills I would have a time each day or week set aside for blogging, but again, my life is insane.
I work. A lot. Like a ton. Like all the time. And when I'm not working I am typically driving or in transition to someplace else. Travel time takes up a good portion of my life also. My week, starting Mondays looks something like this:
Monday and Tuesday - Wake up and go to work at the Going Out Guide 7 am-5ish pm, from here I find someone in DC to put up with me for a few hours so that I can avoid my parents and all the uncomfortable questions my mother likes to ask me.
Wednesday - This is the craziest day of my week. It starts like Monday and Tuesday, but I leave at 1 pm so that I can be at work in Richmond at Images by 4 pm. Then I work until 8 pm. Then I have sister bonding time, otherwise known as being overly critical of the contestants of So You Think You Can Dance. Brownies are usually a part of this. I get home around eleven and pass out, hopefully after I've brushed my teeth.
Thursday and Friday - I get up sometime between nine and ten. Eat, obsessively clean my apartment and kill all bugs I see, tell someone about the bugs I just killed, put something presentable on and bike to work at noon where I stay again until eight. Thursdays I watch SYTYCD results.
Saturday - I work from 9 am-5 pm. This sucks, mostly because of the 9 am part. It often prevents me from doing all that I want to on Friday nights, or I just don't sleep.
Sundays are a toss up depending on whether I chose to dance in DC the night before, stay with my parents, or crash in the city.
So I work about fifty hours a week and drive at least ten and am on the metro for another five each week, and as you can seeI am going, going, going, all the time. Though, this is preferable to having too much spare time. I don't deal well with having to occupy myself and when I have free time it's usually spent nit-picking over stupid things.
The Going Out Guide, or for those of you that don't know what that is, I am an intern for Washington Post-Digital, or the website. I enjoy it. It gives me an excuse to look cute most days. Their dress code only states that employees can't wear sweatpants and shorts, so most people keep it fairly casual, but I like wearing skirts and heels and being dressed better than most of the people in the office. It's comparable to going to church with my parents in that I can usually count on being the best dressed one there. I won't even get into makeup, or the lack thereof and the ill applied makeup , that's a rant for another day.
I spend my time there fact checking and calling people and getting transferred to different people and after I've done this and eventually found someone to email me a press release with all of an events information, I put it into the calendar. Then I write a sentence describing the event, these are supposed to funny, but I'm not funny so I've given up trying to be. Sometimes I write a paragraph of two in addition to the "teaser" sentence. So, if you check out the Guide, and want to know about all the county fairs in the DC Metro area I will have put that information up. And let me tell you what, people that run county fairs do not have their shit together.
Throughout the day I spend a good portion on Gchat figuring out what I'm going to do that evening. It usually involves dinner and watching a movie/tv at someone else's house. I don't know why, but I just don't do well in the suburbs. I mean, I have to be doing something and if I'm not doing something I like to know that I could be doing something that is only happening a few blocks away.
I love my parents, but they don't do anything except watch criminal investigation shows. And it's difficult to have a conversation with them without them saying something like, "If you went to church...wouldn't happen." Boys for example, I can count on my friends telling me that their a waste of time, or agreeing with me that certain ones are assholes, etc, but my mother is quick to point out that I'm too abrassive, aggressive, intimidating, not sensitive enough, not soft enough, too confident, etc. And I'm always like what? Did you just suggest that I need to be meek and vulnerable and passive? Because I can't stand those type of people. Well maybe you should try being nice. Mother, nice? Nice is a word we've been over. It's a word that is used when you don't have anything better or worse to say about someone. I hope that people have a stronger opinion of me either way... Our conversations go on like that, unless she complains about me not liking her. She says that. And I have finally started aggreeing. Yes, Mom, I can't stand being around you. But really, it's because she says stuff like that. I mean, really? It's so depressing.
My dad is a little bit better. He isn't as intrusive. And we've gotten to the point where we can talk more openly about what I do, even if he doesn't approve, I think he's finally realized that it's helathier for us to talk to each other than constantly argue about who or what is right.
When I'm in D.C., as previously stated, I'm out most of the time. But, when I'm in Richmond I stay in most of the time. My apartment is really starting to feel like home. I have finally hung things on the walls. It's nothing fabulous, but it certainly makes a difference. I still have tons of things that I want to do.
