At Least I’m Getting Paid For This

It’s been three weeks since I went to D.C. and I have yet to write a word about it. I haven’t uploaded my picture’s either. Whoopsies!
Seeing as the internet is down at work (meaning I can’t do my work OR procrastinate), and we don’t have solitaire installed on our computers, I thought now might be a good time to tell you a bit about my journey!

My friends Oxana and LiveFree and I got there on Thursday night, took a cab to our hotel, and suddenly realized we were about two blocks from the Capitol Building. We even had a peek (I wouldn’t exactly call it a view…) of the Washington Monument from our hotel room!

Our “view.”

We got comfy, unpacked, and then headed out for a little night tour of the Capital Building. We didn’t last very long before we went back to bed for our nightly snooze.

                                                            “I’m so bright and shiny!”

The next day we went to Starbucks for breakfast, where we met some of the local wild life. A little bird was full of cheek, and tried to steal my croissant out of my hand, after I had already given him two pieces.

Vicious

We walked to the Capitol building, checked it out in the daylight, then perused the exhibits at the American History Museum. It was really quite cool in there. I loved seeing the dresses of all the first ladies, Julia Child’s kitchen, and of course, my favorite of all…Kermit the frog.

How could you not love that face?

I love him. Jim Henson made the first Kermit out of his mother’s Summer Coat and a ping pong ball. Creativity out the wazoo!

Next was the cavernous National Gallery of Art, the East wing. Holy damn. SO MANY ROOMS. You try and stick to a sort of game plan in seeing it all, but you can’t. Eventually the room after endless room wears you down and you get lost and start thinking crazy thoughts, like, “If I never make it out of her is canvas edible??” So we didn’t really finish that gallery. We did see the sculpture garden outside, which was really beautiful and serene. You know. Besides the other tourists.

That night we met up with my friend TubaDude for dinner at this cool pub place called The Dubliner. We sat outside until it started to sprinkle rain and we all retreated to the indoors. The atmosphere was very nice, as was the food. Though I did have to use a knife to eat my French onion soup. That damn cheese Gandalf-ed me!

I'll knife and fork you!

Then he brought us to this bookstore/restaurant/bar called Busboys and Poets. It was fantastic! We had a few drinks and some appetizers (we were still stuffed from the Dubliner) and made friends with our waiter, Ali. No really. We shook hands, learned about his life (he’s going to Georgetown, is from “New York,” and it was his third day working at the restaurant), he pulled up a chair and would join us for a couple minutes here and there. We ended up staying there for 3 or 4 hours, until we finally had to leave.

On our way back to the metro, we saw a bunch of police cars surround this one big SUV at an intersection, then out of NOWHERE a helicopter appeared with is searchlight illuminating the street. A woman finally stepped out of the SUV, and just like that, the cop cars thinned and the helicopter vanished. I have absolutely no idea what happened, but I’m really glad it didn’t involve gunfire. I’m pretty sure I would’ve run, and that never looks good…

Saturday we ate breakfast at Union Station, then I think we went to the West building. It was smaller and MUCH more do-able. We saw it all, ate lunch in their cafeteria, then headed out to see the rest of the Mall, up close and personal.

We walked all the way to the Washington Monument, when we decided we needed a good stretch after over-working our legs so much. We relaxed on the grass, did some wacky yoga, when I promptly ripped a hole in the crotch of the only pair of pants I brought. Leave it to me…

You couldn’t really see the hole when I was up and walking, so we carried on to the World War II memorial. It’s quite gorgeous. I quite loved it, it was so…calm. It really made you reflect on the massiveness of the war and the lives lost.

I did take issue with one of the quotes they had chosen to etch into stone forever (it said, in so many words, that women were not people until they joined the war effort), but overall it’s one of my favorite memorials.

Onward to Lincoln! Actually, that’s not true. First the Korean War Memorial, then the Vietnam Memorial (which moves me every time), then the Lincoln Memorial.

We made it. Our legs were near to breaking off and we still managed to climb the perpetual steps to see honest Abe, sitting still and watching over all. It was fantastic. We were disappointed, however, because apparently the reflecting pool was leaking, so the entire thing was dug up, and under construction. The memorials were all still glorious, but the reflecting pool being a long, rectangular pile of dirt detracted just a little.

Then we walked to see the White House! It was spiffy. I waved hello to the Obama’s, and listened for a bit to a man protesting something outside the front. His relentless megaphone speeching reminded us of our stomachs, now in a near constant state of growl from lack of food. We were trying to find a restaurant to go to, and had one helluva time since most were closed. We found one, but apparently there had been a graduation that day and it was packed to the brim with families and students. So...we left and headed to find a metro station to head back to Union Station because we were all getting grouchy at that point. We finally made it back, got food, and HOUSED it. I don’t know if I have ever been that hungry before (I probably have, let’s be honest).

Oxana, had her friend RunStrong meet us there. After refueling and heading to our hotel for a quick pit stop, we all headed out as a group to see the memorials at night. Oh. Oh-ho-ho. How I wish I could think of the words to describe the pain my tootsies were in. Nothing can describe the swollen, throbbing mess of anguish attached to the bottom of my legs (which weren’t exactly free of malaise themselves). But, I’m hoping you have maybe gotten my gist, and can assume that more walking was quite a task.

Between the exhaustion and pain, I’m also fairly certain we completely lost our minds. We essentially acted a fool all the way from the Capitol Building, down to the Washington Monument where we met up with TubaDude again, right on til the Lincoln Memorial. Don’t get me wrong, it was beautiful, and absolutely worth it (I think I like all the monuments and memorials best at night!), but I do not know what we were thinking. We parted with the guys, and took a cab back to the hotel (THANK GOD), where I immediately iced my feet.

No. Really.

Foot spaaaaaah...

Then? Can you guess? Bed!

Sunday, we woke up, tried to find a breakfast place, failed, and decided we’d go eat at Eastern market where we were currently headed. We bought Metro tickets, waited 15 minutes for a train, then decided we’d be better off walking. Oi.

But we made it (it really wasn’t all THAT far), and I went to a little café with the third of our group, while Oxana got some shrimp and grits from a booth. I meant to get some for lunch, but was distracted by the falalfel!

We spent a couple hours there and I loved it! I also loved the neighborhood we walked through to get there in the historic district. I would like to live there, Lets make this happen, people!

Sadly, we did have to go, as this was our last day in the lovely District of Colombia, so we walked back, and laid on the grass for at least an hour outside the Capitol Building. It was glorious. I love taking the time in a new place to just sit and be there. People watching, and relaxing, are two of my favorite pastimes.

Then, cab ride to the airport, hour and a half flight (after being delayed an hour), and we were home at Logan Airport! As we walked away from the terminal, I looked down to see some grey mass on the ground. Hey, that looks like fabric! Hey, that looks like men’s boxer briefs…hey! That looks like LiveFree is about to step on them!

Me: “LiveFree, those are underwear! Don’t step on them!”

LiveFree: “What? Oh!”

Some random guy: “Look, there’s more!”

I look up to find this guy walking in front of us has sprung a clothing leak in his duffel back, and it’s dropping clothes like it’s a fountain.

Me: “Sir! Sir!!”

FountainBag: “Huh? Oh, no…”

Yes. Yes, ‘oh no.’ That sucks. I look back to see LiveFree kicking this poor man’s underwear along, to catch up with him, when I hear him say, “Uh, you…really don’t need to do that…”

We were so zonked that LiveFree thought it was a good idea to kick this random underwear, unidentifiable as clean or dirty, across the floor of a busy international airport. Hahahaha, she will never live that down, and it will always make me laugh. Strangely, that was one of the highlights of our trip. And I loved every second of it (the trip, not the underwear...)!

Well. Here’s some sad news, she says as she types to no one in a word document, I had hoped that by the time I finished this we’d have the internet back, but…guess what? We don’t! So I have finally written about my trip, but can’t share it with anyone. Damn. You guys must not be bummed. Mostly because you have no idea. But if you did? I bet you’d be bummed.

I am. Now what am I supposed to do??

This is my desk. Perhaps according to Salvador Dali. Or a deranged mental patient.

I must be on drugs

I have been sitting here for almost four whole hours. Doing nothing. This is my brain (I’d like you to know I spelled that ‘brian’ the first time). By Frida Kahlo.

That last drawing didn’t happen.Which is probably also an accurate depiction of my brain (or brian) right now. Nothing. is happening. No. synapses. firing. Help. please. won’t. make. it. out. alive.


We have since gotten the internet back, as you can probably tell. I'm fairly certain this post is poorly worded and bland and is definitely lacking some italics for emphasis, but I think we're lucky it even happened at all at this point.Til next time!

I Don't Think Blondie Had Any Idea What They Were Singing About, or Why 80s Music Can't Predict The Future: Rapture

So, some dude did some math of which I am skeptical (but which I cannot actually fact check for lack of biblical knowledge and basic math skills), and tomorrow may just be the end of the world.

Again, I am skeptical. Hopefully that doesn't mean I am going to hell.

Despite the fact that my friends usually don't read my blog posts until several days after I originally post them (note: this is not a criticism, just relevant), I am going to publish this anyway, though, in the event of Rapture, they most likely won't see this at all.

Still, I'd like to say...so long, and thanks for all the fish!*


*If you're a Douglas Adams fan as I am, hopefully you'll get this reference. If not, well, too late, I guess, eh? Should Heaven have a library, I suggest you borrow the full Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy posthaste! And if nothing happens, welp, see you all Sunday!

Why Cats Don't Meditate

This morning I tried to meditate.

I know I've been a bit frou-frou as of late, but in trying to find my direction in life (because, surprisingly, living at home and working as a temp doing data entry is not my desired direction), it only makes sense to clear my head and spend some quite time with myself to feel my way through.

So. I've written myself a basic framework for my day, which starts and ends with ten minutes of meditation. Today is the first day I'm trying to put this into play, and I've already found I may need to tweak a few things...

My plan was to wake up ten minutes earlier than usual and meditate straight away. My cat almost instantly expressed displeasure with this plan. Usually when I wake up I go to the bathroom and then immediately feed her. This morning I woke up and...sat there. With my eyes closed. While she, apparently, starved to death.

She kept coming over to me, and, having heard the old adage "you get more cat food with honey," she purred and rubbed herself on me and tried to push her face under my hands so I'd pet her. This was distracting and irresistible. So I'd pet her a couple times, then get back to it.

Once she saw this tactic was futile, she decided to resort to more...demonstrative measures? In order to prove to me just how terribly, awfully hungry she was, she would alternately lick my hand, and bite it, chewing on it like a can of Fancy Feast. She didn't break the skin, but she certainly got her point across.

Tomorrow I may have to get up, feed her, and then attempt my morning meditation. Not quite the calm transition from sleep to an active day as I had wanted, but better than losing my hand to my voracious kitty-cat's desperate jaws.

Someone should get this drama-kitten an Agent!

Earth Cruncher: Hey! That'd Make a Good Cereal Name! or My Visit to a Naturopathic Doctor

I'm going to post about my wonderful adventures in the lovely District of Columbia, rest assured, but I haven't had time to upload, or, actually, download then upload my photos yet, so I'm holding out for a bit more.

I do want to discuss my trip last night to a Naturopathic Doctor. It's my first ever. I had no idea what to expect, really. Will I have to strip naked and wear a hospital johnny while she inspects my outward for signs of what's going on inward? Will she test my spit (I saw on her website that she does in fact do that)? Will she tell me all my vitamins are crap and to throw them out immediately? Will it be all talking? Am I doing everything wrong? Can she fix my terrible skin affliction?!?

Turns out we pretty much just talked, and she's really very nice. My vitamins are not all crap. She instructed me to start taking three new ones, and that eventually we'll get me a good multi-vitamin. I kept my clothes on the entire time, and though I expected her to ask me to wash my make-up off so she could get a good look at my facial issue, she didn't do that either. Which was fine by me, as then I would've had to walk through a shared waiting room full of patients, with all my solar flares blazing bright hot like the sun's surface.

What it has come down to is a change in diet. A big one. My diet is...okay, as it is, but there are some eliminations she'd like me to make. Oh, and of course, to actually start exercising. Which I did see coming. "The heck!" you say, "how did she know that was coming??" I'm just psychic, guys. That's all there is to it.

The eliminations I did not expect, however. Okay, okay, so, I'm a mediocre psychic. We can't get 'em all right!

Eliminations:
wheat
tomatoes
dairy

Gasp! Not my cheese!! My sun dried tomatoes?! BREAD?!?!
This is going to be some kind of challenge. She also recommended (but didn't write down on my "No-no!" list) cutting out pork. That wasn't really a problem, as I really don't each much of it. That is, until I remembered BACON is pork. And cried inside a little.

If I'm going to be honest, I do plan on indulging in all my not-haves every once in a while. A life without bacon is no life at all, and I refuse to not-live life. But, for the next month until our follow-up appointment, I am going to stick with her instructions quite strictly (along with continuing to not eat sugar). Hopefully it makes a difference with the uneven terrain of my visage. If it does, I will slowly attempt to eat said avoidables, and see what happens. If I break out, then I know it is worth giving them up. If my face still looks like loose gravel, then...I suppose I'll be back to discuss a new list of un-nommable-noms.

I am glad for a few things, though - she said she wasn't going to take away my wine (as long as I switch to organic - yay!!) or coffee (same and also yay!!), and she didn't even mention limiting red meat. I will probably try to do the last anyway, but more so because my mother wants me to buy the healthy-crunchy stuff I want and need and potentially just start making all my own food. Red, free-range meat is not exactly cheap, so chicken it is, then!

So, apparently I'm earthy-crunchy now? At least I don't wear birkenstocks, right?

This will never happen.

This will especially never happen.

The One With The Never Ending NeverEnding Story References

So, you may have noticed that I'm trying to be more "natural," and live as chemical-free a life as possible. If I haven't mentioned it, then let me say now that at times it has been completely overwhelming.

I feel like Atreyu from the NeverEnding Story, wading through the Swamps of Sadness to see the ancient and wise Morla, only to have my faithful steed sink into the mushy-gushy mire and for Morla to sneeze weird swamp turtle boogers all over me while being completely unhelpful. If anyone followed that, ten cookies for you, good person!

Turtle bogeys. Ew.

So, as you can glean, it's been a process. One I have been flailing through at great speeds of failure. But! But! Glimmer of light! I'm heading to a naturopathic doctor next Tuesday, and hopefully she can guide me like Falkor to the Southern Oracle! (Oi with the NeverEnding Story references already!)

I am all a-twitter with hope that she will coax my skin into being skin again, instead of gnarly seborrhea, comedones, papules, pustules, and nodules. Yes. Sounds pretty, no?

I'm actually heading to D.C. this weekend with some friends, and, while excited, I am also terrified of the cameras they surely will bring. I usually jump at the chance to make the weirdest, I-didn't-know-you-could-do-that face possible to be captured digitally and live forever throughout the annals of time, but...alas, my self esteem has taken a hit (and my face looks like it did too. Of shrapnel). Still. I can't wait, as it's the first real trip I have taken with friends. I'm, like, totally an adult now, guys!

The three of us met in Italy, and we're going to D.C. during the Italian Festival, so that's just pretty much fate, isn't it? If Signor Clooney is there at the same time, I will faint. Actually, no, I won't, but I will yell, "Dov'e Signor Clooney?! George! Dov'e George!?" much to the displeasure of those around me. George Clooney was essentially the patron saint of our study abroad experience. Everywhere we went, there was George. Whether his playful gaze watched over us from a billboard on high, he peeked his cheeky visage out from between the pages of a foreign magazine, or we stumbled across some random establishment named "Cafe Clooney," George was always with us, guiding and protecting our passage.

So, if it just so happens you see a crazy girl on the news, ranting and raving in Italian about 'Signor Clooney,' with a face that looks like an IHOP waffle filled with strawberry syrup, chances are that's probably me.

This is my face. And don't you forget it.

Which, should that happen (and just to keep this post's title honest), I'll be placed in an Ivory Tower of my own, will believe the characters in my books are talking to me and start wishing on a grain of sand. Oh what fun it shall be!

The end!