Archive for the 'This side of the Hudson' Category

Settling in

September 16, 2007 | Filed under: The Great Moving Caper, This side of the Hudson

“I like corny, I’m looking for corny in my life” – Kate Winslet

I moved again this weekend. Which is really nothing out of the ordinary at this point given how fluid things have been as of late. But I moved and it was by far one of the easiest moves I’ve had in ages. Any other move – granted, I’m counting moves between dorm rooms for two and a half years – has involved a soul sucking process of packing and wondering how seven pairs of socks up and disappeared and realizing that I own seven ugly shirts, none of which fit. Each move more soul sucking than the previous time, which is probably why I’m a soulless, callous, bitch; because I keep fucking moving.

And each time, I think of how wonderful and charming my neighborhood is and how much I adore it and want to snuggle up to it and never leave. Then comes the regret of moving to said neighborhood because the people suck and the meter people have sticks shoved so far up their asses that they can’t see straight. This is why I now get hives and queasy every time I step foot on Capitol Hill.

This time it’s different as I really do like my neighborhood and want to curl up next to it and never leave. It’s not a place where I would find it unfathomable to purchase real estate in. It’s cute and charming and I want to snuggle most every part of it, save for the homeless man next to the organic food place who keeps calling me baby while snapping at me. Everything else gets a hug but he gets a swift kick to his ‘happy place’.

Besides neighborhood love, I’ve had another great epiphany: Despite the fact that it will be a balmy 36 degrees this evening and that I’m desperate for my sweaters and that eventually it will snow for 15 days straight, and around every corner is a person from high school; it’s really not that bad. There’s something enjoyable about small city life and that I can just run to a parent’s house when in dire straights. And I really haven’t given everything here including my friends…Oh yes, I do have friends here. I just never see and/or speak to them because I’m hell bent on going to DC as frequently as possible to see my other friends. Anyway, I haven’t given them or the area or – hell – my job a fair chance because I’m too busy wanting something else instead of accepting what I have and just dealing with it. That said, it is September, always the start of something new and possibly adventurous. I’m going to make every attempt to stop complaining about having to be here. No one forced me here. I came on my own volition and can leave whenever I damn well please but I’m staying. So, no more complaining. I won’t even complain in January when my toes are frost bitten and I’m scraping seven layers of ice off my car and my nipples are permanently hardened. Not even then.

The Washingtonian

August 15, 2007 | Filed under: Comes And Goes, Gruyere With That Wine, The Great Moving Caper, This side of the Hudson

“Home is not where you live but where they understand you.”  ~Christian Morgenstern

A few weeks ago I had a few episodes of homesickness brought on by an episode of Meet the Press and then a mention of Restaurant Week. Then Amy probably mentioned Noah and the tears started to well. I was homesick. Ridiculously so at that. I started missing little things like the Sephora in Georgetown or my weekend routine of the gym, Trader Joe’s, coffee, a nap and then drinks. A routine that could almost be emulated here if I didn’t live with a woman who didn’t understand my obsession with Sauvignon Blanc and why I need to nap in the middle of the day.

I had a life and friends turned family that took six years to build and cherish and put up with my bullshit. I moved and new the lay of the land and could successfully drive from Maryland to Virginia without becoming suicidal. I was comfortable and when I’m comfortable, I become extremely averse to any sort of change or sudden movements. I wasn’t happy – because in general I am not a happy person – and things were nowhere near perfect. But I always knew that if something were to go terribly wrong I could walk to Kris’ apartment or that my best friends in the world were just a short metro ride away.

It was easy. Possibly too easy.

I moved because I needed the change and I felt it in my gut that it would be the right thing to do. So I had celebratory dinners and parties and cried then cried some more then ended up returning to DC literally five days after I left. A trend that continued for roughly two and half months to the point where I decided that I was sick of DC. So, I got a uhaul and packed up the remnants of my life there and transferred them all to my father’s garage, where they are now covered in a fine layer of dust. Yum.

I’m often uncomfortable with my decisions which could be attributed to age or the fact that I’m stubborn but even when I know deep down inside that it’s the right thing to do, I keep thinking I’m missing out on something. Some big event or party or whatever, I’m missing it because I decided to move 400 miles away. And so I cried.

It’s stupid, I know it is and it passed. But for a week, I felt like I couldn’t do ‘this’ – whatever ‘this’ is – anymore. Like I had to move back and get my life because I would never find that level of comfort anywhere else. I felt lost and like I had made some God awful mistake which can obviously be perpetuated when you move in WITH YOUR MOTHER. Goodbye, privacy!

For years when people asked me where I was from I would say Washington, DC. Because that’s where my life, bills and bed were. But Washington is such a bubble of people with a rather one track mind and a crackberry permanently attached to the hip and a grocery cart full of organic foods. I miss it. I miss it like hell even if it is a short plane ride and even though I’m contractually obligated to go down once a month, I still feel that little pang – like right now as I’m writing this all out – of missing happy hours around town or a quick trip to Whole Paycheck. So right now I’m in some purgatory: Enjoying weekends at the track and road trips to Massachusetts. Getting reacquainted with my parents, brother and high school friends. Shockingly enough, they do have wine here and bars and grocery stores that sell over priced organic food.

