Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #9: The Microwave that Hates My Guts

Monday morning I posted our microwave and television on Craigslist in an effort to begin the purging process. I thought for sure it would be a slow sell. Within 45 minutes, I had 3 inquiries and even one person willing to bump up the selling price by $10. Bidding wars. On a microwave?

Maybe it's Samsung's sleek stainless steel look, or it's 1100 watt power cooking capacity, or its 10 power settings. The motivations behind the desire for my microwave may never be disclosed. I am still in awe.

Not unlike my miserable stove, this appliance plots to kill me nearly every week. But rather than torch my poor cakes to a crisp, it chips away slowly at my soul with its incessant beeping once cooking has finished. Every 30-45 seconds that you leave your plate in the blasted thing, "BEEP BEEP." It serves no purpose, this "BEEP BEEP." It's not like an oven timer that necessitates chirping or your dinner might catch fire. I have gotten to the point where I yell back at it, in it's annoying mechanical tone "SHUT UP" and "HATE YOU" and "DIE NOW" (or any other expletives that occur to me at the time) and then open and slam the door to stop the damn "BEEP BEEP."

I did not include in my Craigslist description why I hate this particular fixture in our kitchen. It's fatal flaw is not a defect really. In fact, it's quite the opposite - some microwave engineer designed it to be just the way it is. So, I'm not legally bound to disclose it's totally annoying beeper (or dinger or chimer or chirper) when I say "looks great and in perfect working condition." When the Craigslister comes over this week to trade cash for my nemesis, I will give a silent cheer.

Goodbye, Samsung MW1080STA microwave oven. You will not be missed!

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.

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!

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.

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #5: Our Neighborhood (Part 2) - Angles Bar

We found out about Angles Bar from one of Jesse's coworkers nearly 2 years after we moved into our apartment. She wanted to meet there for happy hour on a Friday after work. It was a joyous Friday because we found a spot on noisy 18th Street that really felt like home. They have a delicious amber bock beer (Angles Amber) that is only $2 a pint at happy hour. For a while, we were meeting there nearly every Friday night. In no time, the bartenders knew our names and would just bring over two pints whenever we would sit down at the bar. The last time we were there, I looked around, and realized that Jesse and I were probably the youngest ones in the room. For clarification, we usually hit the bar early and pass out by 10pm. The ideal evening involves food, drink, and mass exodus before all the 18th Street crowd arrives. I like to be in my small, quiet, and safe apartment before the "whordes" decend upon Adams Morgan. Luckily, our early timeframe coincides perfectly with the regulars crowd (a mixture of old and middle-age bachelors who live in the neighborhood). They are sometimes curmudgeonly (as I aspire to be), but mostly accepting and willing to bullshit with you on just about any topic.

Our love affair with Angles has continued to blossom and eventually we shifted our visits to Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday for the 2 for 1 burger deals. Angles is situated above a really nice restaurant called The Little Fountain Cafe, so all of the bar food comes straight from the cafe's kitchen. Now, I love a good burger, but these are outstanding burgers - worth every penny of their $10 regular price. And the fries, oh the fries, are like heaven. Wash it all down with an Angles Amber and you're set. We seriously think twice before ordering burgers anywhere else because a) they would pale in comparison and b) it kind of feels like cheating.

This past fall, Angles switched up the menu to add a really good homemade veggie burger, a smoked salmon burger, and nightly specials. In the winter, the specials included items like open face turkey sandwiches, roast beef, shepherd's pie, and the best lasagna with bolognese I have ever tasted. On our way home from Graham-uation, we were trying to figure out what to do about dinner. Then, Jesse got a twinkle in his eye and we both said in unison "beer and burgers Sunday dinner!" We hadn't had burgers in months (due to the delicious winter specials) so it was just like trying one for the first time. It was every bit as good as I remembered.

We went back there again tonight to meet the same coworker for her birthday. It was delicious and fun. We waved goodbye to the bartenders, Norm and Anita, and on our 1-block walk home I remembered one of the reasons why I will really miss D.C.

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #4: Our Neighborhood (Part 1)

Since I've been hating on D.C. lately, I thought it would be good to revisit some of the things that I really will miss when we leave. Last night Jesse and I took a pretty cool walk to a part of D.C. that we didn't even know existed. It's practically in our back yard, just right off of Massachusetts Avenue - a street we've walked up a dozen times or more. Usually, we never veer off the main road to see anything other than the variety of embassies and chanceries that line the way. This time wouldn't have been any different, except that I had other motives.