I spent last Friday cleaning and de-bugging. I cleaned every surface in the house except for those in my roommate's room. I made a special trip to the hardware store and bought boric acid and fly tape, for our roach and fruitfly problems. The fruitflys were a gift from my mother that accompanied a pineapple. The roaches came with the apartment. You may be asking yourself why my landlord hasn't done anything about this, let me explain, roaches own Richmond. They are everywhere. And because I live on a ground level apartment, they're probably worse.
After I cleaned out all of the kitchen cabinets, I mixed cocoa with the boric acid and spooned thin lines of it around the edges of all the cabinets, into any and all cracks, holes and spaces between the wall and floorboards. Then I shot Combat into many of the same cracks and sprinkled more of the boric acid mixture under the stove and refrigerator. The fly tape was hung and has mostly solved that problem, and while fly tape is gross it's also satisfying to see all the flies that are not interrupting my breakfast anymore. The roaches and other brown bugs are becoming fewer and I am feeling better about living here.
Of course keeping the floors swept and the dishes clean also helps. We do not leave dirty dishes in the sink ever. It's awesome. We eat our meal and then wash our dishes as soon as we are done eating. I had heard of this before and seen it take place growing up when I would have dinner at friend's houses, but never have I experienced it until now. Mind you, it is largely due to the bugs. They keep us motivated.
I could go on, but I feel that most of you probably stopped reading about three paragraphs ago.
-ap
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
why my summer is going to be better than your summer
"Are you nervous?"
"Not yet, kinda?"
"Well you should be, it's the motherfucking Post."
That was the conversation I had with my roommate sometime on Monday, after dinner? Monday evening was kind of a blur.
Michelle and Elizabeth came down for the weekend and we had a very lovely time. We saw 'I love you, Man' at The Byrd, and bought fake "glitter-girl" tattoos at CVS, and then went to sleep. Kind of lame, but we were really tired, and I feel like I was tired from staying up late on Friday (because I took a friend to see St. Vincent for her birthday). So we slept and then thrifted for most of Sunday. But not before we covered our bodies in fake tattoos. I had them behind my ears, on the back of my neck, on my hips, on my back, on my ankle, writsts, and of course one on my chest. So hardcore. We almost passed for Richmond kids, almost. At Goodwill Michelle bought five pairs of shoes. Five pairs. The fact that they had five, cute pairs of shoes in her size amazes me.
Afterward we made our way to Charisse and Sterling's to eat their food and ended up staying a lot longer and playing Rock Band for a few hours. We left around ten, and ended up hanging out at my friend Malcolm's house until Elizabeth started to fall asleep. So I took them back to my apartment and then walked back to Malcolm's to finish watching 'Alien' -- I didn't make it. I fell asleep within an hour after I got there and woke up in his living room where one of his roommates was asleep on one of the other futons. This is what college is supposed to be, right? Waking up disoriented? Yes.
I eventually made it home and after a hearty brekfrist we went to Belle Isle. They left around three and I stayed and read and managed to not get sunburned. This is quite the feat. I mean, I'm not going to be tan, ever, but I hate getting sunburned and sunscreen has become part of my morning routine. Also, my freckles are coming out and I am so excited. God, I am so vain. But really, I love my freckles, and am okay with being a narcissist.
Jessica and I had a very healthy dinner of grilled cheese and smoothies over a not-so-friendly game of Scrabble. I won thanks to the word 'perky', I got a triple word score and a double letter score with the K. The score was 205 to 188? I don't remember exactly what Jessica's score was. After that was the blur. By the time Spencer got to my apartment I was gone. And thankfully Malcolm moved my car, and Jessica didn't take pictures of me hula hooping.
Spencer left really early the next morning and reminded me to get up in time to make it to my interview. So, I got up around seven, and by eight I wanted to puke my guts out, but it didn't happen, so I showered and got dressed and attempted to look like I had it together, which I am thankfully able to do. And I made it to my doctor's appointment, on time, and left for Arlington around eleven. At this point the hangover had subsided.
I don't know what was with people on 95, but everyone was cruising in the left lane and I wanted to punch them in the face, but I pictured myself in a monster truck crushing all of them instead. By the time I reached Dale City my gas light was on, and I decided to stop by my parents' house, get some food and get gas on my way back to 95. I still had 45 minutes to get to Arlington, and I would have been fifteen minutes early if I hadn't missed my exit. I had to call for directions after I crossed the Memorial Bridge. So, by the time I got to the building I parked, and then I put money in the meter and then the meter decided to FAIL-out of order. So I drove to the next meter and the same thing happened, and while I was scrounging around my bag for change I dropped my notebook, and the cover broke. And some nice man told me that my car would be fine so I finally made it into the building.
