January 11, 2009 | Filed under: Because They Pay Me, DC! DC! DC!

Preparations are in full swing, here in our nation’s capital, where soon five million people* will descend upon the city and surrounding six states for the historic inauguration of Barack Obama.

* Or two million. We’re not sure. Either way, we’re pretty sure it’s gonna be a shit-ton of them and it’ll make the natives cry and wish for the easy, breezy, uncongested streets we see during the Cherry Blossom Festival.

Things started last fall, with the repaving of Pennsylvania Avenue (Confidential to those of you who will see the parade on TV: Yes, DC has had some work done, but let me tell you, the asphalt really does look *that* good in person. It’s not just her make-up artist.); the assembly of the bleachers and podium and whatnot in front of the Capitol has been going on for a couple of months; and in the last few weeks, weekly updates about which roads and bridges into the city will be open on Inauguration Day. (Hint: none.)

In the past two weeks, the activity around my office has gotten quite noticeable.  The street is blocked off a couple of blocks away.  That started right around New Year’s, without notice, just nope, you can’t go there. A police car is permanently parked in the way. Today there were jersey barriers strategically placed on the sidewalk at each corner of the block. And many more bleachers have been set up along the parade route leading to the White House. I was worried today that going to the ATM was going to require crossing a police line — the yellow tape fluttered in the wind. Thankfully, Bank of America appears not to be off limits. Yet.

* * * * * *

So, DC is nearly ready. You know who is not ready? ME.

Work is hosting an Inaugural Ball, which, yay! fun! fancy dresses and guys in tuxes! (Note to self: Hands. Off. 90% of them are married and the other 10% are gay.)

I’ve had my dress for a while (knowing life would be insane now-ish and I would have no desire to go shopping for a dress under such stressful conditions), which sounds very prepared of me. Yeah. Let me tell you, Christmas cookies for breakfast + no gym time + fancy dress made of totally unforgiving satin = not prepared.  NOT PREPARED.

I’m hoping for my own version of an 8-day miracle, and it better not involve any oil.

(The dry cleaner/seamstress lady in my office building really liked the dress, though, and thought it fit perfectly. I agree, if by “perfectly” you mean “it shows perfectly every ounce of mass in my body without a millimeter to spare for lovely supportive undergarments.” I’m hoping for a miracle from her, too, because I’m out of town until the day before I need to pick the dress up, so there’s not much margin for error here. No pressure!)

(And yes, my dress features boobs. Nice, tasteful, work-appropriate boobs.)

* * * * * *

Just in case there was any confusion out there and y’all thought I am a mature, responsible grown-up, let me assure you that I have the mind of a 12-year old boy. That was probably clear from the title of this post, but if not, please know that in the span of ten minutes, I snickered at both of the following quotes from sportscasters calling a football game this weekend:

Not a lot of room for Kurt Warner to get the ball in there.

Just stick it up in there and get three or four yards.

I mean, that first one isn’t even that funny. But it sort of is, especially if you’re only half listening to the commentary, which I was. Similarly, I have a credit card whose online account access page requires you to visit — and I am not making this up – www.servicemycard.com. WHO IN MARKETING MISSED THAT ONE? Really, people? Really? Or am I the only customer out there who can’t keep a straight face while she checks her most recent statement?

Finally, a tip for all of you football fans:  do not date someone with the same last name as a talented running back.  When you cease dating, watching football will become noticeably less enjoyable, as you will continually be reminded of your ex’s existence, and spending the game hoping some horrible groin injury befalls him isn’t really fair to the football player.

March 13, 2008 | Filed under: DC! DC! DC!, Is She Still Talking?

Dude, DC, you’ve really got to get out more.

I know. I know this is a tough place to date because everyone is always working, either chained to their desks or at “a thing” that is decidedly work-related. But come on. When I tell you I like your tie, couldn’t you just chalk it up to some of that Midwestern Nice sneaking out? Because what I meant when I said, “I like your tie” was that, you know, I like your tie. And, in fact, have selected a very similar tie for someone else in the not-too-distant past, so maybe it’s actually about the aesthetic of the tie, here, huh?

