Life in Our Nation's Capital for Real

I guess today is the perfect day for an update. It has been kind of hectic in the nation's capital.

First, the apartment is great. Sir doesn't hate it, which is a plus, and now sleeps on my bed every night. The pill issue is annoying, but I've gotten used to it. If you follow me on the Facebook, there are several pictures posted that sum up the place, and maybe in a less lazy moment I'll put some on here also. Or one of my adorable cat in a tie(!).

Work is really great. I like the type of work I'm doing as well as the type of clients I am working with. It's pretty crazy somedays, and totally quiet others, but all the same, I like the people here a ton and the work is always interesting. In other, less exciting news though, I just found out what this company pays an entry level person. It is not a lot. Like a whole lot of NOT A LOT. To the point where my take home pay as an intern is probably more than what it would be if I were hired on as a real live employee. Kill me now.

The things they say about crazy partiers in this city are true. I went out with the Tri Delta alumnae club here for a happy hour this Tuesday (it was at a little wine and cheese place literally five doors down, couldn't skip!), and was planning to just have a glass. Then everyone else ordered a second, and what am I supposed to do? Then they all decided to go to a bar in the area, and what am I supposed to do? So it's like 10pm on a Tuesday, right, and I'm all, I HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW! And they're all, SO DO WE! WELCOME TO DC!

...So yeah, Wednesday morning was my first day as a real DC resident, apparently. I guess McDonald's breakfast in this town does a lot of workday business.

Also, yesterday, I went to a farmer's market that Michelle Obama has been trying to organize for some time, and since it's the first of several this fall, and her pet project (read:White House Victory Garden), she spoke about getting kids to eat healthy and the start of a new program that allows farmer's markets to take WIC and other government food programs; also, when you use those at farmer's markets, you get double your money. Which is cool, because a lot of families on those types of programs can't use their resources for fruits and veggies, which are more expensive in a lot of cases than less nutrious things. Basically, what I'm saying is, I buy all her hype. I have a girl crush on her (like all American women, I think).

AND HOW COOL IS IT THAT I FOUND OUT ABOUT A WHITE HOUSE EVENT AT 1:30 AND WAS THERE BY 3? I LOVE THIS TOWN.

image from dcist.com

Day Before

In Columbus, leaving tomorrow AM at 9. Sir is doing well, considering the circumstances. He has eaten a fair bit and has found a few favorite hidey-holes in the guest room where he has been staying all day. Also, BC got him a tie to wear as a housewarming gift. I'll upload a photo when my camera comes, I cannot wait to see it on him! I decided not to give him his pills today or tomorrow given the trauma he is already experiencing. We'll start up again Sunday.

While Sir seems to be functioning at least somewhat normally, I was unable to sleep last night and it's 1am at present. I'll get there.

Tim drove me up here in his truck and we unloaded it and got it all into the UHaul. Now all we have to do is make the 7 hour trek. Awesome?

(Technically, because its 1am, this means that I move TODAY. How exciting/terrifying/nervewracking/sad/wonderful!!! [My whole day was like MadLibs: emotions edition.])

Holler!/?

Last Day in Town

So, I went to the mall today. And I got my hair done, and I was rushing out to go to The Little Place, which is this little greasy spoon in Burlington that I love and needed to visit before moving. It closes at 3, which I don't really understand, but I refuse to complain because I love it so. So anyway, it's 2:15 and I'm telling myself if I can get there by 2:30, that's not too terribly rude, and I can eat quickly and be out by 3.

Well, so, I'm like speed walking through Florence Mall, and this lady at a kiosk accosts me, as they are wont to do, and I'm pretty effective at blowing her off. Then she goes, loudly, in a thick accent I can't place, "CAN I ASK YOU A QUESTION?" And damn my natural instincts, because I hesitated. Briefly, but still. These women are paid (how much?) to seize the hesitation and ATTACK.

And attack she did. In retrospect, I'm glad, because this is the conversation that transpired.

Woman: ARE THOSE YOUR REAL NAILS?

Me: Yes? (WTF? Is she going to compliment me? They ARE getting longer, and relatively evenly, if I do say so myself... I still haven't picked up on the sales pitch. What can I say, I'm exhausted and stressed.)

