Family tidings

I think I may get more hits when I post pictures of Cassie. Who I swear has gained like a pound in the past week or so and who is scarfing down food like none other. And who only seems to want to sleep on the bed when both Spyboy and I are up there. Otherwise, she just likes to jump up there, check on me, and attack me before running off. If we're both up there, though, she'll crawl on one of us or nestle in the crook of an arm or the curve of a back adn fall asleep. I think it might be because Spyboy radiates heat like a freaking sauna.

So I've decided my family is just depressingly successful. Or at least my brother and his wife. My brother? Graduated when the economy was at its worst in a field that is shrinking and yet manages to get a job a week before he moved up to Boston at a great organization where they love him and give him great career advice. Now another organization is offering him a decent job in a place where his wife would love to live (she wants to be closer to her family). My sister-in-law gets her PhD, gets a job at another great organization again where they love her and give her promotions and whatnot and bend over backwards to get her to stay there. And I'm not saying these two don't deserve their good breaks. Especially my sister-in-law because most of hers have come through hard work. It's just depressing to hear about all of this from MY end of things. IE stuck in a not-great job, doing stuff that requires very little brainpower, and having no idea of what I'd rather be doing except that this is NOT it. Sigh. Oh well. I'll just have to go to grad school, get a kickass job, and then move somewhere exotic while making tons of money. (No, I'm not competitive with my brother... why do you ask?)

Though at least I didn't have to juggle two cats, a dog, three thirteen year olds, and my aunt, as my parents did a few weekends ago. Not that my cousin and her friends aren't adorable. Well, I haven't met the friends, but my cousin is pretty damn cool, so I'd trust her to have some decent friends. But my aunt, being not entirely sane, thought that bringing their dog on a road trip which involved staying with my parents for a weekend would be a good idea. Now my parents' house has no place for a dog. None of it is fenced in. AND we have two cats, one who is old and cranky, and the other who is huge and playful. Felix (huge and playful) might have gotten along okay with a dog. Oreo (old and cranky) definitely would not. She barely puts up with Felix. But my aunt somehow thought that all would get along. So my poor mother spent the weekend shifting cats from upstairs to the basement, trying to avoid the dog all the while. And then? When the dog (and my relatives) had left? The dog had chewed through the cord of my mom's sewing machine. Of ALL the things to chew through, that would probably be the worst.

Food Network

CW (coworker) yelled at me for not putting up a picture of Cassie yesterday. So today, I shall not be remiss. And SB made fun of me for taking so many pictures of her (and more importantly, none of him). But, as I told him, he's not as cute and he's not going to change that much that quickly. Where as she gets a little bigger (mainly rounder) every day. Now she can even get onto the bathtub, if she runs and hits it at just teh right angle. Of course, she does tend to slide off... And he should take more pictures of her. Like last night. She totally passed out on my legs, all floppy and dead-asleep. Not only did he NOT take a picture (I couldn't; she was on my legs), he also kept fidgeting and waking her up.

While he was fidgeting, we were watching Throwdown, the new Bobby Flay show on the Food Network. This is a show where he surprises people at an event where they are cooking the thing that they are really good at cooking and challenges them. Last night, it was a barbeque. The sad thing, though, was that he shows up at the guy's daughter's birthday party. So basically, the party thrown so everyone could focus on this one girl was interrupted by Bobby and everyone then only paid attention to the throwdown. As a formerly 13-year-old girl, I have to say that this sucks. AND he didn't bring a present. Ina would have totally brought a present. At least Bobby won. But he should remember... It's not ALL about him, no matter how many food network shows he's on.

We also watched the new cake show with the guy in Baltimore who likes to blow stuff up. Like when he made a cake and shot firecrackers out of it and then everyone ate it. I was really looking forward to this show, but honestly? A bit disappointing. I mean, the people who work for him are funny, though his receptionist/manager? Dear God. I'd be afraid to order a cake from them just because she is THAT frightening. Very strict. His anal-retentive head sous-chef was pretty funny, though. I think I'd like to work all day on something like decorating a cake. Though the sous-chef was a little discombobulated to watch the people tear apart the cake he's spent HOURS on.

Mmmm... Leather pants...

So all this work has made my head tired. And I haven't finished two of the things I have to get done this week... OH well...

SB and I were talking last night when I came up with the perfect solution. I will get my parents to support me and then I'll spend a year "trying to find myself." Either that or I could win a grant that will pay me to do that. Either way. I think it's a good solution. Now I must iron out the pesky details, such as the fact that, as far as I know, there are no grants out there to "find yourself" and I don't know that my parents can really afford to support me up here. What with their new house and the addition and all. And I couldn't move home because my dad has sworn that I may never bring Cassie to that house. (He pretends to hate cats, when really he loves them and Cassie would so have him wrapped around her little paw in like five minutes.)

The whole "finding myself" thing reminds me of a past college plan. Jessie and I were going to go travel the world, looking for our motivation. Because we clearly hadnone. This trip was going to involve exotic locals, long leather jackets for us (because long leather jackets are totally badass), and an entourage of hot men wearing tight leather pants. I believe we may have even specified that the tight leather pants for the men needed to be red. Either way, it was going to be great. Hey, maybe there's a grant for that...

In slightly more serious news, I have decided that as an eventual escape plan, I'm going to go to grad school with the goal of starting next fall. I've even already registered for the GRE. In slightly more annoying news, my tutor from Oxford said he wouldn't write me a recommendation because my application would be stronger with a recommendation from someone who "was more familiar with [my] work." Liar. He just didn't want to do it. I met with him for over an hour every week for nearly three months, wrote him 7 papers, and he's not familiar with my work. Hmph. Damn Canadians... (Not really, I have nothing against the Canadians. They seem very nice.)

Where's Paula Deen when you need her?

This picture makes me smile every time I look at it. I love my kitty, who is the sweetest, cutest kitty in the world. If only she would cuddle more... I shall just have to teach her.

So, SB (Spyboy) and I went to a new restaurant last night for Restaurant Week. We were both... rather disappointed, although the sweet tea was splendid. We went to Indigo Landing, a Southern restaurant right on the Potomac near National Airport. The view was great, though the restaurant itself didn't foster the peaceful feeling the view produced. Inside, it was loud and echoed like mad. The staff was very friendly, although SB's drink frequently went unfilled. That's not THAT uncommon, since he drinks like a camel. The food was just okay. I mean, for $60 I expect pretty good. It was plentiful and I definitely left full, but... I had the chicken. It was supposed to be stuffed with a cheese fondue. It wasn't. It was barbequed, on the bone, and sitting on a mixture of overly small pieces of dark meat, vegetables, and frankly what tasted like Velveeta. SB got roast pork which he said was too dry, though the cornbread mixture that came with it was really good. Then I got pecan pie (or tart, rather) for dessert. It came with mint julep ice cream which was amazingly good. If you could freeze the essence of biting into a mint leave, that would pretty much be this ice cream. The pecan tart, though, was crap. The crust was dry and crumbly, and the filling was basically pecans with caramel so stiff, it made my jaw and teeth hurt. It just was not that good. So we've decided that next time we want to splurge on a meal, we'll just go all the way and go to 2941. Which honestly was one of the best meals I've had. EVER. With great atmosphere. So much more worth the money.

It is becoming clearer and clearer to me that I need to leave. Not the city, just the organization. And it's not even that I hate this organization. It's more that I don't feel as though it is advancing me at all toward something that will make me happy. I think about getting a raise or more responsibility and both would alleviate the situation, but it wouldn't be fixed. The fact is I'm ready to move on. The only real question now is how and to where.