I mean, of course I know how to use “I like your tie” as a pick-up line, but in that instance I would have had a valid excuse for touching you your chest your tie and could maybe even parlay that into a comment about your great pecs, which everyone knows is a great big lie because none of us has time to go to the gym, given all the working we do. And did I do that? No, I did not.

Look, I know how much fun I am at these events, two glasses of wine in and having not eaten since lunch, but I promise, DC, I was not hitting on you. But, sure, you can have my card and invite me to lunch to discuss our “mutual interests.” And if lunch doesn’t work out, well, I’ll see you next week, at the thing, right?

January 31, 2008 | Filed under: Because They Pay Me, Boys Are Dumb, DC! DC! DC!, Is She Still Talking?

So. Instead: New hair!

(Nothing to worry about, just a little more buffeting from the Universe today than my poor, delicate psyche can handle. A bottle of wine for dinner and hopefully I’ll forget all about it.)

(And Saturday better involve flowers, is all I’m sayin’.)

January 27, 2008 | Filed under: Because They Pay Me, DC! DC! DC!, Good Things Come to Those Who Are Impatient Whiners

OK, OK, OK. I know. I apologize for the delay. Contrary to Jennifer’s concerns, I am not suffering any personal tragedy, unless you count fighting The Plague for the last week, coupled with far too much work to do in my last two weeks (because I am one of those stupid people who actually cares about wrapping up my projects before I am no longer employed there), and the remaining precious moments dedicated to sleep or having a social life. And fear not — my real life people aren’t any more up-to-date than you all are. In fact, I told my parents about the house after I told you. See how special you are?

First, let’s quickly cover That Which We Do Not Talk About. Do not worry, Tracy, I didn’t quit my job in a blaze of I Hate You All glory. I love my job and I mostly love the people I work with, even the creepy old guys who probably have inappropriate thoughts about me while they’re with their wives. (Yes, really. No one looks at you like that on the elevator and thinks only innocent thoughts about you.) But, I’ve been there for five and a half years and it is time for me to try my hand at something new, lest I turn into a lifer there. (I believe we’ve talked about this before.)

In the way that pretty much everything in my life goes, I keyed in a on particular type of job I wanted and then worked worked worked to make it happen. In the end, that job didn’t happen and I ended up with something that I didn’t know existed, but once I knew about it, wanted even more than my previously-zeroed-in-on target.

(Sidenote for those of you who do not fully grasp my networking compulsion prowess: At a friend’s birthday party, I met a woman whom I knew by reputation, but not personal connection. I called her later in the week and re-introduced myself. We talked about career stuff, what I was looking for, what advice she had, etc. About a month later, a former colleague of hers mentioned wanting to hire someone with prior experience at my organization, did she happen to know anyone? She called me to see if I was interested in talking to him. I was, and now her former colleague is my new boss.) (Which reminds me, I should probably send her flowers. Or a bottle of wine.)

Enough about boring work stuff, onto the Oh My God this is the most money I’ve ever spent on anything panic fun.

I have many issues (hard to believe, I know), but “inability to commit” is not one of them. I sketched out what I want and don’t want in a property, where I want to live, and how much I was willing to spend. My Realtor and I went out looking at properties a grand total of three times over two weekends, even seeing some properties more than once! (Quite a change from the DC real estate market I left, where you had to be prepared to make an offer on a property that you saw once for 20 minutes during the first — and only — open house. Thinking about it for a few days pretty much guaranteed that someone else had snapped it up. For more than list price.)

I found several places I liked, didn’t get my top choice, and made an offer on this one. It meets all of my Must Have criteria, a couple of my Nice To Have criteria, and has none of the Not On Your Life items. Much to my surprise, the seller accepted my offer the next day. No haggling over price or settlement date, just a couple of minor items that were easily resolved. And, just like that, I am no longer homeless.

All pictures are courtesy of the listing agent, so if you don’t like the camera angles, blame her. But not until after we settle — I don’t want her mad at me before the transaction goes through.

That’s my house there, on the right, with the white picket fence.

Ha! Oh, I make me laugh. Yeah, that’s my house…twenty years from now, after I write a New York Times bestseller and earn eleventy jillion dollars. Really this is a picture of the front yard of the condo building. My point here is — trees! grass! cute residential neighborhood!

Living Room

The green wall has got to go. It’s not terrible, I know, I’ve seen much worse, but it’s not at all my style.

More living room

Taken from the front door.

Eat-in part of the kitchen

Standing at the front door, turned 90 degrees to the right, looking into the kitchen.

Work-in part of the kitchen

I’m not wild about the paint color in here, either, but it can wait.

Hallway

Off of the left side of the living room, opposite the entrance to the kitchen. Closet on the left of the hall, bathroom on the right. Bedroom straight ahead. The bathroom is in need of some updating (Hello, 1936 shower! Who knew people had indoor plumbing back then?) but that project can wait until such time as I have cash money to spend on anything that’s not the mortgage.

Bedroom

Not pictured: 1/3 of the square footage in here. I promise, the bedroom is bigger than a queen-sized bed. Also a candidate for painting, but I have no idea what color.

All right, so that’s the quick tour of my new home. I’m having the floors refinished before I move in (far, far easier to do with no furniture to move and no stuff on which mass amounts of wood dust will collect), and then I have to paint. This is where you come in — any suggestions? Obviously, things will have to coordinate somewhat, as you can see all the main spaces from the living room.

I’m keeping the same bedroom furnishings I had in California — reddish-pink duvet cover, eggshell pillow shams and bedskirt, and very girly artwork (this and this and a black-and-white painting of a flower) — in part because I’m frugal and in part because I doubt very much that I’ll be permitted to have this feminine of a bedroom when I have to share it with someone. (I’m speaking purely hypothetically here. I do not have anyone in particular in mind for this bedroom-sharing arrangement. Why, do you know someone? Is he cute? When can I meet him?)

In the living room, I want something warm and cozy and probably in a highly-saturated color. It needs to match … um, the floors, I guess, as I have no furniture and no decor to speak of. It’s exciting, but somewhat troubling, as I have eighteen different ideas and only one room to decorate. Chocolate brown leather couch! No, wait, chocolate brown on the walls and … something … for the couch! No, wait, dark wood tables with Tiffany box blue walls! No, wait…!

Seriously, send your suggestions. And wine. And maybe an interior decorator.

January 10, 2008 | Filed under: DC! DC! DC!, Is She Still Talking?

I keep thinking, Today. Today will be the day I write about what it’s like being back in DC. But then I’m busy condo-hunting or grabbing drinks after work or snuggling my friends’ babies or having brunch or going to the grocery store or picking up my car from its $15-oil-change-turned-$500-tune-up.

So. That’s what it’s like being back here: utterly, blissfully normal. This is not to say that everything is perfect. For starters, real estate is still far too expensive. A girl should be able to sell her kidney in order to get something nice. Here, a kidney only gets you a closet. You want the bedroom attached to that closet, you’d better be willing to part with a pot of gold, one lung and maybe your firstborn child. Which is good, actually, because where would you put that child in a 500 square foot studio? That’s what I thought.

Also, I’m having trouble driving — Friday night it took me 40 minutes to get somewhere about 18 minutes away. It’s not that I’ve forgotten how to drive, but I no longer remember where all the streets intersect or what neighborhood they’re in or what the name of a given street is. I instinctively know I want to turn left at that light up there, but I don’t know why and I can’t tell you what street it is I’m turning onto, nor what direction I’m facing once I do. Please do yourself a favor: do not ask me for directions.

Of course, there are things I miss about California. Avocados, for one. (She says while eating grocery store guacamole. SO not the same.) The weather. Being on the ski hill in under two hours. My friends. I thought I was done with having friends who live 3000 miles away, but apparently not. Sunlight. Being able to stay up for the end of a Monday Night Football game.

Despite all this, it’s pretty good being back on the East Coast. Yeah, I think this about sums it up: