Friday, June 16, 2006

Things not to tell your boyfriend without a preface

Apparently, telling your boyfriend that other people wanted you to tell him that he's not a good finisher may be somewhat insulting. Especially as the conversation immediately preceeding this comment was about the racy things bloggers were talking about. Spyboy was not pleased and remained a bit peeved even after I told him that I was talking about his double, Frank Lampard, in regards to his performance in the soccer match against Trinidad yesterday. See, several people I know are soccer fans and several of them think Spyboy resembles Frank. So yesterday, when Susan and I were watching the match, whenever Frank was shown, she'd say, "hey, it's your boyfriend." When he continually missed possible shots, she started yelling, "Him! It's your boyfriend AGAIN!" Eventually, it got to the point where she'd just yell "You!" And once the announcers declared that Lampard was getting in there and getting position for shots, but having a hard time finishing... Well, it was declared that I had to tell him. I probably should have told him when I was talking about the match, though, not when I was talking about funny lines other people had heard in bed. Oh well. Live and learn...

Also, I should just stop reading anything this Administration says. Because every time I read another one of their ridiculous statements and, worse, see the average population buying it, I get angry. Like today. The Post had an article on the debates in the House and Senate on the war in Iraq and the various political games people are playing. It's interesting, and mildly frustrating, because the Dems are not playing their best game. But the thing that annoyed me most was a quote from Dear Old Cheney basically again calling Kerry a flip-flopper. I mean, come on. You are beating a dead horse here. THat was an argument that shouldn't have worked NEARLY as well as it did in the last elections and it definitely shouldn't still be around. So Kerry changed his mind. Once. Based on new facts. Which, I think, is a good thing. Much better than the current Administration's policy of never admitting you are, were, or ever could be wrong. Then Cheney twists the facts, saying that Kerry, as well as the rest of Congress, knew about the atrocities that Hussein was committing. Probably true. BUT THAT'S NOT WHY WE WENT TO WAR. If the Admin had gone to Congress and said, "Hey, this guy is nuts, we should get rid of him," Cheney might have a point. As it is, they wanted to go to war because Iraq had "weapons of mass destruction." Do they really think everyone is just going to forget that if they never mention it? Sadly, most people probably will. But not me. Hmph. Makes me want to toss a glass of wine in his face. Okay, so I jsut want to do that to someone anyways. But, hey. I could check something off my list AND get my point across...

Thursday, June 15, 2006

Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll

So, I've started reading DC blogs. There is a really active blogging scene in DC and many of the bloggers are now real-life friends. My original goal was to become one of them. But the problem is... I don't think I'm quite hardcore enough for them. I mean, these people, according to their blogs, are a little crazy. Not all of them. But enough. I'm not judging them and their blogs are definitely interesting reads. I just feel like people clicking from their blogs to mine are going to be sorely disappointed. The past few days, I've read a blog about the worst lines said in bed (My favorite was "I can't get it up because I've already f***ed someone else today.), a trip to a swingers' party where the blogger met a poor girl who was dragged there by her fiance, one on whether or not it is possible to train a girl to be kinky... I mean, my friends talk about a wide variety of subjects, but usually not that specific. I was entertained a few weeks ago by a comment from one of the guys in the 20's and 30's group AFTER CHURCH which basically involved him pointing out the possible dirty connotations of "stretch hummer." This week's after-church discussion mainly revolved around training cats to ride on ponies, or possibly training minature ponies to ride on BIG (like tigers) cats. Of course, the big cats would need muzzles. Obviously we don't want to hurt any ponies here. But wouldn't that be great?! I'd totally pay to see a pony ride a cat. And if the cat were a liger? You'd totally make a killing with that.

In other mildly entertaining news, my mom has declared that she wants a blog. Why does she want a blog? Because she wants to post pictures and comments about her current projects. She wants something that she can lock so that no one else can see it. Both my brother and I questioned why she wants to have an online journal that no one can see, but she apparently thinks it'll be more fun like that. She also told me that I am not allowed to google and try and find her blog. Same to you, Mom! I did refrain from mentioning to her in my discussion of possible blogs that I myself have 3 1/2. Three real ones and another one that I can't remember the address of. The one I can't remember has the first few chapters of my much-acclaimed and never read novel from NaNoWriMo. I did have a moment of fear when I was glancing at where my MANY MANY (and by many, I mean few) readers are and I saw someone from the Boston area. Which is where my brother is. Interesting to think that we could, if my blog took off in some unforeseen way, wind up as dueling journalists. Anyways, I am no Daily Dump in that I am completely and totally weirded out by the thought of my close family reading this. And he talks about things like how his bed creaked during sex or what several sex terms (which I did NOT need to know) were. In fact, even recollecting those terms makes me shudder and reaffirms that people. are. weird.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

A bad night for Wmata

Wmata, for those of you non-Washingtonians, is the office that runs Metro. And, let me tell you, they had a CRAPPY night last night. Which is okay with me because, thanks to the brush-off they gave me/the other people in my car and thanks to the shoddiness of the doors and the inefficiencies of having the emergency button only on the ends of the cars, it took me an hour and a half to get from Foggy Bottom to Ballston. Which is like five metro stops and usually takes under 20 minutes. See, what happened was that a train broke down on the blue line at in the middle of rush hour. Whenever that happens, all the other lines immediatly slow down and all the trains become very crowded. So, I push my way onto an Orange train, basically happy to have found room for myself and figured it would be the usual commute. Only slower. It wasn't. At Clarendon, a man on my train started yelling for someone to push the emergency button, that a woman was sick. Well, as I mentioned before, the emergency buttons are only on hte ends of the train. We were in the middle. So we start yelling at the people at the ends to press the button, but they can't really hear, so we pull the little door lever to get the door to stay open. Which it doesn't, so we repeatedly hear the woman's voice, "please stand clear, the doors are now closing." I was a bit freaked out since I didn't know what was wrogn with the woman. Turns out, it was an older woman who passed out from the heat, lack of moving air, and dehydration. She woke up and sat down and someone gave her some water. The woman said that she was okay, she was only going to Ballston and her daughter was picking her up there. We established that there were enough people getting off at Ballston to help her out of the metro and to make sure she got to her daugher safely. Two metro people meander through eventually. We tell them everythign is fine, but we can't get the door lever to go back down. They ignore us and wander off to tell the driver to drive on. Well, she tries to shut the doors; half our door won't shut because the lever is pulled. Some guy eventually figures out that there is a latch on the door pull, he gets it pushed it, we all cheer. Ah, too soon, though, for a few minutes later (the door still half open), we hear the announcement that, due to a broken door, the train is out of service and everyone has to get off. Now one train being emptied can cause back-ups forever, because there is no room on the next trains for a whole train of people to get on. So I figure, Spyboy is supposed to pick me up at Ballston, I'll just call and have him come pick me up. Forgetting that he had told me he forgot his phone. So I had to jump on a bus, bus up to Ballston, getting there an hour after I should have, and completely missing our dinner with other people.

I checked on the metro page today. THey had somewhere around six trains go out of service because of doors breaking. I was not pleased.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Spies and whatnot

My coworker Susan and I are now within feet of each other. And, more importantly, talking distance. I don't think we are going to get much work done.

In other news, I am sadly SO excited about going home this weekend. Plus my mom will all want to pamper me (due to the health problems) and maybe they'll buy me stuff. And it's so peaceful there, and quiet. Plus I get to play with my kitties. I miss having a kitty. I've decided that someone should give me one. And by someone, I mean Spyboy. Who apparently doesn't like being called Spyboy. But EVERYONE uses the bf or my so or tg (as the Daily Dump refers to his girlfriend). It's so... boring. And he spied on me when we first started dating. Well, not exactly spied. He spied online and stalked a bit online and then talked me into letting him come over. Plus DC is so full of intrigue and politics, it just makes things more fun. Our trolley tourguide (who wound up singing to us, strangely enough) informed us that there are thousands of spies in the area around the White House. And the CIA did tell me that I should join their office of Clandestine Affairs. Hehe. I'd be like the coolest spy EVER. Especially since I currently tell everyone almost everything. It makes things fun for me. I tell Spyboy what my friends say about him, I tell them what he says... It levels the playing field.

On a new topic, Susan has declared that I should post childhood pictures of me on here. Mainly because I forced her to look at them when I brought my laptop into work. And because the Liberal Banana did a hair style montage. But seriously. I was like the CUTEST baby EVER. So adorable. I looked like a doll. So I might eventually post some. When I have the time. And when I figure out how to.

Monday, June 12, 2006

My hands are frozen

I did discover that there is a Dunkin Donuts not too far from here. I harbor the belief that it is ensconced with the Baskin Robbins. Since my office is literally under 70 degrees, I may run out and get a coffee. If the rain stops. And if I don't cave and get a cappucino blast instead.

So, I have now declared that I am not a big fan of the medical community. Those of you who realize my dad is, in fact, a part of that community may be surprised. But here's the thing. Since my dad was a doctor and we lived in a small town, when I did need medical stuff, it was my dad's friends who were doing it. This could have made things awkward once I got into college and whatnot, but luckily, we don't believe in doctors, so I had no embarrassing yearly check-ups. Now all the priveledged treatment has gone out the window. And I now feel the need to write a letter to all doctors in general about their treatment. Because I know that you are busy and I know that you have patients lined up after me, but I also know that I got up at 7 on my day off to rush into the city because my health problems are making my life miserable. I also know that while you may have gone to medical school and can look at an abdominal ultrasound and tell which blurry thing is a liver or a kidney, I am the one who puts up with my symptoms and my body everyday and you should pull your head out of your ass and listen to what my intuition is telling me. Then, if you still agree with your original diagnosis, which is entirely a possibility, you should talk to me about what it means and what it doesn't, rather than pushing me out of your examining room like you don't have time for me. Again, I know that you are busy. But I am a person and I am unhappy and I am paying for the insurance that is paying your bills. So suck it up and develop some customer service. And now, the more research I do, the more questions I have. Is it possible that every single thing wrong with me currently has to do with chronic stress and my body's inability to deal with it? If my doctor is correct in his diagnosis, then I have three seperate, virtually untreatable diseases. You can treat the symptoms, but not the diseases themselves. Why would these all start about the same time, if not for the fact that they are caused by stress? Sigh. I'll just go home and ask my dad who'll ask his friend. I would just call my doctor, but they charge for phone questions and money is one source of stress in my life.

I did have a lovely conversation with my friend Amy this weekend that reminded me how lucky I am. As much as I might occasionally fade into the background and as often as some of my "friends" have forgotten about me, I know that there will always be a few people who are more devoted and kinder and think more of me than I can ever deserve. The fact is I have three people who would do almost anything for me and who would drop everything to be with me if I needed them. And the females so nicely balance each other out. One is fairly religious and so I can talk about faith-issues with her. The other is bawdy and experienced and always ready to give advice on physical matters. Sigh. Now if only I didn't live miles and miles away from both of them...

Also, I've decided that my office only THOUGHT we escaped 6/6/06. But I got cut right before teh end of the day (and getting sliced by glass that is falling from the smallest height is just bizarre)AND my coworker had that very morning dropped a big metal rod onto her toe, nearly breaking it. I blame it ALL on the day...