Oh, the joys of the gym

Yesterday I returned to my gym after a three-week hiatus. It was a legitimate absence; I had to bond with Cassie her first week in my apartment, I then was in Boston or with my mom, and then Spyboy was out of town and I had no way to get from the gym to my apartment. Yes, I could go to my apartment and get my car, then head to the gym, but I won't leave my apartment after I get there and I know that. But yes. I returned, while still fighting illness and with a hurt back. I feel that deserves commendation. Anyways, after a short while of being there working out, I remembered why I hate people. And the gym. And people at the gym. First of all, I was annoyed to begin with. This jerk on the metro refused to move half an inch so that I could be more comfortable, THEN he quickly stole the only seat that opened up. Not that I needed to sit, but there were other people who were around who could have used that seat. It just wasn't gentlemanly. Then I get to the gym, quickly change, and get on my ellipse machine. Only to find out my battery has died in my gym mp3 player. (I use my pre-ipod player at the gym so I don't get my ipod all nasty.) Then this rather large man gets on the machine next to me. I don't mind because the gym is crowded and there are few open machines. What I do mind is him sticking his elbow out far enough that his sweaty elbow rubs mine. I don't know whether to be annoyed with him for taking up more than his allotted space (my elbow was carefully kept inside my space) or annoyed with the gym for only having like 6 inches between ellipse machines. It really is a bit precarious. I get a little worried everytime I get off that I'm going to be hit by a part of someone else's machine. I quickly shake this off, go stretch because my back hurts more, and then go to do weight machines. Now I only do three or four machines for my arms. There are two in particular that I like best. Both were taken so I wandered around, then hurried back when one opened up. While I was on that one, the other opened up and then was taken by this woman who did the slowest reps ever. So I wander around, do another machine, wander back to see a guy take over that machine. At this point, I'm a little weary of the wandering, so I plant myself firmly in front of the machine and stretch until he finishes his reps. As he starts to get up, this other large man starts hovering, clearly watching me out of the corner of his eye. I start to walk over to the machine, crossing the three feet between me and it and this sweaty, hovering, clearly has not been waiting because I just saw him get off the treadmill MAN slides in and takes the machines. At this point, I got pissed off and just left, calling him all sorts of rude names in my head (focusing on "asshat" for some reason), and declaring to myself that chivalry and courtesy is dead.*

THEN I get into the locker room. And there is annoying cell phone woman sitting across from my locker. Why is annoying cell phone woman annoying? Primarily because I don't like someone getting to the gym, immediately planting themself in front of a locker, and then conducting a really long, ridiculously personal conversation as if there is no better place to do such a thing. Meanwhile, I put away my stuff, go take a shower, and come back. She's still talking on the cell phone. So I get to be regaled by a description of her cell phone experiences (apparently she doesn't use enough minutes to justify her plan, but her cell phone carrier doesn't allow you to downgrade your plan without sending something in in writing) while dressing. It's not that big a deal... it's just irksome. Then Spyboy, who runs on SCT (Spyboy Central Time), was 20 minutes late. It did make me feel slightly better to hear that other people had declared that he had his own time zone (10-15 mins behind normal people). Which means, when he lived at home in Indiana, Indiana had 4 time zones. Which is just ridiculous.

Also this entertains me. Maybe I should get my mom to vote for him instead...

Lynn Truss would totally support me.

Here begins the series of Cassie pictures, in order to honor my coworker's request.

This weekend... well, this weekend kind of sucked, though my dinner on Friday was amazing. Sauteed asparagus with lemon and goat cheese has to be the best combination EVER. So easy and so delightful. Sigh. I wish I had some now... The rest of the weekend was spent, for the most part, sleeping. I had a relapse (or maybe a delayed reaction) to whatever I had earlier last week. It sucked. I got up both days, felt not great, but not horrible, and then after a few hours, I was about to die. Cassie was tolerant of it. She didn't like me sleeping in (she tends to meow to try and wake me up in the morning), but she napped when I napped and it all worked out. Saturday I did check out the neighborhood coffee shop, with their complementary wireless. Which is why you get updated pictures of Cassie. And soon of me as a child. I had forgotten how much being in a coffee shop relaxes me. Strange how that works. It was like as soon as I got there, I could just let go of some of the tension I was holding. There was a musician. He was... interesting. Not bad, but he talked a lot and that bothered me in the beginning.

Spyboy and I got into a spat (meaning I got annoyed and he pretended to be sorry while really feeling that I was annoyed over nothing but too afraid to actually tell me that) on Saturday. I still feel completely justified. He was just discourteous. See, I had called him on Friday night; he was out with his friends. So I told him to call me back whenever they got done and to have fun and we could chat later. He never calls that night. I sigh, but realize that communication is not his strong point and he probably got in late and figured I was already in bed. I also figured that he would at least call at some point in the day on Saturday. I'm not talking about a big phone call. I'm talking a three-minute, "I was thinking of you and wanted you to know I was okay, and I'll chat with you tonight" phone call. Nope. Nothing. I was starting to get worried. He called almost 24 hours to the minute after I had called him. I was a little annoyed. I also felt like crap. I was more annoyed when I realized that part of his day consisted of a 20-minute cell phone shenanegan to track down a friend he'd seen a few days earlier. He also had to drive all the way home from where he was visiting friends. I'm just saying these things to point out that he obviously could have spared me 3 minutes. So I told him I was flirting with the barista at the coffee shop. I know I'm mean, but I was cranky and sick and a bit hurt and recovering from slight worry and annoyance tied in with the worry, because nothing is more annoying than not knowing whether or not you have any reason to worry because your boyfriend could just not have called you back ever or he could be lying in a ditch or hospital somewhere and how would I know? Sigh. I would get annoyed again but I still don't feel well, he's been punished enough, and I have a Potbelly cookie to keep me happy. Seriously, their chocolate chip cookies are like the best.

ps. I'm not really insane, I just act like it occasionally.
pps. I'm lying, I am insane. Spyboy should know that by now, though, and compensate accordingly.

TMI, or why I don't want to know anything about "man juice"

So remember the wedding which I refused to call tacky, but plainly was? Apparently things have not stopped there. Now this is a couple who want to have kids like yesterday. And the groom at least was a virgin. I knew way too much about his sex life before he got married (non-existent for all real purposes) and about how he managed this (he didn't do ANYTHING). I could handle this knowledge. Really, I could. However. Spyboy saw them last weekend. Apparently a discussion was held on how the groom is not producing much during sex. Yes, that's right. They had a discussion on the volume of "man juice," as Spyboy and possible the lovely couple called it, the groom produces. It is a source of worry with them, what with the whole wanting to get knocked up asap. When Spyboy told me this? First word (and several words after) was Eeeeewwwwwwwwwwwww... Not something that really should be shared. Which, of course, is why I'm posting about it in a public forum. Then I came up with funny things to do about it. Like next time I see the groom, give him some apple juice, with the comment "I heard you were having a hard time creating your own juice, so here's some manufactored." It entertained me.

I also was reminded last night of how sweet Spyboy really can be (MUCH later, after the "man juice" comments). I was talking about Oxford and my doubts about being a Rhodes Scholar and whatnot and what kind of effect it would have on our relationship. He was quiet for a minute and then said, "hey, I'll just go over there and work in a pub." Actually, he pronounced it "poooob," thinking he was funny, but we'll overlook that. And later told me to go ahead and apply for it and we'll worry about all that stuff when I get it. It was just really sweet and reassuring. Sigh. Now if only I could get him to buy me flowers, I'd be set.

Oh, and my coworker has been nagging me to post more pictures of Cassie. So be prepared and don't blame me...

Working hard or hardly working

I feel like crap. I know, that's what my last post was on. But I feel even more like crap than before. And apparently my boss either doesn't believe that I or my coworker is actually sick or she doesn't care and wants us both here no matter what. If we are sick, it inconvienences her and that's all that really matters. Luckily, I look like crap, so I think it convinced her that the illness is real. Not that it matters. Yes, my coworker was out Monday and I was out yesterday. We probably got each other sick since our symptoms are the same. It's not like we were out partying or recovering from a hangover or anything. I, personally, spent most of the day yesterday either sleeping or sitting on the couch watching tv. I came into work today because I had stuff to do and I was sick of my apartment. Sigh.

Cassie has officially gone crazy. Either that, or she's a kitten. But man, she's nuts. I can't open the fridge now without her running inside. And it's not that she's interested. It's that she is bound and determined to get in there. She's started jumping in garbage cans. If I go in the kitchen, she's going to follow me and try and jump in the trash in there. She also tried to climb inside the dishwasher, an impressive feat since it was barely open and she had to hook her claws onto the wire rack and pull. This morning, she fell into the trash can beside my bed. She was playing on my night stand and I heard a thump, and there she was. Sitting inside the trash. I did get a box for her. She really likes the box. She carries around some of those little fake mice and throws them inside the box... it's a good time. I wish I were so easily amused... :-)

I wish I'd hurry up and get well. I have stuff to think about, decisions to make. And it's hard to do that when all you want to do is curl up in a ball and sleep forever. For instance, do I really want to apply to be a Rhodes Scholar? I mean, I loved Oxford, but it'd probably mean leaving Spyboy for two years. And we've done teh long-distance thing to death. Would we even last if I went over there? And should I stay in the States for health reasons? Because I obviously don't deal well with stress and, while my term there was lovely, stress-free it was not. In fact, that was when the stabbing pain got to be the worst. If I don't go, where should I go to grad school? Do I want to go to grad school? What should I do for a career when I get out? I had the thought the other day that the last time I was happy, I mean for a while and consistently, was in college. Which was a couple of years ago. That's not to say that I'm unhappy now. I'm just... getting by, I guess. And that's not the way I want to live. What do I need to do to make myself happy?

family of family of family

My coworker is supposedly under the weather today as she is staying home. I would think she was making it up (she just got back from Italy, her boyfriend just moved in with her, she's not thrilled with her job, I can see a few good reasons to stay home), but I don't feel so hot either, so there very well could be something going around the office. What this means for me, though, is a very quiet day. It's just me and my supervisor in the office, plus Spyboy is at home in Indiana, so not much conversation will occur. Oh well.

This weekend was a good time, minus the not feeling great. My sister-in-law's brother lives in the area and he had an engagement party. So his family, whom I LOVE, and my brother and sister-in-law came into town for the party. I hadn't met his fiancee, so that was fun, too. I approve, not that my approval matters much. And my mom was here for other reasons (she was here taking craft classes), so she got to go, too. Which was nice for her since she might not get to go to the wedding. It's in December, she's a church organist, it can be hard to leave town then. But yes. The party was fun, although it ended with about an hour and a half of singing. Cheesy, I know, but it fits both families pretty well. And then they made me sing a solo. It was a bit ridiculous, but I couldn't refuse my brother's grandmother-in-law (she's like 80-something, going blind, and a really sweet woman) and the aunt of the bride. Who is Lebanese. This aunt is going to teach me how to Arabic dance at the wedding. I am SO excited. And she cracks me up. Like a combination of a character from My Big Fat Greek Wedding and Paula Deen. She is one reason I always wanted to marry someone ethnic. I know that sounds strange, but my family is pretty traditional American. I would love to be a part of a family with a different culture.

In other news, I'm trying to decide what I want to do with my life. It's not going well...

Damn fairies

I had the most bizarre dream last night. In it, I was in some kind of competition. Whitney was running it, and she told me that I was currently favored to win. The first part of the competition was fighting fairies. With a magic wand. I remember trying to recall the phrases from the Harry Potter series, and coming up with some Latin. The first few times, the fairies did not fall. I tried again; was barely successful, but only managed to hold them off for a few short minutes. They were getting closer and closer... and I froze them and finished my first trial. Only got like an 84 out of 100, though. Then I had to win in a game that combined hide and seek with hunting zombies. It was very odd. And the siblings of my best friend from high school were there... Sadly, I never found out whether or not I won. I do remember that the prize had something to do with Spyboy riding in on a white horse as Prince Charming and sweeping me away somewhere. Like I said, though, I didn't dream the rest of the competition so no winningness and no white horse.

I blame the heat for that one. I was SO cranky last night, it was ridiculous. Though I blame my commute. Because it was like 100 degrees here and I had to wait for ten minutes at rush hour for my train. I finally got on it and... THERE WAS NO AIR CONDITIONING. I've never been so hot. Well, that's not true. But it was pretty gross. I was actually a little worried that if the train got too crowded, I'd pass out. Then I get to Pentagon, run up the stairs, hurry as fast as I can to get to my bus stop (trying again not to pass out), only to get there just in time to see the bus pulling away. So I had to wait for a full 20 minutes until the next bus. Luckily, that bus driver got there 10 minutes early and let us get on, so I could at least sit in the air conditioning. Got home, watched tv, tried not to move. I felt pretty crappy, due to the excessive heat and the dehydration due to sweating. And I was starving. Spyboy had to work late, meaning I didn't get food for forever. Then he got there with Boston Market and my turkey was all disgusting. So I could only eat like three bites of it. Then, and this is the real kicker, I tried to make homemade Cappuccino Blasts. They were a complete and utter failure. Just not good. I didn't have the right coffee and everything was too warm and it just wound up being this weird coffee slushy thing. And that was when I had my adolescent break-down hissy fit. Which basically consisted of me sulking and huffing and then getting mad at Spyboy for falling asleep and not paying attention to me. And kind of throwing things when I got mad. It was very much a regression to teenage years. Kind of entertaining, looking back on it, though nto so much for Spyboy. Let's just say that both of us will be glad when it's fall. Oh, I shouldn't have said that. Now I'm dreaming of fall... I love fall...

Strangled... with love

I woke up this morning to a pressure on my throat. Across it, actually. Cassie apparently decided that the best place to sleep was sprawled with her front feet beside my one ear, her back feet beside my other, and all her weight on my trachea. I call it kitty necklace. Luckily she only weighs like 2-3 pounds, so it didn't really bother me. The strange thing, though, is that I don't really remember how she got there adn I don't really remember her leaving.

Anyways, I was highly entertained to read about Bob Corker in the Washington Post. Why would this entertain me? Well, besides being from Tennessee, I actually have spoken one-to-one with the former Mayor Corker. It makes me feel special. He called me up one day, out of the blue, just to chat about life and whatnot. Or maybe to discuss him supporting an initiative I was working on. Whatever. Either way. The more entertaining thing is that apparently his campaign is so freaking annoying, it pushed my mom over the edge to reregister herself as a Democrat. Yes, my mother was a Republican, a fact that my brother and I learned for the first time this weekend. She doesn't ACT or have opinions like many a Republican. I mean, she's too liberal even for a moderate Republican. It does make me wonder, though, if this means that she (horror of horrors) voted for Bush in '04. I don't know if I could stand to know that she did... Now, I know my dad did. He would have even if he were a Democrat, which he's not. He hates John Edwards with a passion, so the Democratic ticket was never an option for him. Even my mom, though, doesn't understand his voting. As she put it, "I don't know how he can believe what he believes and vote the way he votes." But anyways. Mr. Corker, while a good mayor in Chattanooga, apparently has decided to emphasize his family values. Over and over again until his commercials leave you feeling as though you've lost something. Such as your mind. Of course, he is Republican, so that really shouldn't be any surprise.

On a completely other note, I was a little freaked out this weekend by my mom and brother's bringing up with me future plans with Spyboy. I mean, way future. Like "will you guys ever move to another country to follow a job" type future. I know that we've been dating like forever. But still. A bit weird. I remember before my brother got engaged saying things like, "we all know they are going to get married. Why don't they just go ahead and do it?!" Now the shoe is on the other foot.

Museums as Morgues

Well, I am back from Boston. I know, you didn't know I was going to Boston. Well, I did, and let me tell you, it was crazy. If by crazy, you mean a calm trip to visit my brother and sister-in-law with my mom. It actually was pretty pleasant. We had the most gorgeous weather. And, due to a fortuitous change in plans, Spyboy was in DC to watch Cassie. Only it wasn't so much a change in plans as me realizing that I had the date wrong in my head for the past three months. But yes. I'd only been to Boston twice in the four years since my brother moved there and I hadn't done too many tourist things those times. So this time, I went on a duck tour. Sadly my brother and his wife had to work. The tour guide kept calling me "DC" and decided I secretly worked for Greenpeace, but didn't want to admit it because there were French on the boat. But there really weren't French on the boat; I think he just got confused.

We also went to the Science Museum because a.it was on my brother's way in to work, so it was easy to get to and b. my mom wanted to see this gross body exhibit. She thought it was cool. I think it is gross and freaky and repulsive. (I went and saw butterflies while she was in it.) See, the exhibit is an exhibit of cadavers. Some artist figured out how to preserve bodies by putting some kind of plastic coating on them. So he takes skin off of most of them, puts them in to strange positions (like skiing or yoga), and coats them. It enables you to see how the muscles work in the body. There were also organs and skeletons and fetuses. The pictures made me a little sick. Otherwise I'd link to the website. But I'd have to look at it and that I just don't want to do. And my mom kept talking about it which made me a little sick. And sad. Because while the adults signed a form and said it was okay. But the kids? And it means the kids had to die. And they had a five-month pregnant woman. It just makes me sad.