Lately, I've been conducting a series of mini scavenger hunts to seek out buildings that would potentially enhance the D.C. Modernism study that I'm trying to finish at work. I usually drag Jesse along, expounding the tenets of Modernism and building up how cutting edge the building was for its time, blah, blah, blah. Then (as it usually goes), we get to the intersection where the building's supposed to be, and nothing. I think he's starting to doubt my super sleuth skills (as am I). Last night we arrived at what I thought was the right address, and there was a big cleared lot with a brand new (albeit historic-looking) monstrous house plopped right on the corner. Something wasn't right, the house I'm looking for would never have been placed on a corner like that, but either way, it was a total strikeout.

The walk wasn't completely worthless though. It gave us a chance to find a spot in the city that has the largest houses I've ever seen, and has a totally different feel from the urban hustle and bustle found everywhere else. On our way back home, as we rounded the corner from Kalorama Street to Columbia Road, our apartment came into sight and Jesse said, "wow, I really love it here." It's true. We really love living in D.C., particularly in our apartment building, on our street, near so many things that we need.

Even though the houses we saw on our scavenger hunt adventure aren't technically in our neighborhood, I pretty much feel that if you can get there in a 20-minute walk or less, then it might as well be an honorary member. There are a lot of things we can access within a 20-minute walk from our apartment: our offices, 4 grocery stores, 68 Zipcars, Target, the best deli in the city, dozens of great bars and restaurants, abundant green space, 4 different Metro stops, hundreds of bus stops, need I continue? The convenience of it all is pretty great, but we love it for so many other reasons than convenience alone. This is the neighborhood where we went on our first date, and got our first apartment together. Everything about it has helped to define who we are now as adults on our own.

I'm ready for the next step and a new city, which has made it easy to highlight all of the annoying stuff about D.C. (believe me, there's a lot). But unlike our miserable stove, the city will have a special place in our memories. I want to make sure I capture as much of the good stuff as I can in the short time that we have left.

Things I Will (and Will Not) Miss in D.C. #3: Our Miserable Stove

This is probably the first item in a somewhat long list of things that I will not miss about our little studio apartment on Columbia Rd. Oh I'm sure in 10 years or so, the nostalgia will set in. We will think back on how we managed to live together for 4 years in 580 square feet and will laugh. However, some memories can't even be softened by the rosy-colored passage of time. One of those things is our stove. Our miserable, minuscule, temperamental stove. The darn thing never ceases to confound me and I am convinced, in all honesty, that it is out to kill me.

This is our second stove, and much smaller than the first (that's an entirely separate story that I've tried to put behind me). Technically, it has four burners. However, I'd have to pull out my Fisher Price cook set in order to actually fit four whole pans at one time. Plastic peas and carrots anyone? Given that I have adult-sized pots, and actually like to cook things, this poses a real problem anytime I want to get more elaborate than one-pan pasta dishes. In fact, several of my adult-sized pans have been decommissioned because they simply won't fit. My poor pizza pan stands alone in the corner because it's just too wide. Regulating the burners is also a treat. We have three settings: Off, Blazing Hot, and Somewhere in Between (but never EVER a low simmer).

And forget baking. Anytime I would set the oven temperature above 325 degrees, it continued to climb until I'd massacred another round of cookies or a beautiful layer cake. I had serious doubts in my abilities to do anything but boil water when Jesse put a moratorium on pies and cakes a few years ago - he even banned cupcakes! This was a very hard decision for him to make. I thought it was because he was so hurt by my utter disrespect for a decent baked good, but as it turns out, he was worried about my mental state when I kept failing over and over again. The moratorium has been lifted, thanks to my pizza stone, which has triumphed over the oven's most valiant attempts at wildly fluctuating in temperature. It's sad, though, that I need a rock in my most important appliance in order to cook food properly.

Some days, especially since we still don't have air conditioning, I gaze out of our open kitchen window that is conveniently located next to the miserable stove. I fantasize about the day I will have a vessel that is large enough to accommodate a whole turkey. Sometimes, the wheels start turning and I think about how fun it would be to just chuck the whole thing down onto Belmont Street (possibly setting it on fire first). I know, I'm nuts, but the stove is small enough to fit through the window (I've measured twice). Coincidence? Hmm.

Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure there's a clause in our hypothetical marriage contract that prohibits me from throwing large appliances (I'll verify later with Jesse). This same contract also prohibits him from buying musical furniture, so I guess for now the oven gets a stay of execution.