I didn't have to wait long, which was nice, seeing as I was sososo nervous and doing everything I could to keep from fidgeting. The editor of the Going Out Guide and I made our way to a small room. I thought I was more prepared, but everytime she asked me something I blurted out another favorite thing in DC and how that related to the question, and somehow this impressed her. She seemed to appreciate my enthusiasm despite my shaking her hand for too long...yeah, I had a couple of those moments.
But I got it, and that's all that matters. I got the official offer-email today and my first day will be June 10th. The jist is updating the guide. So, if you want to know what's happening in Ashburn on August 7th, I will have come up with something enticing to say about it. TA DA!
"Not yet, kinda?"
"Well you should be, it's the motherfucking Post."
That was the conversation I had with my roommate sometime on Monday, after dinner? Monday evening was kind of a blur.
Michelle and Elizabeth came down for the weekend and we had a very lovely time. We saw 'I love you, Man' at The Byrd, and bought fake "glitter-girl" tattoos at CVS, and then went to sleep. Kind of lame, but we were really tired, and I feel like I was tired from staying up late on Friday (because I took a friend to see St. Vincent for her birthday). So we slept and then thrifted for most of Sunday. But not before we covered our bodies in fake tattoos. I had them behind my ears, on the back of my neck, on my hips, on my back, on my ankle, writsts, and of course one on my chest. So hardcore. We almost passed for Richmond kids, almost. At Goodwill Michelle bought five pairs of shoes. Five pairs. The fact that they had five, cute pairs of shoes in her size amazes me.
Afterward we made our way to Charisse and Sterling's to eat their food and ended up staying a lot longer and playing Rock Band for a few hours. We left around ten, and ended up hanging out at my friend Malcolm's house until Elizabeth started to fall asleep. So I took them back to my apartment and then walked back to Malcolm's to finish watching 'Alien' -- I didn't make it. I fell asleep within an hour after I got there and woke up in his living room where one of his roommates was asleep on one of the other futons. This is what college is supposed to be, right? Waking up disoriented? Yes.
I eventually made it home and after a hearty brekfrist we went to Belle Isle. They left around three and I stayed and read and managed to not get sunburned. This is quite the feat. I mean, I'm not going to be tan, ever, but I hate getting sunburned and sunscreen has become part of my morning routine. Also, my freckles are coming out and I am so excited. God, I am so vain. But really, I love my freckles, and am okay with being a narcissist.
Jessica and I had a very healthy dinner of grilled cheese and smoothies over a not-so-friendly game of Scrabble. I won thanks to the word 'perky', I got a triple word score and a double letter score with the K. The score was 205 to 188? I don't remember exactly what Jessica's score was. After that was the blur. By the time Spencer got to my apartment I was gone. And thankfully Malcolm moved my car, and Jessica didn't take pictures of me hula hooping.
Spencer left really early the next morning and reminded me to get up in time to make it to my interview. So, I got up around seven, and by eight I wanted to puke my guts out, but it didn't happen, so I showered and got dressed and attempted to look like I had it together, which I am thankfully able to do. And I made it to my doctor's appointment, on time, and left for Arlington around eleven. At this point the hangover had subsided.
I don't know what was with people on 95, but everyone was cruising in the left lane and I wanted to punch them in the face, but I pictured myself in a monster truck crushing all of them instead. By the time I reached Dale City my gas light was on, and I decided to stop by my parents' house, get some food and get gas on my way back to 95. I still had 45 minutes to get to Arlington, and I would have been fifteen minutes early if I hadn't missed my exit. I had to call for directions after I crossed the Memorial Bridge. So, by the time I got to the building I parked, and then I put money in the meter and then the meter decided to FAIL-out of order. So I drove to the next meter and the same thing happened, and while I was scrounging around my bag for change I dropped my notebook, and the cover broke. And some nice man told me that my car would be fine so I finally made it into the building.
I didn't have to wait long, which was nice, seeing as I was sososo nervous and doing everything I could to keep from fidgeting. The editor of the Going Out Guide and I made our way to a small room. I thought I was more prepared, but everytime she asked me something I blurted out another favorite thing in DC and how that related to the question, and somehow this impressed her. She seemed to appreciate my enthusiasm despite my shaking her hand for too long...yeah, I had a couple of those moments.
But I got it, and that's all that matters. I got the official offer-email today and my first day will be June 10th. The jist is updating the guide. So, if you want to know what's happening in Ashburn on August 7th, I will have come up with something enticing to say about it. TA DA!
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