Professional pretty, my ass

Well, I was all not going to post, and leave work like now, but the stupid Verizon guy is here and I can't leave until he does. And he's here fixing my SUPERVISOR's phone, and he left an hour ago. Totally not fair. Makes more money and gets to make the rules (when Pres isn't here). So here I am.

Isn't it strange how something someone said years ago can still either make you feel good or make you feel like crap? Like this guy in high school. He told me and my friend that we were "professionally pretty." At the time, I was all like, "I know." Now, though, it kind of pisses me off. Who the hell says something like that? First of all, I know that it is really hard for me to look slutty. It's a bit of an annoyance, but has its merits, too. Primarily that people always think they know me and that I'm a good girl and it means I can get away with lots of crap. And it's funnier when I say dirty things because it shocks people more. Though the sheer number of people who claim to have corrupted me is getting ridiculous. We all know I was slightly corrupted and then Whitney finished the job. Second of all, he's a teenage boy. A sock with boobs would turn him on and he's judging me? Yeah, right. He couldn't get with me if he wanted. So it hurt my feelings at the time, now I could care less except that I wish I'd slapped him at the time. Oh well. He did get told he was too fat to be on his college soccer team. That's vidication enough. It shouldn't make me laugh... but it does.

Ooohhh.. the Verizon guy is gone. Which means that I am outta here.

Cravings

This article highly entertained me. Why is it that guys, no matter how often we try and explain ourselves, can't get us? Like number 6: No matter how much your woman loves you, there are going to be three to seven days each month when she wants you dead. No matter HOW often I tell Spyboy that it's not really him and if he doesn't want to deal with it, just. go. away. he still insists that I am obviously mad at him and then tries to make me be in a better mood. Which annoys me, because he usually tries to cheer me up by being stupidly funny and it's just not funny. Okay, OCCASIONALLY it is. But most of the time, and definitely when I want to kill him, not so funny. And then I am simultaneously annoyed with him for being annoying and guilty for being annoyed with him when he's trying to make things better. But if I tell him he should just go away for his own sake, he gets all offended.

Also, Jordan Baker just posted about making a cake. Now I REALLY want cake. Hmm... Also, I found the recipe online for Cappuccino Blasts! I may gain 18,039 zillion pounds if I can make them at home. Right now, it's mainly the expense and the embarrassment of my addiction that prevents me from eating them all the time. I'm going to go buy a better blender this weekend. Whee!

Me? High Maintenance? Nah...

Sometimes I feel sorry for Spyboy. Dating me is not the easiest thing in the world to do. I do admit, though, that I am sometimes irrational. Last night was one of those times. Poor guy. He's been workign really hard this week, getting off close to 6. And, since I am basically refusing to leave my apartment after I get home because I want to stay with Cassy, it is up to him to come up with dinner. Or at least, pick it up. I know it's not fair, but I can't exactly stop at the grocery store on my way home from work. He drives, I don't. He gets the freedom of having a car and the lack of annoying people actually in your personal space, but he also gets the responsibility of picking up food. Anyways, so last night, he gets over to my apartment about 8, groceries in hand for french toast. He cooks (Hey, he likes to cook! So that's not me making him...) and gives me my french toast. which was nearly raw. I was honestly a little worried about getting salmonella. I mean, the bread wasn't heated all the way through. But he had tried to be sweet and buttered and put syrup on it for me (even though I'd have rather done it myself), so you couldn't really put it back in the pan to cook it more. So I ate it. And then, since I was already cranky and hungry and looking forward to good french toast, I kind of ambushed him with it. I kept my mouth closed until he asked me how it was. I wasn't hugely nice. Not completely awful, not like "It was crap!" But still. Not nice. Then I snipped at him for trying to get Cassy to attack his feet and fingers. But I read that that's a bad idea because it teaches your cats bad habits and I don't want her biting or clawing MY hands and feet. Then he won't stop fidgeting. He got a lot of snark last night. Of course, I never denied it when my mom told me that he has to put up with a lot. And I'll try and make up for it by being sweet. Probably not tonight, but maybe this weekend.

Though I'm not as mean as some people are on the metro. I swear I saw two people nearly get in a fight the other day. One woman was all like "Never treat me like that again," and the guy was all "then get out of the way!" In the guy's defense, this woman was standing squarely in front of one gate in, resting her bag on the reader for another gate while she looked for her pass. So she was REALLY in the way. And it was rushhour. I don't know WHAT he said, though, because she was really pissed off. Kept yelling at him until the train got there. It was kind of exciting, in a "I don't really want to deal with this right now" sort of way.

I just got off the phone with our press consultant about our newsletter. And man. My mind is about to implode or collapse or something. I have the feeling that she is all like, "Crap, this girl doesn't know what she's doing." Which is true. I've never taken an extremely basic, undefined newsletter and turned it into something of more worth. And no one here really knows what they are doing, either. Besides the press consultant. I talked to my supervisor about it. The conversation went something like this:
Me: We should really have more of a format for the newsletter, especially if boss-lady wants to have outside writers, which she does. That is going to take a lot more (any) organization.
Him: How so?
Me: Well, we might want some kind of timeline, first of all, so we can give them deadlines.
Him: Write one, then.
And now, I have four pages of notes on post-its (the big ones, with the lines) and my head hurts slightly. Sigh. And my supervisor actually referenced Vanilla Ice in reference to my coffee. I'm beginning to think he's hopeless.

On to happier thoughts, the pet people on livejournal are much nicer than the general livejournal population. I asked them for vet recommendations and the responses just poured in. I think I might actually go with the vets at PetSmart. I'm tempted by the Alexandria Veterinary Hospital which has gotten rave reviews, but they are more expensive. And with PetSmart, which got pretty good reviews, you can buy a whole care package on a monthly payment plan. And it's ridiculously close to my apartment, which is really good, since Cassy does not seem to enjoy car rides. I did realize why the names Cassy and Callie have been floating in my head lately. I've been reading Middlesex and the main character is named Cal/Callie. Which is quite close to Cassy, so... Cassy did cry this morning when I left. It was very sad. I closed the door behind me and was waiting for the elevator and I heard these little meows. She is such a goof, though. Frantically dashing all around my apartment before collapsing for a few minutes and then starting again. And she begs for food. I have to feed her right before we eat, because otherwise, she climbs all over and yowls. I think she just rests up during the day so she can go nuts when I get home. Sigh. I wish I were home right now.

I did get thanked by a woman for helping set up a meeting. That was nice. People usually gloss over me, since they don't really interact wiht me beyond the scheduling. So I appreciated the attention.

KITTY

This is my kitty. I love my kitty. She is strange and wonderful and a little whiney, actually, in that she enjoys meowing. A lot. In a high pitch tone. For no good reason. She also enjoys frantically running around my studio, so you'll be sitting there, watching tv and see something gray and white dart across the room and dive under the bed. Then she peeks out to see if it's safe and then darts behind the chair or into the closet. It's highly entertaining. She has a little bit of a hurt leg (no, she didn't get hurt with me! It was her previous caretakers.) Apparently, she pulled a muscle when she got her claw stuck in something and couldn't get it out. Which I can understand. Those claws are freakishly prickly and I am going to cut them as soon as I get some cat-nail clippers. She also completely passes out when she's sleeping, enough so that Spyboy and I can transfer her from lap to lap with her hardly noticing. I have named her (I think. I'm still not 100% settled on it.) Cassie, short for Cassiopeia. Sorry, Michelle. Spyboy wanted to name her after an actual person, too, but I couldn't think of anyone I'd want to name my kitten after. He was all, "Be like Lorelai and Paul Anka and you have to use teh full name." When I asked him for suggestions of a person, he kept coming out with people like Jessica Simpson or Britney Spears. I am NOT naming an animal after people like them. Plus, with Cassy, if I get another cat in the future, I can name her Andromeda and call her Andy. Sigh. I wish I were at home with my kitty right now. Though she is probably tearing up the apartment. When I left, she was doing that weird little hoppy thing that cats do when they are curious about something, but afraid of it at the same time. She also tried to climb my fridge. The sadest thing, though, is that she keeps looking for her siblings to play with. She sees reflections of herself in the tv, then goes behind the tv to find the cat back there. And she runs around mewling. It breaks my heart. I know she'll get over it soon, but still. I just want her to be happy...