In the event that you were really wondering, so far, so good. But I might rethink all of this come Winter. Then I’ll just have to write a post with the words “PLEASE SEND BOOZE” and you’ll know right then and there that it’s an absolute emergency and that maybe Upstate NY wasn’t the best idea ever.

How I’ll be spending the next two weeks

August 10, 2007 | Filed under: Fotografias, Straight Jacket, The Great Moving Caper, This side of the Hudson

“ Chaos is a name for any order that produces confusion in our minds.” ~George Santayana

I’m really not sure how much longer I can stand this. But since my suitcase is now permanently stuck to my floor. I should really think about doing something about all of this:

(Best viewed large if you aren’t easily disturbed)

(This puts Chris Jordan’s “My suitcase from BlogHer has yet to be unpacked” to SHAME)

(I should also mention that parents? This is what you need to be prepared for when your child leaves, then moves roughly four times in six years. Fair warning)

Thinking of becoming a ‘car blogger’

June 27, 2007 | Filed under: Sucks like a vacuum, This side of the Hudson

“Take most people, they’re crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they’re always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that’s even newer. I don’t even like old cars. I mean they don’t even interest me. I’d rather have a goddamn horse. A horse is at least human, for God’s sake.” ~ Holden Caulfield

A few years ago, I went to Las Vegas and left my minivan with LB and her boyfriend at the time. I hated that fucking minivan, because it was a MINIVAN and I cannot emphasize the soccer mom-ness of it all. The smell of cleats and sweaty shin guards still hung in the air. There was still the cigarette burn that my poor influence of a neighbor put into the passenger side door. She was the one who introduced me to going to Dunkin Donuts in lieu of going to math class, how to inhale a Marlboro light, Kahlua, Smirinoff Ice, and how to properly escape from my house via the back door between the hours of 1 and 2 AM. If there is anyone that I can thank for my sordid heathen-like behavior, it would be her. Though thankfully my palate for alcohol has become a tad more refined over the years.

The minivan then was full of memories and so when I returned from Las Vegas to a car that wouldn’t go into reverse without feeling like it was actually having a seizure, I got out, kicked the tires, lifted up the hood, and then cried. Because I had no fucking clue as to what I should be looking for under the hood, but there was an engine, so that was a plus. It turned out that the one thing I found most abhorrent about my otherwise cushy life, was dying from transmission failure. In all of my knowledge of motor vehicles, I apparently missed the part where the transmission was key to the movement of a car and that transmissions also cost $2,000.

I had to whore myself out to the AAMCO guy in order to get a piece of metal that cost far more than the value of the vehicle that it was going to be placed in. It’s like giving your everything for an unappreciative child, who will still give you an attitude and be demanding after you’ve provided her with most everything her little heart desires including Coach bags and diamond studs. I finally knew how my parents felt.

That said, if ever I’m riding in a car now and I suddenly feel a jerky movement, my head goes into crisis mode. Though I skipped most math classes my Senior year of high school, I am still capable of figuring out how much is in my bank account before it hits deathcon 7 levels of lowness. So as my heart is dropping to my toes thinking about how fucking much I can put into a car, my head is thinking about how much babysitting (or whoring) can be done so that I’m left with a few grand and some dignity.

Though Ye Olde Sable returned beautifully remastered last week, yesterday I started feeling the jerky movements. I then sat in the parking lot at work putting it into gear and moving it in and out of the spot to see if it would work or do something or if the transmission would just fall out right there in front of my mother’s secretary’s window. I then moved the car back to check for leaking fluids and maybe took its temperature.

In DC it’s ok to have a car, which is why when I go down, I don’t mind flying and getting a zipcar or subjecting myself to various fares between arbitrarily made zones or getting groped on the metro. Here, in upstate NY, if you don’t have a car, good luck and god bless, because that’s pretty much the only form of transportation. Well cars, skis and ice skates and maybe a kayak or canoe. I’ve never been in a position to say this and really mean it: but if the transmission is what is the problem, then I’m getting rid of the sable and purchasing an actual a car. My very first major adult purchase, with like test driving and everything. I’m practically pissing myself with the excitement of the new car smell and hearing that my FICO score is 12.

Which reminds me; at some point, don’t let me forget to tell you about the time that JB, Pammy and I went test driving and the sales guy decided right then in there, in the Nissan parking lot, in front of the Xterras, that he wanted to marry Pammy. And the subsequent phone calls from him that ensued. Y’all, the man declared his love for her while asking me over my voicemail then asked when I’d like to come take a look at the Muranos.

Slogans

June 22, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, This side of the Hudson

“Your most unhappy customers are your greatest source of learning.” ~Bill Gates

Enterprise: “We’re totally fucking useless! But (maybe) we can pick you up!”

Bally’s Total Fitness: “We can do something about that back fat, don’t worry!”

MetLife: “Bend over, we promise to be gentle!”

Kate Spade: “A bag a day keeps the curmudgeonly at bay”

Upstate NY: “One Manning is better than no Mannings at all”