DC Summer + My Monday = Very Sweaty Armpits

I have been dreading today: Monday, June 30, 2008. Before now, every time I thought about it, I would comfort myself by repeating how far away that dreaded day was on the calendar.

But this morning at 5am, I sat up and said "Well, hello, June 30th! You sure did get here fast." Today was the day I had to have the conversation with my boss about leaving at the end of July. As Laura Cantrell would say, this "pile of woe" hit hard and left me frazzled when I arrived at the office unusually early. My boss came in late to work today, which left me to stew even longer at my desk. There, the two cups of coffee and adrenaline banded together in a plot to kill me. After coaxing myself to stop shaking, I asked her to meet and it went fairly well (except for the whole telling your boss you're quitting part).

She didn't pull out all of her hair (as I had convinced myself that she would), but at the same time she didn't say anything either. I'm pretty convinced it was a textbook case of shock. I thought about making her lie down on the conference room table and wrapping her in a blanket. At least that made made me chuckle as the tears were welling up at my desk. I was pretty much brain-dead after that and proceeded to stare at my computer screen for the rest of the day. That is, until I had to prepare for my telephone interview at 6pm.

Luckily my life coach (Jesse) schooled me on the trickster questions that potential employers spring on unsuspecting interviewees. Questions like, "what is your greatest weakness," and "tell me about your work ethic." Huh? Weakness? I have none, duh. Don't worry, I had a premeditated answer that was pretty darn good. Oh you want to know what my weaknesses are? Well, too bad. I'm not telling. That is, unless you're willing to pay me a salary.

I think the job interview went pretty well, but the potential job deserves it's own post.

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #8: Washington "Celebrities"

This morning on my way to work, I saw Donald Rumsfeld. Just as I was about to round the corner onto Q Street, blowing past an annoying couple who totally blocked the sidewalk, I did a double take. And then, turned around and gawked like a damn tourist. There he was. Just standing on the corner, minding his own business. He's a lot shorter than I imagined and looks really really old.

Fact: When confirmed in 2001, Rummie became the youngest AND oldest Secretary of Defense (serving first under Gerald Ford and then under Dubya). I learned this tidbit from our epic night of Trivial Pursuit. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised at my celebrity sighting. This morning's commute was part of the life of a Washingtonian. In my time here I have seen:

Dick Cheney. The Veep usually gets off of work between 5:00-5:15, which means his motorcade passes along Connecticut Avenue just about the same time I walk home from work at 5:30. Yes, he wears that snarl on the way home. I've checked. If you stand right on the edge of the sidewalk and peer into the limousine, you can see him all hunched over in the back seat.

Bob Dole. I saw him one Saturday or Sunday Morning south of Dupont Circle. It was a nice quiet weekend morning and my friend Lauren and I had just finished a delicious brunch with her mom at Luna Cafe. Since there weren't very many cars, it wasn't hard to spot him. He was holding a pen and signaling for his ride.

George Stephanopoulos (had to google that one for spelling). It seems like every guy and his brother has seen him walking around. I think he lives in Georgetown. One evening after work I was walking to M Street for a little retail therapy and he passed right by me on the sidewalk. He is also very short. Probably shorter than me. I was shocked.

James Carville. Before CNN Crossfire was mercifully put to sleep, the studio was in one of George Washington University's campus buildings. That building happened to be just down the street from one of my favorite lunch spots, The Burro. I would frequently see him strolling back to work after a scarfing a giant burrito. Interestingly enough, when I first met our friend Kurtis (who now prefers to be called "War Machine"), he said that I had James Carville eyes. Huh? He then went as far to say that ALL southerners carried this trait, using our friend Stephanie as an example (she's from Arkansas). In a matter of seconds our high cheek bones, which I had considered to be an asset, turned us into Gollum. I later learned that I should only take Kurtis seriously about 25% of the time. Also, his hair-brained theories regarding southern eyes, or abolishing daylight savings time all seem endearing now, rather than totally bizarre and offensive.

Tucker Carlson. He too was seen on campus from time to time, but (thankfully) not as frequently as Mr. Carville. Don't let the bow tie fool you. Evil twits don't eat burritos for lunch, they eat your soul. Try not look into his beady little eyes. The one time I tried to make eye contact, he was too infatuated with his own reflection in the campus building window. I stuck out my tongue at him, but he didn't see. Ah, my reckless youth. I'm much more mature than that now.

Matthew Lesko. He's more of a late-night infomercial celebrity (if that's possible). If you've ever switched on the television after midnight, there's a pretty good chance you've seen him shouting at you from the streets of D.C. about federal grant money that's yours for the taking. I'm almost 100% sure he lives in our neighborhood, and quite possibly in the building across the street. We often see his yellow question mark Mini Cooper and his orange question mark Scion parked on the streets. He also has a pinkish/purple question mark Vespa scooter.

I'm sure there's a whole mess of senators and representatives that pass me on the street everyday, but even after five and a half years in D.C. I'm still not very good at putting faces to names. I seriously doubt that I'll have as many celebrity sightings in Portland, which maybe isn't such a bad thing. Being that they're only Washington-caliber celebrities, they don't carry the weight as say, Brangelina or Spederline. But I'll take what I can get.

A Watched Pot Never Boils

Or is it a washed pot never boils? Either way, last week was pretty stressful, leading to a mini breakdown at the office. This weekend I decided to pull myself together, got a lot of work done on my big project, and came into work reinvigorated on Monday. Yesterday, I kicked butt and was a report-writing machine.

Apparently, this double rainbow over Washington was a result of last night's thunderstorms. I like to think it came out as a reward for my solid 10-hour day at work, but I'm pretty sure I can't take credit for its presence. Regardless, look how amazing it is! You know what else is amazing? We booked our tickets to Portland this morning. One-way tickets to the West Coast. There's no turning back now. On Tuesday, August 5th we will take our final taxi ride as residents of the District of Columbia and will board the plane for our great adventure.

Oh and what about that watched pot? Today, I got an email from an architectural firm that wants to talk about the possibility of me joining their office in Portland. I'm actually quite excited because of all the firms that received my unsolicited resume, this is one that I was really excited about. Of course, nothing is set. I haven't even set up a time for them to call, but I am re-energized knowing that I might not have to work at McDonald's to pay rent (yeah right, who am I kidding - they'd never hire me).

Even just the prospect of having something waiting for me there feels pretty darn good. If not, oh well, at least I'll have another really good contact for my "Portland Jobs" file.

Scenes from A Date Night

This past Friday (date night) was spent with a few of Jesse's coworkers at a going away celebration for one of his colleagues. The restaurant was nice, but the scene was weird with odd tension between some of the people there. It seems like a developing pattern with AED, always ruining my date nights! As a result, I can honestly say that losing contact with a majority of them would not be a terrible thing. I was glad when we bowed out early to watch an episode of Northern Exposure.

Last Friday's date was a lot more fun and started a few hours early to catch the Euro Cup game between the Netherlands and France. The soccer game was pretty exciting and left us feeling energized enough to walk out in the blazing heat to pick up our olive and pepperoni pizza.

Once our bellies were full, I convinced Jesse that a proper game-filled date night should not only include watching games, but playing games too. He suggested a full-on Yahtzee tournament, but I countered with a friendly game of Trivial Pursuit. In a moment of weakness, he agreed. Anyone who has ever played Trivial Pursuit knows that it can literally go on for ages. Being the enthusiast that I am, I refuse to let go until someone at least has all the colors in their wheel. Unfortunately, I am the worst at the Sports and Leisure category, so after filling up all of my colors, I was stuck with no hope for ever winning that final green wedge. By the time we neared the end, Jesse couldn't even hold his head up to read the questions.