Kitten Countdown

Okay, the kitten countdown begins. We are prepped and ready.

One thing. Any ideas for names?

Spying on myself

Ha. I'd been wondering who in McLean read my blog (maybe real spies or something), but I just realized that our provider must be in McLean. I, therefore, am my own spy. Sigh. Well, I guess I can be relieved, since I don't REALLY want the government watching what I write.

Though, speaking of government, Bush's speech to the NAACP seemed like canned crap. Full of warm fuzzies and no real substance. Anyways.

Today has not gotten off to a great start. Not a bad start. But not a great one. First of all, my shoes. I bought three pairs of comfortable shoes, for the sole (!) purpose of looking professional while not dying. I've worn two of the three pairs this week. And I have blisters. But, see, I don't really blame the shoes. I blame my skin. I have had ridiculously sensitive skin. The other day I was holding bottles while shopping at CVS. Held the bottles for a few minutes, and a few minutes only. I had little red dents on my arms for HOURS. The shoes? don't even hurt. I don't even feel them rub until the blisters pop out. It's just annoying. Then, some jerk on the metro shoved her way on. It wasn't even crowded. Everyone was going to be able to get on the train. And she just pushed her way past everyone, squeezing by some poor old woman to steal her seat. It was mean. Then this tourist starts chatting with a commuter. I have no respect for this commuter. None at all. And here is why. First, she keeps telling this guy that he should go to the Newseum. Which might be great. IF IT WERE OPEN. And, even if it were open, he wouldn't be able to find it since she said it was still in Arlington. Now that was not so bad. Uninformed, yes, old news, yes, but not that bad. The thing that made me lose the most respect for her? The tourist asks her where she works. She replies, "The IMF." Seeing his blank look, she tries to say what IMF stands for. AND CANNOT. She gets as far as "international" and then ends with, "I dunno, something to do with money." I mean, honestly. I would be mildly suprised if someone around here didn't know what the IMF was, just due to the protests and politics here. But for someone working there to not know what the anagram is for? And it's not like it's hard... IMF=International Monetary Fund. I kind of wanted to smack her. Then she was all like, "I just got married, so I'm not thinking too well." Yeah, did all the sex destroy your brain?! Because we might want to have scientists look into that. I mean, if too much sex kills brain cells, the religious right might have a point they could use. I could understand if she was distracted during an intellectual discussion by thoughts of her new marriedness. But give me a break.

Would you like a mint to get rid of the taste of foot?

I feel like an elephant is sitting on my head. I blame the heat. I always blame the heat. I hate hot weather.

Anyways, I've decided that Site Meter is a bad, bad thing. I've become obsessed with it. Not really obsessed so much as... no, it really is obsessed. I must know how many hits I get! Then I try and think of ways to get more. I mean, most of my friends already know about this blog. I'm not telling my family, which means I can't put it in my email signature. I don't really get on instant messenger anymore, so I can't put it there... the funny thing is while I care about the numbers, I don't really care. Not enough to do more than I want to.

It always surprises me that, even though Spyboy and I have been together for nearly four years, he can still stick his foot so far in his mouth, he gags. He did that last night. One of the main things I've had to get over during our relationship is his history. He was a bit slutty before he met me. Not horribly slutty, but compared to me. I mean, he got to be nearly my first everything. And him? Oh, he was definitely used goods. Combine the inequalities with my own insecurities, and you've got a storm brewing. It all blew up our first summer together and created a lot of the problems we are still working out. I got depressed and starting comparing myself to them, or what I thought they were like. I didn't help that I knew one was a quasi-anorectic who liked to participate in wet tee-shirt contests. But I've been good lately! And by lately, I mean the past couple of years. Every once in a while, I have a short resurgence, but it goes away. So last night, I was trying to be sweet. Because, while he was slutty, Spyboy was not very well-trained in some ways. So I like to offer encouragement, which I was doing, and all of a sudden, he comes out with, "Yeah, well, it's not like I hadn't had anyone to learn with before." Which I know doesn't sound that bad. It's not so much what he said, but that he said it. I'm not mad or anything, more flabbergasted at his own lack of thinking. Almost as soon as he said it, too, he felt bad. You could kind of watch him realizing that he had gone into forbidden territory. Which means something. It'd mean more if I didn't have to listen to him put himself down for the rest of the week because of it. Why can he not translate guilt into presents? Like flowers.

Demon Duck of Doom

MSN amused me greatly today. I read MSN mainly for the weird news. Then I get to turn to my coworkers, or, since one is only a wall away, I just yell and say, "Hey, did you know..." They don't read MSN, so the answer is usually "no" and I feel smart. Since my coworker a wall away is out of the country (stupid girl gets to go to Italy for two weeks...), I shall snicker online.

First of all is this. I mean, the title of the article is "When killer kangaroos roamed the earth," and it has the phrase "demon duck of doom" in the first paragraph. This proves my theory that at least some scientists have a weird and quirky sense of humor. You know they all say it "demon duck of dooooooooooooooooooooommmmmmmmmmmm." Because how else could you say that? I mean really? So now I get the funny mental picture of a stuffy-looking man in tweed reporting to a class, going through his slides. "And here, students, is the skeleton of a killer kangaroo, also known in the science community as the "demon duck of doooooooooooooooooooooooommmmm..." THey should make movie or a comic strip or something off of this.

Second was this proposal, highly pertinent after the Daily Dump's discussion of proposals recently. And highly entertaining. I mean, the guy had his girlfriend kidnapped by fake aliens before he proposed to her. And her family was there, hiding, stalking her throughout the museum. How is any part of this not hilarious? And the guy's main reasoning is that the girl calls him "her alien man." Does this mean that Spyboy will propose by darting me, having people kidnap me to some unknown location, and then torturing me until I say yes? I hope not... I'm not that kinky...

Anyways, we are now counting down to kitten ownership. I have to admit, I'm kind of tempted to take both available kittens. I don't want my kitten to get lonely by itself. But then again. I live in a studio. Two kittens could go insane and completely destroy everything in my apartment in like five minutes. We'll see. I'm only going to prepare for one, but if I go to get that one and completely fall in love with both... well, let's just say I'm not ruling it out.

Interesting day of comments

I may or may not have just pimped myself out for a sugar daddy on The Daily Dump. I also have been called weak for complaining about the heat. I still say I'm going to complain about the heat. If I'm hot and sweaty and the air is toxic (which it is right now), I have the right to whine about it. It's more the air that bothers me right now than anything else. And yes, I did do some work today. I am currently waiting for Adobe to load a document I had to find online. It's taking forever, so here I am.

Sidenote: Why would you take work into the bathroom with you? I was just in there and a girl was rustling papers and THEN she took a work call. Hello? That's what offices are for... I pity the people who have to work with those papers. Ew.

Anyways, the main news is that I might be getting a kitten. Spyboy's coworker found some absolutely adorable kittens and needs to give them away. I mean, SO cute. Big blue eyes, gray and white fur. Absolutely adorable. And Spyboy has promised to pay for the shots and I found a place in DC that will spay/neuter cats for free. The only foreseeable problem is having a kitten in a studio. That and I looked on a website for how to kitten-proof your apartment and there is SO much I hadn't thought about. Like floss being dangerous. Or cats apparently being deathly allergic to like 18 common plants, including most lillies. Or cats being able to fit into tiny spaces and get stuck. What can I do to keep my kitten from climbing behind my stove?! I can't keep it out of the kitchen; I have no door... I have the feeling that I may be overthinking these things. Afterall, many people have managed to have a kitten and not kill it accidentally. and then I would have a kitten to snuggle with... Though I've already warned Spyboy that he might get jealous of a kitten. I mean, he already claims to be jealous of my teddy bear and body pillow...

New depths: The Condom in the Urinal Story

Well, yesterday the 20's and 30's group at church reached a new low. See, every Sunday we all go to lunch after the service. It's a fun group, nobody's too uptight. In the past, we have had some racy discussions. The discussion about the stretch hummer, for example, and other ways one might interpret that phrase. Yesterday, though, we declared a new low. See, one of the guys decided to bring up a story from his latest trip to Russia. It wasn't the greatest story, or the dirtiest. Basically what happened was that he went to Russia and was in a busy restroom. I mean, line-out-the-door busy. He looks down, there is a condom in the urinal. Basically, end of story. But no. Our group decides to discuss the story. To think about various possible scenarios. The storyteller's favorite option was stockroom action. One girl mentioned that maybe the guy had just forgotten to take it off "at the appropriate moment," so he went to go to the bathroom, pulled it out, and pulled the condom off. We all got a chuckle off of that one. We talked about the gay scenarios (if it was a bathroom hook-up, why wasn't it in a stall?), the busy-ness of the bathroom was mentioned several times, the conversation basically went on for way too long. My favorite moment, though, was when one girl was trying to think of innocent, non-dirty ways the condom got there. She got as far as, "See, maybe this guy was making balloon animals," before I started snickering. "And he just wanted to show off his talent and no one really carries around balloons with them in their back pocket..." It was a valient effort. And it failed miserably.

She also talked about using condoms as water balloons, which of course reminded me of the time Peggy, Emily, me, and Whitney filled condoms with water and then walked around like we had penises. It was strange, but entertaining. Which basically sums up my dorm in college.

It's been a rough week.

Thank God it's Friday. And I'm not saying that in some cheesy way. I'm saying that because I desperately need this weekend to be here.

So, since I am tired and stressed, I'm merely going to reminesce. Though, as a sidenote, I am very proud of myself. All the stress doesn't seem to have had too many physical effects. So screw you and your meds, doctor!

The other day at work, we were talking about soccer and sports and, eventually, ultimate frisbee. Which reminded me of my ultimate days in college. Not that I was very good or hardcore or anything, but still. See, there was a big field next to my dorm and every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday, people met to play. Some of the people were really good. Some of them were really intent upon winning. I didn't like those people. Some of the people were really good, but recognized that some of the other people there weren't. Those were the ones who tried to help you improve. I remember one guy telling me that I needed to yell more for the frisbee when I was open. I nodded, but I was really thinking, "Then they'll throw it to me. And none of us want that." My dorm had a big contigent out there and one of my friends who lived on the first floor eventually badgered me until I came. Well, I had one, unmentionable, other reason, but we'll not go into that. It was just a lot of fun. I didn't really do much besides run up and down the field, and I felt horribly out of place. But the people were, for the most part, really nice. And there is nothing better than being outside, playing a game at the time of year where it's either just warming up or just cooling down. The air is all crisp and it just feels good to be outside. I did like that, while I felt rather schlubby all the time, there were positive comments about me. Or at least my ass. But hey. I'll take what I can get. Adn there was this one time where I made a sweet block. The frisbee was all flyign by me and I was like, "Hell, no, frisbee! The ground is your home!" And slammed it down. Like the highlight of the whole time I played.

This other time, guys turned the wet ground into a slip and slide. I kept waiting for them to hit a rock. Sadly, they didn't. It was funny, though. I miss those times.

One of the best parts, though, was coming back to the dorm afterwards. It was after midnight, you were all warn out. You'd take a shower and just feel that physical exhaustion that only comes from spending a long time outside, running around.

Mixed bag

So I was officially informed of my coworker's departure today. In a staff meeting. Everyone else gets a private meeting, but I just get it tossed at me? Apparently, I don't merit a private meeting. I am supposed to be picking up a few new, undefined responsibilities, but who knows. I did find a new perfect job that I am so going to apply for. I'm excited.

It is ridiculously hot out there right now. It reminds me of my first time in the Philippines. We got off the plane and it was just brutal. Like a wet blanket. I remember thinking that, actually. Pretty precocious for a 6-year-old.

Anyways, something has been bothering me for the past six months or so and work brought it up again today. There have been all these organizations trying to encourage more girls to stay interested in math and science. Which is a good thing. But they completely ignore every other aspect of life and education. Not necessarily the programs themselves, but their pr. That bothers me. Especially since more and more businesses are saying that people don't know how to communicate and that this is a major problem. And some of these commercials are written in such a way that it sounds like only scientists and math majors can be successful. Hello? As an English graduate, this obviously bothers me. Not that I can prove them wrong at this stage in life, but still. Not relevant. By all means, girls, be scientists. Do whatever makes you happy. But if you make some huge discovery and can't communicate it, what will you have gained?

Also, grammar nazis will take over the world.

Broken promises

Well, I promised myself that I wouldn't talk about my job on here, since it seems that it can be a bit dangerous. I don't care anymore. My supervisors are just being completely ridiculous. And if you read this, hello! You are being ridiculous!! See, what mainly started the whole souring of the office atmosphere was one person. She felt frustrated with her work, the office's supposed views, and the many hypocrisies that are hidden in our actual policies. She decided that she didn't need any of this; she'd had enough. So she decided to resign. Now remember, this is a single digit office. We don't have that many people. And we like to chat. So when both higher level people were out of the office, she talked about it a lot. We knew what she was thinking, what she was going through. In doing so, she brought out the frustration hidden inside of us. Or at least me. She turned in her letter of resignation over a week ago. They still have not told me. I think they expect me not to know. They just told my other coworker Friday. And the thing is, it's not like we have people ready and waiting to do the person's work. We all have to rebalance it. She leaves in two weeks. And they actually think I don't know?! Give me a break.

Sometimes it seems like every time I start getting things figured out, start getting my feet back under me, something else (or 19 something elses) come and knock me over again.

Anyways, my solo debut at my current church went relatively well. Relatively well in that it wasn't amazing, but not bad either. People enjoyed it. The sheer number of choir members who came up to me afterwards and said, "where have you been hiding that voice?" was a bit of a surprise. Since I think every other choir I have ever been a part of has known my voice pretty well. I'm not a quiet choir member. I try to blend, really, I do. But if a director's asking for more second soprano, I'm going to sing louder! Well, apparently I have not been singing loud enough. I blame not singing seriously for a couple of years. My voice is ridiculously weak, my range has shrunk, voice quality gone down. Sigh. The prime of my voice and I'm wasting it. Makes me a bit sad.

My dad came up to listen to me sing, which was nice of him. And he bought me stuff for bike-riding, so maybe I'll actually take my bike out of my closet. Bike, come out of the closet! We went to see Pirates of the Carribean: Dead Man's Chest, which was highly entertaining. I spent a good portion of it giggling. Though, two main complaints. One. Could they have the top of Kiera's dress ANY closer to her nipples? It was close to being another "wardrobe malfuction." Only the wardrobe wouldn't be malfuctioning, it would just be succumbing to gravity. Two. Not nearly enough topless men. There was one scene where Orlando Bloom's shirt was ripped off and you could see his lovely back. It was very nice and I don't really care that much about Orlando Bloom. Especially in any non-Legolas roles... Other than that, the main irritants were the other people in the theater. Someone's cell phone rang. Twice. Someone brought a 3-year-old who was relatively good for a kid that age. Meaning he screamed several times, cried several times, and got fidgety not too far into the movie. It was crowded. I hate people. But pretty good movie. I'd recommend it.

Zach Braff, you can do better!

My coworker just informed me that Perez Hilton is reporting that Zach Braff is dating Jessica Simpson. Are you freaking kidding me?! Zach is young, cute, intelligent, quirky, AND funny, and he wants to date Jessica Simpson?! I say it again. Zach, you can do better! Mandy Moore was better and I still have yet to forgive her for A Walk to Remember. Seriously, Mandy. I want my two and a half hours back. And the brain cells that committed suicide to avoid the monotony that was that movie. I could probably use those back as well. Either way, Zach, you are majorly disappointing me. I mean, I know that air-heads are now hip and in in Hollywood. But fight the trend and go for someone who can actually have a conversation with you.

In other news, I am apparently living inside The Devil Wears Prada. Not that my boss is evil... just... frustrating. We'll leave it at that.

I'm a bitch...

What can I say, I'm on a big song kick lately. Why songs pop into my head everytime I come up with a title, I'm not sure. I guess it fits my little description, though.

And the song is particularly apt this week. I don't know why, but I've been so cranky lately. And no, it's not hormonal. I'm just cranky. People annoy me and I'm tired of them. Brent got to be the first who had to experience this, just because I see him the most and am the most comfortable with him. Next, it's my fellow commuters. They'd better watch out, too. I'm about done with having them shove their way in front of me. Not that I'm much better, though I try not to be rude. But people, come on. It is NOT necessary to try and shove your way to the door a whole minute before the metro gets to the stop. You're just forcing everyone off balance. The only time it might be necessary is when it's really crowded and that's when people have no where to go. So you're all like, "excuse me, I need to get through." Meanwhile, I'm hanging on to a pole by a finger, with one guy's bag in my need, a single inch of extra space for my feet, an elbow in my back, trying not to smoosh or hit someone with my stuff. You can damn well wait until the train stops, and moving will not either cause me to fall over or to hit someone. Of course, these people trying to get out way too early would be helped if people would actually move out of the doorway to let other people off. It's ridiculous. Someday I'm going to come into work and it's going to be because I got in a brawl on the metro.

The next people to face my wrath are those on the internet. There are just so many snotty people who think they are more intelligent than everyone else. God help you if you disagree with them. Well, you know what people. There will ALWAYS be someone more intelligent than you. And there is always the possibility that they might disagree with your opinion or that, horror of horrors, you might be wrong. Welcome to the real world. Grow up and deal with it.

Strangely, I'm not actually in a bad mood. Just... aggrieved and irritable.

I can see clearly now the rain is gone.

It's so nice not to have 100% humidity. I was a little disappointed, though, that I had to go to work. I was kind of hoping the Potomac would flood and I wouldn't have to. Not very nice, I guess, when you consider that the magnitude of the flood would cause hundreds of thousands of dollars in damage and destroy the homes of many people without flood insurance. I would feel bad for them, really I would. I'd just rather sleep in. Plus, it didn't happen, so it's all good. Except that I'm still tired.

I was just thinking about how on top of things I'd been and then I realized I forgot to reschedule a meeting. Oh well. I'll do it tomorrow. Also, I hate InDesign. I know that there are all these supposed benefits. I say they're crap, because all I want to do is move stuff or recolor stuff and I can't. Susan and I literally spent 2 hours one day trying to crop a foot. Trying to crop, people! Of course, I know now that you can't crop because you have these stupid anchor points defining the image and you can only move the anchor points around to change stuff. Knowing more does not mean I like it more. Because I don't. It's still crap.

It's raining men, hallelujah!

Yeah, Bridget Jones was on the other night. I made Spyboy watch it. Well, at least the second half. It came on again later, but I let him switch over to Iron Chef. I mean, I did get to see my favorite scene, where Hugh Grant and Colin Firth go flying through the window while "It's Raining Men" plays in the background. I just love it.

This rain, though? Not loving it so much. We won't even get into the horrors of the commute yesterday. Though I may have been a bit snotty to Spyboy because of it. But here's the scenario. He calls while I'm waiting for my bus and says, "hey, let's just meet at Pentagon City for dinner." I figure I can just jump on a 16 bus from the Pentagon, get off a block away, have a short little walk, and it'll be good. But I panicked and got off a little early and had to walk several blocks. While I'm walking, Spyboy calls me, wondering where I was. So I answer, tell him. Meanwhile, I get to an intersection consisting of a four-lane road and the off/on-ramps for 395, which are six-lanes wide. There is no pedestrian crosswalk sign. There is no crosswalk. I can't cross over the other way any easier. So I get half way across, Spyboy still talking. I can't look left (I hurt my neck and can only turn one way). It's raining. I've got my umbrella up, further impeding visibility. Cars are speeding off the interstate towards me. I'm crossing with the light, but you've still got the people turning right out to kill me. Plus it's humid as all get out and I can feel the sweat dripping. It was just gross. And I'm still on the phone with Spyboy. As soon as I heard the words, "I don't feel well. It's just too hot out," from the boy whose outside time consists of walking to and from his car AND who did not have a hellish commute into the city that morning, I snapped a bit. And kind of hung up on him, with a bit of a warning. Hey. I never claimed to be a nice or sympathetic girlfriend...

Along those lines, Susan has declared that I should rename this blog "Bitchfest," in honor of all my stories about Spyboy. I find that a bit amusing. And it makes me feel a tad bit guilty. Oh, well. All the stories are true. Though, in his defense, Spyboy did give me neckrubs, take out the recycling, unload half the dishwasher, and cook a frozen dinner for me on Sunday. It was sweet. He then declared that I was not allowed to be mad at him last night (which I wasn't) because of his good deeds the night before.

I'm back...

I've discovered a problem with this whole blogging thing. Mainly, I'm lazy. If I don't have tons of stuff to do, I don't want to do much of anything. The main reason Spyboy and I leave my apartment on some weekends is because there is no food in my apartment. And watching the Food Network is absolute torture when you are starving.

See, before I left, I was getting stuff that I needed done at work. Well, kind of. We all slowed down a bit after our mass chaos. Then I went home. Which was amazing. I LOVE my parents' new house. It feels so European. There is a fountain in the front and a lake in the back and many, many decks. It was so quiet and peaceful. It was disappointing, though, because Friday night I was supposed to see my old choir director do a jazz performance at this big band thing in Chattanooga. He, however, got really sick and cancelled. I did get to see a great band, Yo Momma's Big Fat Booty Band. This band is honestly one of the strangest collections of people I have ever seen in a band. I mean, there is the lead singer, who is this skinny black man wearing one of those head tie things that is so long it looks like a cape. There is the nerdy white boy who plays the sax and somehow makes you think that his girlfriend must be a very lucky girl and who occasionally says something in an insanely low voice. There is the crazy white guy, who was wearing multi-colored, knee-high Big Bird socks, a tilted huge hat, and bright orange shorts. There were the two cool black guys, and the one cool white guy. Then, randomly, belly dancers who were a part of the previous band jump on stage adn start belly dancing. Meanwhile, there is a redneck with a mullet jamming with all the hippies at the front of the stage. And one of the girls at the front dancing like they were on drugs HAD to have been double-jointed. I've never seen someone's shoulder move like that! It was bizarre. The whole thing was bizarre. But it reminded me of one of the better parts of the south. People might be hicks, they might not be the most cultured or best educated, they might be high, but they are going to be themselves fully and enjoy it no matter what other people think. And I can respect that.

The rest of the stay at home was pretty uneventful. Saw some friends, ate some food, did lots of sudoku. Which is seriously addictive. My whole family is now addicted. My mom is pushing grad school. I was thinking of trying to become a Rhodes Scholar and going back to Oxford. The thought kind of scares me, but in an exciting way. I mean, I loved Oxford and I loved being challenged. But it was hard being in another country. You can say that America and Britain are similar, and they are, but just up to a point. There is definite culture shock. I was so emotionally tired when I got back. How would I feel after two years? And what if the work is too hard for me? But it's such a great opportunity and it's one that I have to try for now, considering there is an age limit. I keep going back and forth. Plus Spyboy won't tell me how he feels about it. I know he wouldn't be excited about me leaving for that long, but I asked him what he thought would happen to us if I left, and his answer was just "I don't know." Not exactly comforting. I think I've decided to go ahead and apply, though, and worry about the rest when (if) I get accepted. I mean, they only take like 30 people total.

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...

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.

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.

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.

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...

Drinking on Company Time...

So. Our annual event just ended. Thus the complete lack of updating or reading or sleeping, really, for that matter. Leaving me now so exhausted I am barely coherent. That's okay. Who needs to be coherent anyways? My first annual event was... actually pretty fun. We had way too much packed into Tuesday, so much so that when one of the panel members made us stand up because "it was 1:30," I almost cried. Mainly because I was convinced that it was secretly like 3:30 and I was looking forward to the dinner. Also, I was in charge of taking notes and my mind was tired of thinking. But the panels and speakers were prett interesting. And the hotel was AMAZING. I got to stay there because a few people cancelled last minute and we were going to have to pay for their rooms anyways. The showers? SO nice. The staff? Ridiculously friendly. The food? Delicious. The drinks? Free, or at least free to me. There were a few snafus, but hey. What conference is ever going to go exactly as planned. The fun part, though, was the conference attendees. They were so nice and so friendly and so supportive, it was insane. I can see why my boss is friends with many of them. I mean, they went over the top to try and make sure we knew they appreciated the work we were doing. They were friendly and welcoming and encouraging and funny. I know corporate people are not necessarily cold or conniving or evil, but when the main ones you see in the media are the c-suite level execs who are on trial, you tend to get a bad idea of them. But the people I met the past few days were great. The only truly down spot of the whole thing for me was when I knocked over my martini drink (due I am sure to an inherent clumsiness and sheer exhaustion). The glass then broke, the pieces of glass somehow hitting me in such a way that I now have a fairly large gash on my calf. LUCKILY almost everyone had left, mitigating the embarrassment factor, really the worst part in my eyes, and one woman sat with me and chatted while I tried to stop bleeding. Oh well. C'est la vie. Luckily I had sung earlier in the evening (after MUCH coaxing), and so people the next morning were talking more about that than my leg.

On another, blog-related note. The Liberal Banana is complaining because her reader count has gone down by 20 due to her lack of updating. I say HA! to that. I don't even have 20 readers to lose... I barely hit 20 last week total. Plus she is trying to do a drive to get internet at home. Now that I can stand behind. If only because I think my limited readers should support my internet need as well. I expect the checks to come pouring in. :-)

The Heat Is On

It is ridiculously hot out. I mean, absurd. I walk to work and am drenched when I get there. Susan and I got lost on the way from our office to the metro (yeah, it was a little sad. I make no excuses.) and I thought I was going to pass out from dehydration. Walking outside requires a "oh shit." It's not just the temperature, which, let's face it, is only in the 80's. Dear God. We have 100 degree temps still waiting for us. But we also have 94 percent humidity. This sucks. Hopefully, it storms tonight and things cool down, as the meterologists have been saying EVERY FREAKING DAY THIS WEEK. I hate them. I hate everyone. I almost shoved poor little tourists today. But hey. They were in my way and I'm not on vacation and I am shoving them out of my way so I can walk the horrible walk to my new office.

Plus we are now near the beginning of our annual event. My first. Where I get to a. pay attention to speakers, b.mingle, c.take good pictures, and d.not fall asleep despite getting very little sleep. Oh, and I get to wear suits for three days even though I do not have three suits or the parts to pretend that I do. Oh well. There are open bars. :-)

The death of clutter

Well the big move is over. My office now resides in another building, one with very few lunch options and a further walk to and from the metro. However, it will be close to a Baskin Robbins, so I can become more and more of an addict and the longer walk will be necessary just to keep me from developing cankles and a waddle. We currently have no internet, so I had to bring in my laptop and sign-up for a free month of NetZero just to check my email. We are all going through withdrawal, I think. I also can no longer just pop into my bank on my way to work and I THINK we might even be several blocks from a Starbucks. Sigh. And now we have to unpack everything we just packed last night. I did wind up getting wet on my way out of the building, because one of the guys we used to share offices with decided to bring a super-soaker to work. It was kind of fun. :-)

Now I am completely exhausted, plus I think I'm fighting off some kind of bug. A few people in my office don't feel so hot, plus SB's coworkers are all sick too. Which makes me sad, because I really want him to tell one of his coworkers about the light-up shoes and she's been out because of illness. I REALLY want to know what her reaction is. I imagine it as very funny.

The Beauty of the Rain

I looked at where all my many readers are coming from and saw one from England. which means Sarah might be reading this. If so, hi Sarah! Ah, good old England. I still occasionally miss England. And wonder what happened with all the drama that was going on before I left. I tried to get in touch with one of my housemates, but alas. He ignored me... (Literally. I emailed him twice, imed him twice, then gave up.)

I have declared this week to be the week of crap. First, one of my best friends breaks up with her boyfriend. For perfectly good reasons and she knows I completely support her, but it's hard to see her go through this again. At least this time, though, her ex is not some complete jerk who tempts me to fly back to Indiana for the sole purpose of ensuring that he can't have kids. Then Spyboy gets quasi-sick, which of course gets me sick. I screw up a bit at work and one guy gets snarky on me. When I'm sick, I'm emotional, so Spyboy and I had low-level fighting. Then I find out that my rent is going up. Not by the $15-$20 that I had been preparing myself for. No. By $50 freaking dollars. I have no money. I already can't pay for a good portion of my food, or my cell phone, or my car insurance. But I can't really find any place cheaper unless I move in with someone. Moving in with someone I don't know (because there aren't really any options among people I know) would make me stressed. Stress makes all of my physical problems act up worse. Which means more trips to the doctor, which means more money spent on healthcare, negating the savings of moving in with someone. Plus I'd want to find a place where I could have a cat. I've decided that once I have enough money, I will get a cat. It'd be good for my mental health.

And now, it's off home for a long weekend. I was thinking about coming in Monday, but, pleasantly enough, I don't think that I need to. Whee!! Of course, it'd be more pleasant if the rain right now would stop so I can get to the metro...

So much work

Somehow it seems that whenever I have tons and tons to write about, I just don't have the time to write it. Work right now is crazily busy. We're moving offices and planning our big event, so things are a bit crazy. BUT my coworker has been annoying me about writing about the wedding, so here we go.

First of all, I've already gotten in trouble with Spyboy for being snarky. And it was Indiana and Indiana can be tacky. And she is a nice girl; not exactly who I hoped the groom would have married, but I hope they are very happy for them. So, rather than making judgement calls or being snotty (I'm desperately worried that someday, somehow she might see this page), I will just point out the things about the wedding that made me go, "hmm... not exactly what I would have done." First thing: I would not have a Catholic wedding. Not being Catholic, this one is easy to understand. Plus, while I'm perfectly okay with Catholics, Catholic doctrine, particularly the "no one else can take Communion and since you aren't taking communion, we are better and holier than you are" attitude. Second thing: I would not have basic barbeque sandwiches or a beer truck at my reception. Again, though, this was Indiana, and they were trying to be cheap. Luckily, they provided champagne for the wedding party tables, where, thanks to Spyboy, I was seated.

Now, the aforementioned things did not make me want to laugh at all. I noted them, but did not not them so I could tell people about them later. The following I did.


First of all, these are close to the shoes that the bridesmaids wore. With the lights and everything. It took me a while to notice because the dresses were floor-length, but when I did, I was taken aback. Well, that's not true. The first girl I noticed with them was the junior bridesmaid, who was in her young teens, so I thought it might be fun for her. THen I noticed that they ALL had them.

Second thing, but first thing I noticed. She was wearing a plastic crown. Now, I'm all for a tiara. I think. I haven't quite decided. But if you can't wear a tiara on your wedding day then when can you? But a crown? Then I thought, maybe it's a Catholic thing. I don't know. But plastic? I mean, I know you are trying to save money, but...

Third thing, not as obvious, but made me giggle. She beadazzled her own dress. That is right, she bought a wedding dress with a toule skirt and beadazzled it. She did the veil, too. Scariest thing: Spyboy and Spyboy's mother may have liked it...

Now, I have no intention of getting married for quite some time. But I have ideas. Most of my ideas might be a bit formal and uppity for her. But if she's at my wedding, and if I marry Spyboy she probably will be, she is perfectly allowed to make snarky comments to whomever she wants but me. I was thrilled, though, when I found someone to be snarky with at the reception. It was much fun and kept me from exploding. Plus Spyboy doesn't approve, but I have to talk about these things with someone...

Back home again in Indiana

Going back to Indiana, which was not my real home, but my school home, was strange. VERY strange. Nothing has changed in Bloomington. Well, a few construction projects that were in the works were finished, and the White Castle is now a strip mall with a Moe's, but other than that. When we drove through town, I kept feeling like I should be going to my apartment or dorm. It made me sad and gave me closure all at the same time. I mean, it's not my home, not anymore. Though God knows DC isn't either yet. But it's nice to know that things are basically what I remembered. And seeing one of my best friends was, of course, loads of fun. I love that we can act really silly (turning on her boyfriend, apparently) and then later have great discussions.

And more on the wedding later.