Woman: Ooooh.

She grabs my hand and picks up a 4 sided buffer.

DEAD SEA NAIL BUFFER, SO GOOD!

She begins buffing, calling out each of the sides as she uses them.

RED SIDE! Removes the yellow!

BLUE SIDE! Increases bloodflow to your nailbed! (Does the first one not do that equally as much, because of the movement? Is there some magic Dead Sea shit in there I don't understand?)

WHITE SIDE! SOFT AS SILK!

Then she rubs the white side on my hand to demonstrate that it is, in fact, as soft as silk. (I'll give it to her AND the Dead Sea people, it was.) Then she moves to my nail, saying, as she's doing this:

THE MINERALS FROM THE DEAD SEA WILL BRING OUT YOUR NATURAL OILS IN YOUR NAILS! PREPARE TO BE AMAZED! SAY HELLO TO YOUR NEW NAILS!

Me: ...

Woman: SAY HELLO!! (Refuses to stop buffing until I say it.)

Me: Hello?

She stops rubbing and moves the buffer.

Woman: LOOK! AMAZING! THAT WILL LOOK THAT WAY FOR TWO WEEKS, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU WASH YOUR HANDS!

(I said hello to my nail today. I may just curl up and die.)

But the thing is, I swear to God, it's amazing. I keep touching that one nail. It's been hours, even. I called the kiosk to ask how much it was.

Totally unfortunately, it only comes in this kit thing, and:

Me: So how much is that kit?

Woman: TODAY? FIFTY-NINE DOLLARS!

...In other news, I move tomorrow.

That G-D Cat

Today Sir reached a new low.

I had to shove the pill down his throat, coated (as per usual) in butter, and he spit out the pill. Totally clean.

Ugh, what am I going to do with him?

And Now.

So I packed my last box tonight. I labelled it, "Chris: last box." (Everything else has my name and some mostly accurate description of the contents. I feel "last box" sums up the contents, though: 2 or 3 books, a magnet board, a ton of hangers, a couple of shirts, a purse or two, my Dolly Delta bear, and other odds and ends that hadn't worked their way into other boxes.)

It's weird, seeing everything I own all folded or stuffed into boxes and ready to be moved away. And also kind of terrifying because I couldn't tell you where any of my stuff is. Like, I am sure that the copy of A Prayer for Owen Meany is in a box, one of them, but I could not even venture a guess as to which one. And what if I want to read it? In the next day? I haven't read it yet, and I have been meaning to, and really, talking about this right now is making me feel kind of queasy. (This is also why I hate lending books, I need to know that if at any time I want to read whatever book it is that I want to read, I am capable of doing that. Being limited by my boxes is killing me, even though I am happily mid book.) I also, you know, am not sure if I left enough out of boxes. I have a few tee shirts out for moving day and the next couple of days, and I think I remembered everything, but what if I didn't? You can read about my unfortunate packing habits here.

I am excited, though. I am excited to fully unpack for the first time, really, since I moved out of my childhood home. I mean, I moved to and from the Delta Shelta on campus and all that, but even then I had boxes at home with everything for whatever season it wasn't. And then I'd move home for the summer and keep the vast majority of everything in a box, waiting to be taken back to Ohio.

And now.

I'm also really emotional. I'm leaving my mother, who is trying to hold it together for me and kind of not doing so hot. It was safe here, you know? And now...what?

I'm just glad Sir is coming with me. And Mr. Bear. It's like a dream team of tear catching. (Seriously, why is it that fur--artificial or otherwise--catches tears better than anything else?)

On a side note, Sir did really well with taking his pills for two full days. Then he realized that I wasn't just giving him pats of butter for the hell of it. Now, he licks around the pill and then gets mad. (Notice he gets mad after licking the sides of the butter, which I think he does just to piss me off.) I have officially begun shoving them down his throat, coated in butter. Awesome.

This from a cat who has literally stolen the following things off of my plate: pork chops, ham, a peanut butter cookie (it didn't agree with him), spaghetti, yogurt of any variety, ice cream, corn out of my Chipotle burrito, cake, and many, many more. Yet. SOMEHOW. I can't get him to take a g-d pill. Then again, he also refuses to drink tap water.