I think I'll have to wait a while to get my fill of trivia again, but it was fun while it lasted. I don't think there will be many more leisurely date nights for a while, given that July's weekends are booked solid. That leaves us with Friday nights to get some serious packing and cleaning done. Yikes! Is it really almost July?!

Indeed it is. Only 39 more days to go!

Our Life In A Box - Take Two

Just taking a quick breather from work to update on the Our-Life-In-A-Box saga.

Also, in case I overly concerned you with the details of my fragile emotional state on Monday, there have been no tears in almost 48 hours. I think I'm on the mend. I had an epiphany shortly after arriving at the office this morning (a total DUH moment) that left me excited and even giddy about finishing my DC Modernism project. In fact, I was so excited that I made Jesse leave his office to come on a walk so I could explain the new organizational "thematic" approach to my study. Yes, I'm a giant dork who is excited by structure. Luckily, I have a very understanding husband who thinks my dorkitude is endearing. He also hates his job, so a walk around the block (after only arriving at his desk 45 minutes earlier) didn't seem all that outlandish.

Anyway, on the home front, it's been just over a month since we first taped up the apartment in preparation for the great westward migration. In that time we've started to clear out some stuff and I am proud to say that we have managed to move, shift, and mail an entire shelf worth of books. Can you spot the changes? The system still isn't quite perfected. There are still odd little piles of books here and there just waiting for their fate (most likely a charity of some sort).

And we now have a few moving boxes and packing paper, courtesy of a nice couple from Dallas that we found on Craigslist. Remember that lovely stretch of swamp weather we had last week? Jesse and I were the two fools carting the dish packs and a box load of paper all the way from the Calvert Street Bridge (almost a half mile each way). However, we survived and can now get started on gradually packing our stuff over the next couple of weekends.

Next steps? Putting a price tag on the miscellaneous furniture that will need to find a new home before we leave. By July, we hope to have our entire apartment labeled with post-it notes that depict our "ideal" price, but really, I think we'll just be happy if we don't have to lug the stuff out of the building ourselves.

Brasilliant's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Today was a day that made me, as some would say, "lose my shit." It was just your average Monday until I got to work, opened up my weekly planner and saw the number 46 (that's the number of days until my last day of work). Yay. Then I flipped the page to next week, and saw "give notice." Wow, that's painful. Granted, I submitted my first 3 (of 6) chapters of the DC Modernism study to my boss last week. As of today, she still hasn't read through it, which is seriously making me lose my mind. I don't think I can stress enough how inadequate I feel about doing this whole thing, but deep breath. Ok.

Jesse sensed my stress today and suggested that we have lunch on his roof deck at work. It was a lovely hour spent eating our sandwiches, gazing out over the city, and seriously getting the best pep talk I've had in a while. If this whole non-profit research & evaluation thing doesn't work out, motivational speaker/life coach might be a good option for him. I went back to work energized and ready to kick ass. And I did, for about 2 hours.

Then the afternoon slump (around 3:30) reared its ugly head, and in no time, I was ready to jump off my balcony. As tears welled up in my eyes (from anger no less) I sent Jesse an instant message that went something like this : SOS, want to die, why does work hate my guts? I was promptly instructed to take a walk to the drug store to buy earplugs, Reese's pieces, and a coke. It was a nice opportunity for me to feel sorry for myself, cry a little (once on the way, and then once again when I had to buy M&M's instead of Reese's), and pull myself together. I like to think of myself as a practical person, and seriously, this girly flubbery behavior does not fit within the realm of emotions that I am prepared to handle.

About 30 minutes before I was ready to head home, the sky opened and released a torrent of rain, thunder, and lightning. It was raining so hard (in a way that Washington excels in the summer) that it was bouncing back up from the sidewalk under my skirt. In my usual timely manner, I forgot my umbrella and decided to take the bus home with the other 87 bazillion residents of D.C. Long story short, I had to wait for 4 buses to pass by before I actually got home. When I walked in the door, Jesse immediately took my bags, gave me a giant hug, and handed me a plate of leftover vegetable lasagna and a glass of wine. I cried again, partially because of my day, and partially because geez, I certainly did find a keeper.

