It is really difficult to describe what I do without sounding like either a stalker or a money-fiend, but I promise you that I am neither. What I enjoy most about my industry is the ability and opportunity to build relationships with people, and over the course of the last month, I have had several really great opportunities to do what I love. Yay.
So having met lots of people in the last few weeks, I wrote several of them letters that not only thanked them for coming but also expressed my joy (that word sounds super cheesy) in getting to finally meet the people behind our organization.
On Thursday, one of these notes netted us $3000.
I made my first money!! Ahhhh!!
So pumped.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Blessed like whoa
It took me about three and a half years of college to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and even then, it wasn't really a light-bulb-esque epiphany as much as it was a gentle realization that I knew what I wanted and was lucky enough to have an opportunity to pursue it.
Despite this realization, however, I chose to apply for a variety of jobs outside of what I believe (as of today) to be my vocation. Several of these evolved into second and third interviews, and a couple of them were actually quite promising. One of these in particular was a journalism position in Ohio, I mean, yeah, it was Ohio, and I certainly liked journalism, but lets get serious, I'm not particularly passionate about the Midwest or writing for a living.
There were two positions available, and when a friend and I drove down to interview, the President offered her a job on the spot and then later awarded the second position to another friend of mine, an econ major with zero journalism experience.
I was devastated.
But God does everything for a reason.
In July, not only did I hit the jackpot in terms of doing what I love, but I also work in a genuinely amazing office. We're all pretty young. We all love the movement. Work hard, play hard. Rah rah freedom. Moreover, last night, the econ major who had landed the Ohio job with no experience Facebook chatted me to warn me that not only does she hate working there, that my other friend had quit the week before and they were again looking to fill the position.
And then it occurs to me that I'm blessed, like whoa. I love my job. I love what I do. I love who I work with. I love my friends. I love where I live. And lawyer is moving here on October 8.
Despite this realization, however, I chose to apply for a variety of jobs outside of what I believe (as of today) to be my vocation. Several of these evolved into second and third interviews, and a couple of them were actually quite promising. One of these in particular was a journalism position in Ohio, I mean, yeah, it was Ohio, and I certainly liked journalism, but lets get serious, I'm not particularly passionate about the Midwest or writing for a living.
There were two positions available, and when a friend and I drove down to interview, the President offered her a job on the spot and then later awarded the second position to another friend of mine, an econ major with zero journalism experience.
I was devastated.
But God does everything for a reason.
In July, not only did I hit the jackpot in terms of doing what I love, but I also work in a genuinely amazing office. We're all pretty young. We all love the movement. Work hard, play hard. Rah rah freedom. Moreover, last night, the econ major who had landed the Ohio job with no experience Facebook chatted me to warn me that not only does she hate working there, that my other friend had quit the week before and they were again looking to fill the position.
And then it occurs to me that I'm blessed, like whoa. I love my job. I love what I do. I love who I work with. I love my friends. I love where I live. And lawyer is moving here on October 8.
"I'm Wearing a Red Jacket. I'm black. And I'm Handsome"
Last weekend, my very best friend from college came into town for a couple of days, and to say that we painted the town would be a grand understatement.
KM came in late on Thursday, and I still had to work Friday, so that evening we kicked it at my house. