Storm of the Century

The whole damn metro area freaks out when it snows, which makes me feel right at home. I grew up in Arkansas and various other locations across the South, so I'm not exactly an old hand at blizzards and the like. I have lived here for about six years though, and I believe there's only been one really big storm *in* that six years.

Which made me think about...well, the past six years. I moved here when I was twenty one, got married shortly after and had Leila almost exactly a year from the day I walked through BWI. Three years after that, I was moving into this apartment, splitting from F, starting over...again. And I needed to make the city mine again. It had been mine and his, and every single landmark, every single store, every single everything between Montgomery County, DC, and NoVa belonged to us. I couldn't go anywhere without being overcome by memories of coupledom. That's rough, probably the hardest part of divorce. I know now why people move away and start from scratch when they get divorced, because it's hard as hell when everything you see reminds you of everything you've lost.

I started with the monuments. I'd never actually been to any of them...so I went. I dragged my daughter to the Natural History Museum, as I'd only been once. I took the metro (which I'd once found terrifying) to Pentagon City mall and went shopping there. I never had before, and I sat in the food court watching groups of tourists with matching hats, or shirts, or whatever. I went to the Rock and Roll Hotel, to a couple of shows at the 9:30 Club. I walked around in Chinatown, (tourist watching gold, there) sat on the steps of the Portrait Gallery, and I made new friends. Learned how to find my way around, tried new restaurants, wandered around Silver Spring on my own.

Instead of being lost inside the metro stations, now, I give other people directions. I must look a) nice b) friendly and c) like I know where I'm going, since I feel like I spend most of my time there pointing people in the right direction. I like to brag that I could be dumped anywhere in the county and be able to find my way home. And...in all of this finding the city, and making it mine, I have found my way home.

I like to tell people I live within pissing distance of the DC border, which is definitely true. I live as close to the border as I can, literally across the street. Montgomery County's public school system is amazing and I need that for my daughter...but I'd love to live in the city. My roommate and I have talked about moving into Rockville, but she said that DC is like a security blanket to her, and she wants to be close to it. I know exactly how she feels.

Martian Death Flu, Round 39854

Leila has generously shared her germs with me once again, and I am feeling like death. Of course this would happen on the same day that I have plans to meet up with a friend, because it definitely couldn't have happened yesterday, when I was laying around the house doing nothing productive at all. Despite momentarily thinking I wouldn't make it out the door, I managed something approximating my normal level of cheerfulness. Such as it is.
Speaking of The Germy One, she is sitting next to me reciting my Starbucks order, over and over, like a chant. "I would like a venti iced caramel macchiatto, extra ice, and a kid's hot chocolate." It sounds quite musical, actually. And she doesn't even stumble over macchiatto. My caffeine addiction is improving her vocabulary! Amazing parenting on my part yet again.

Life in the Big City, Part 75397

Witnessed: Shortly before 12PM: Me, on my hands and knees, cleaning up the cocoa my child spilled in Ann Taylor Loft, only to realize that a) no one who actually worked for the store offered to help me at any point, and b) the spot I just spent ten minutes cleaning is now the cleanest spot in the entire store.

Witnessed: Shortly after 12PM: A couple in their fifties, getting pissy and leaving my favorite sushi place because they could smell Pine-Sol from the recently cleaned bathroom. I guess they like restaurants that have citations from the Health Department.

Witnessed: 2PM: A young woman in bright nursing scrubs, jaywalking, and almost getting killed on the corner of Georgia and Colesville. Look, you obviously live here, don't you know these people will run your ass over? Damn good thing one of your friends was quick enough to pull you back, otherwise you would've been a candy-colored smear.

Witnessed: Yesterday: A woman clearly too insane to stand in line to vote November, but wearing something close to fifteen Obama pins big enough to eat dinner off of.

God, I love this place.

Silliness.

Amanda: "...and I was like, 'YELP' but--louder, and more shrieky."

Girls Night In

Jackie: "If Rock Creek Park held as many bodies as NCIS says it does..."
Amanda: "What? It's a big park!"

Trick or Treat?

Halloween is coming up, and I am mostly excited because David will be here. Leila is not trick or treating, as her dad doesn't approve, and I don't care enough to argue about it. She, however, asks about it five or six times a day. I've come up with a compromise--we'll go to the zoo. She'll be so excited she won't even remember the trick or treating! (I hope. I really hope.) Then, the next day, we'll splurge on some Halloween candy and problem solved--we did something fun, and candy was gotten, and these are the things that make Halloween, yes?

I will take a half million pictures. It'll be fun!

No regrets.

Editor's note.

I babbled. Sorry. I will get back to a)trying hard to be funny and b) posting pictures.

David bought me a camera and I've been snapping away like crazy. I figure if I suck at writing, I can at least show you pretty things? So, that I'll do.

My clients rock.

One of my regulars walked in rocking the following accessories and courteously (actually, laughingly) let me take a picture of her.

So: Don't forget to vote, y'all! She sure won't.

Biannual Blogging.

I am absolutely not good at keeping up with this blogging thing. And you would think that I would be, seeing as I talk constantly. A constant stream of chirping issues from my mouth, and whoever happens to be around gets to listen. David is so patient, Amanda humors me to a ridiculous extent, and the girls I work with think I'm hilarious. I kind of think I'm silly.

So I'd love to tell you that I had a super exciting day and I'm here to tell you all about it, but actually, I'm bored at 2AM and I keep swearing I'm going to get back into this, so here I am. I have absolutely nothing important to say, and no funny stories to tell, and I'm wishing I was...more amusing. However. Hi, y'all. I hope to remember to return tomorrow.

Hot. It is hot. Also there is heat.

The DC motto is, "It's not the heat, it's the humidity."

Except when it's both, like today.

Like, your hair sticks to your forehead, and the sweat runs down the small of your back, and the feeling of your messenger bag against your thigh makes you want to throw it against a wall because it's melting your capri pants to your skin. A walk around the corner to the bus stop builds up a sheen of sweat all over you, and by the time you get there sweat runs freely down your legs and of course the bus doesn't have air conditioning, so you try not to touch the back of the seat or the person sitting next to you. And you're gasping for a breeze, dying for open space, praying that you'll be there soon, and when the bus finally stops and you jump off and that breeze hits you....relief.

That's July in DC.

Cabbages and Kings

I grew up writing this asinine little stories and poems, and escaping into fantasy land. So when I started a blog, I thought it was going to be easy and I was going to rock blogland. It's not as easy as I thought. Sometimes I want to be too honest. Sometimes I just wanna talk about shoes. Sometimes I think my life is so fucking boring I just want to scream.

So, today I will try to talk about something other than shoes.

An interesting thing about retail is the artificial sense of closeness it creates between both the employees and the customers. At the store, it's important to create the "relationship" between the associate and the client in order to sell more effectively. The client sees you as a friend, she starts to value your opinion. One, she's going to buy more because it becomes fun and enjoyable. Two, she's going to come back and see her "buddy." This works out all right, different girls have different clients. I have a few in particular that are just a delight to see.

But the thing is, people cross lines. Or they mistake the artificial friendship for a real one. Or they see you as just a warm body to talk at. And talk they do. They tell you things they shouldn't, things about their families, their lives, their medical woes, their money problems... (Rhetorical question: If you have money problems, why are you in my very high-end store?)

Today, a client in my store dropped a bomb: Her son had just died. I was put off by her announcement--grief should be private. We don't live in the Victorian Era, or have mourning periods. But even still, I'm a sensitive person. Parents shouldn't outlive their children, it isn't the way things were meant to be. So I said the usual things, "I'm sorry to hear that, that's terrible," and she proceeded to tell me that he was only 29 and wasted away from cancer...I wanted to cry, but not really for her. I felt like she was milking it. It made my stomach turn over; I just hate public displays of emotion, but she didn't have any emotion. She was just reciting the facts and gaging our reactions. She mentioned that she was medicated, so that could have been it, but I don't know...even the offhand mention of medication seemed calculated.

It felt so wrong to me. So many people really do suffer, and live through horrible tragedies without feeling the need to inform everyone they come across, and certainly not the salesgirls at a shop they frequent. Maybe I'm not as compassionate as I thought I was. Maybe I think the worst of everyone. But it all rang so false and at the same time I felt so moved for the rest of her family.

I'm such a horrible person for doubting her grief.

I have things to tell you.

Ssh. I'll be back tomorrow.

Musings on the No. 5

Public transportation can feel almost companionable at times. You sit down gingerly, holding your knees together, arms in your lap...but often there comes a moment where you both relax, then your thighs are touching-- you feel the warmth of their upper arm against yours and it's nice to just be next to someone. You're ignoring each other, but together in some sense.

More fun in my house. Of the fun.

Most of the time, three girls live in my house. Amanda and I, of course, are here all the time. Leila is here three or four days a week.
Now, Amanda and I have a lot of Crazy. And our Crazies play off of each other, mine causing hers to spin out and vice versa. And we're enablers, encouraging each other to buy shoes, whining about the perfect, dream pair of shoes that will complete our lives. We also buy each other things.
It really is somewhat wrong. But it got me these:


Okay. I can't figure out what is going on with my toes here. Is it noticeable to other people? Because it's driving me crazy here. But--TEN DOLLARS!

And these. Okay, I own these shoes in two colors--Amanda owns them in THREE:


We've been bored lately. And I haven't had much of interest to say. But they tell me the eyes are the window to the soul, so here's something for your contemplation. Maybe you can divine what's been going through my head lately, since I'm unable to express it:

This is what we do in my house for fun.

So. Amanda and I like shoes.

Less than half of my shoes. In fact, about a quarter of them:


My favorites, scored for $14:


Amanda's coltish ankles, and pimp patent leather shoes:


Pointy makes me happy:


But in the end, we're both the ballet flat sort of girl:

MIA

Sorry for a lapse, but I'm trying out some new meds and am not exactly with it at the moment. Will return soon--

Cracked.

Amanda and I have been watching Veronica Mars every day for over a week now. We want to be Veronica, we want to bang Logan. (God, do we want to bang Logan. He's so pretty, so so pretty.) (And so is Veronica, for that matter. Cute like a little pixie!) It's a very addictive show, I recommend it if you're a nerd like me who loved Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
(Um, please don't ever mention that I said that. It is my not-so-secret shame.)
(I am rather parenthetical today.)
While I'm sharing, we have a mouse. Like, "eek, a mouse!" It scared the daylights out of Amanda, and we thought it had taken up residence in our shoe closet (which is filled with my shoes, and Leila's, so Amanda wasn't really too concerned.) but now, guess what? It appears to be living behind the damn stove. So now I don't want to cook or do the dishes, because I'm a-scared of it scampering across my toes and/or giving me hantavirus. (Rodent-borne disease WHICH YOU CAN DIE OF, STOP LAUGHING AT ME.)
I worked a twelve-hour day today, and am starting to feel a little strange. Now that I've shared (because I know that our mouse and Veronica Mars are crucially important to you) I'm going to shuffle off to bed like the old, old woman I am. (When it rains or is humid, my knee hurts like holy hell. What am I, like eighty?)

Back in business.

First day back at The Little Company That Could. It rained and was cold, so the store was empty, and I spent all day learning the company values by rote. Going to help one last time with shipment tomorrow at Big Box, and then I'm bouncing, happily.

--absolutely nothing of interest to write about, and completely free of reflection. So this is a quick entry to try and get back in the habit of writing.

Kindness of Strangers.

We got a new TV! And my laptop decided to like me again. Which is my excuse for not posting last night--my laptop decided the internet didn't exist. Which, technically it doesn't, because we don't have it hooked up and I steal from my neighbors. I have become tired of depending on their generosity, though, and also of getting kicked on and off, and not having cable, so I let Comcast suck my soul and we'll have interwebs starting on Wednesday.

This afternoon we hauled in this massive TV on our own; it must've weighed a million pounds. We got to about twenty feet away from our apartment and had to put it down--our fingers were going numb. Right at that moment one of our neighbors came out, this huge, ripped bodybuilder. He then proceeded to carry the TV in for us, then caught Amanda in the hall a few minutes later and asked her to let him know if we needed anything else.

Today was my last day at Big Box, aside from a couple of hours on Tuesday. I handed over my keys and left the building grinning like an idiot and squinting into the sun.