Two glasses later, I have calmed down enough to reflect on my day. Yeah, it still was one of the worst I've had in a long time, but at least its over. Oh, and we still have enough leftover lasagna for an 8-person family, but it is quite delicious. At least I'm good at that!

Friday The 13th: A Perfect Storm

I'm not superstitious at all. Superstitions are way too impractical and quite frankly, I have enough to think about without worrying if the correct palm is itching. However, the events that transpired at rush hour this morning gave me a reason to pause. Around 7:30 this morning, a PEPCO station at 10 & G Streets stopped producing electricity(we're still not sure why). This pretty much rendered an entire power grid downtown completely useless. This included 5 METRO stations and lots of traffic lights (3 pedestrians were hit as a result).

The Dupont Circle Metro station was closed around 9:30, not because the station couldn't function without power, but because it was so bloody hot that people were literally passing out from the epic climb up the escalators. Our intern, poor guy, was unsuspectingly sent out to collect photographs this morning at the Library of Congress and came back sweaty, frustrated, and completely defeated from the public transportation nightmare. He confirmed the state of people passing out on the sidewalk through gasps from walking all the way from the U Street metro station (quite a haul). Oh, and also, there were TWO fires at Metro Center. In short, total mayhem in the Nation's Capital.

I was blissfully unaware of the chaos taking place downtown until the Friday the 13th bug hit my office. Over the course of about 45 minutes all hell broke loose. The ancient elevator in our building trapped our unfortunately sweaty and bedraggled intern and for no reason at all, a blue pen exploded ink on my hand for the second time this week.

And then my worst nightmare, the "rat truck" showed up protesting Jury's hotel. The rat truck drives around the hotel with an annoying prerecorded message telling the business merchants to boycott the hotel for bad labor practices. Only today, there was a man hanging out the window with a megaphone (competing with the prerecorded message) along with two people on the corner shouting "don't check in, check out!" It made work virtually impossible. Luckily we decided to start date night early (2 hours early) to catch the France vs. Netherlands game (more on that later

For now, I'm making sure I don't step on any cracks, or scratch any palms, or drop spoons...at least until tomorrow.

FRIED!

Jesse alerted me to this headline on our walk to work this morning. The Examiner is a free commuter paper that is produced (I think) by the Washington Times. The Times should not be confused with the Washington Post, which is an actual newspaper that has a substantial readership and rigorous commentary.

Anyway, the headline this morning pretty much sums up the past 5 days here in Washington. Although, I think "melted" is a better term, given that you're so wet that there's no way you could actually fry in this heat.

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #7: Air Quality Index - Code Red!

At 8:02am today it was already 86° and the temperature is climbing. Apparently, we may hit the double digits by the afternoon (and I'm not even thinking about the heat index). The past 3 or 4 days have made me feel like melting, even in the early morning. If this weekend is any indicator of how the rest of the summer is going to unfold, our remaining 53 days in D.C. may prove to be quite miserable.

YES, WE ONLY HAVE 53 MORE DAYS!

According to an Alert D.C. Email this morning, Code Red air quality days are declared when there is stagnant air, little chance of rain, high humidity, and temperatures above 95°. Essentially, anyone who cares to breathe should stay inside and pray that their air conditioner doesn't explode from working overtime. I feel as though D.C. is giving us a little goodbye present (or swift kick out the door) with this lovey stretch of swamp weather.

On days like today I'm remind that we are, in fact, living below the Mason-Dixon line. I also really do understand why people in the south move like snails - otherwise they might just catch on fire. Although, on the plus side, if you did spontaneously ignite I'm pretty sure the sweat pouring down your body would squelch the flames.

I don't think we've had temperatures and humidity this high since my first summer as an intern in 2003. I distinctly remember sobbing on my way to work some mornings because I was so sweaty and hot (I only lived 3 blocks from the office at the time). My friend Lauren and I would gather at the water cooler, fan ourselves, and compare sweat stains that ran from the collar of our shirts all the way down our spines. If we were lucky, the perspiration under our arms wouldn't connect to the stripe down our backs. It was during our summer internship that we coined the phrase "sweattin' like a fat man." If you've ever visited D.C. between June and August, you'll know exactly what I mean.

As a side note, yesterday in Portland it was 66° and crystal clear. As I shake my fists at weather.com wondering how life could be so cruel, I try to remind myself that we're in the home stretch.

We are in the home stretch. We are in the home stretch....

**3:30pm Update**

I had to walk to the post office to mail more packages and decided to check out the trusty Suntrust Bank thermometer in Dupont Circle. Code Red Indeed!

Organizing the Apartment: An Initial Survey

About 4 weeks ago, the Washington Post began a series of articles called "Organizing the Attic." The articles follow the Post's deputy editor for the Home section as she embarks on controlling the chaos on her top floor. I've been religiously reading the weekly entries and anxiously awaiting the teaser lines for the next week's topic. Last week, organizing holiday decorations, was not very useful since I don't really have any in our tiny apartment. However, this week's post about organizing books could not have been more timely.

Given that we only have 56 more days until lift off, last weekend Jesse and I decided to start unravelling the chaos of stored items in the apartment. The idea of packing up all of our stuff was a little overwhelming, so we decided we had to start somewhere. We couldn't know what to toss and what to keep if we had no clue what was stored in the depths of our "organization." So we decided to divide and conquer. Jesse burrowed into our walk-in closet and I got started on the books. Like the editor of the Washington Post articles, I'd like to be able to easily use my husband as a scapegoat for the shelves of books around our home, but alas, I too came into this relationship with a lot of book baggage. And since we both contributed to the problem, we both had to make decisions about which books we thought we might actually use again. It felt good to go through the titles that we hadn't read in a while, and to stumble on the total head-scratchers like the duplicate copies of three different volumes of Foucault.

Most of my Saturday afternoon was spent flipping through dusty pages, assessing their condition, and posting them on Amazon's Marketplace. I was astonished how many we sold in just 24 hours (this photo shows only half of what I sent out this week). We both wondered why we hadn't done this a long time ago, but then realized that we probably would have spent the cash on gadgets or beer. So, the moral of the story is that hoarding actually worked in our favor this time. All of those books that were just collecting dust might actually pay for one of our plane tickets to Portland. Sweet!

Next step: the CD collection (insert evil laugh). I liked The Crane Wife's post Wednesday about taming the wild music beast, but I imagine I'd incite an all-out mutiny on Columbia Road if I advocated the philosophy of "in with the old." And, to Jesse's credit, he does purge the collection occasionally. So, for now, I'm hoping for a system of storage that doesn't include the double-deep layering thing that makes it nearly impossible to access entire letters of the alphabet!

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #6: Rock Creek Park and the National Zoo

Most days I take for granted the awesome park and zoo that is only about a 10 minute walk from our house. It's lush (and cooler) in the summer, beautiful with color in the fall, and is one of Jesse's favorite running spots in the morning. The bridge you see in the photo is the Connecticut Avenue (or Taft) bridge and is just one of the many magnificent structures that span the Rock Creek Valley. Rock Creek originates somewhere up in Maryland, snakes through D.C., and ends at the Potomac River. The creek is much less impressive than the beautiful natural areas that inhabit the valley, as well as the hiking/biking trails throughout. The National Zoo is located near the southern end of Rock Creek and is a little oasis within the city. Oh, and did I mention that it's FREE?!

I love the fact that there is no pressure for us to see and do everything in one visit. If one afternoon I want see the pygmy hippos and Jesse wants to watch the gibbons, we walk on down and explore only the areas that are of interest. We both have pretty fond memories of the zoo and frequented the park early on in our relationship. Why? Because, well, animals are always surprising and it was a cheap way to get away from grad school papers and stress. Jesse's first apartment in Adams Morgan faced the zoo and in the early morning if he had his windows open, we could hear the gibbons screeching their distinctive call and response. One Saturday morning, we decided to take a walk over to try and catch the gibbons live. I don't remember if we made it in time, but I think the payoff was worth it. The animals are all so much more active in the morning. Maybe it's because of an early feeding time, or they get up at dawn and then nap through D.C.'s oppressive afternoon heat.

As we rounded the corner from the gibbons area, we noticed that one of the orangutans was making her daily trip from the Think Tank to the Great Ape House via the "O Line." It's basically two ropes that span from giant towers throughout the park and the orangutans are free to come and go as they please. On this particular morning, the lady orangutan had gathered quite a crowd below and she was in no hurry to scoot along. There was a frantic park ranger trying to shoo people at least 15 feet away, and I thought, "oh god, she's going to jump." But no, she stuck out her rump, and dropped a giant poo right on the sidewalk. I'm pretty sure I saw her chuckle as she continued on her way down the O-line. The crowd let out a giant gasp and turned away in horror. The cleanup crew was there in seconds to wash it all away - apparently she loves targeting unsuspecting tourists. When we both turned to each other and cracked up, because poop is hilarious, I knew it was true love.

If you're not a morning person, then I'd wait to go in the late afternoon, say around 3:30-4:30pm. It's an unofficial witching hour that sets off internal clocks within most small children. During this hour you can witness the distinctive animal-like behavior that goes along with total brain meltdown. No amount of ice cream or snacks can prevent child unraveling during this crucial hour, so grab a bench and prepare to ride out the wave of terror at the zoo. The signs of pending toddler explosion include: irrational and unintelligible screaming/moaning, jello-like bones that make walking an impossible feat, and disheveled hair and clothing that is usually smeared with red and purple snow cone juice. These children are always accompanied by a set of ragged parents who are feverishly speed-dialing their pharmacy for extra reserves of birth control (while dragging the aforementioned jello-boned child). Don't try and feed the worn-down family, and for god's sake don't make direct eye contact - unless you enjoy getting a stroller or box of popcorn in your face. Just bow your head and walk quickly away from the scene.

Ahh. I will miss our afternoon walks in D.C.

60 More Days

This weekend marked a milestone. It's time. We're ready. And it's only 60 days away (yes I have counted).

We let the cat out of the bag at our happy hour at Angles on Friday. It's amazing how much information you will divulge after 2 beers and no dinner (in this particular instance, I was not the giant blabber mouth). J told several of his coworkers and former coworkers about our time frame for moving to the West Coast. I have to say, it felt pretty good.

Back in April, we set a tentative date of July 31st, but only shared the deadline with a select few. While we have talked freely with our families about specific plans for moving, we've been holding our cards close with our friends and coworkers in D.C. Mostly, we didn't want to cause unnecessary drama and speculation, but also, until recently we really weren't entirely sure when we would take the plunge.

The turning point in our decision was the trip to G graduation. Even though our time in California was incredibly short, we both totally forgot about our stress at home. I slept like a log (an occurrence that has eluded me for the past two months) and J was much more relaxed.

Reality set in this morning at work when I created my time sheet for June. Oh Crap! We're really doing this and I have to tell my boss my plans in exactly 30 days! I also have to finish my DC Modernism study, which is most likely the cause of my sleepless nights. But nothing like a deadline to give you a swift kick in the butt right?

The thought of all the things we need to do in 60 days gives me hives. However, J has been the keeper of sanity and manager of my mini meltdowns, so for that I am grateful. Hopefully in a couple of weeks, I'll be rocking the Portland air guitar as well!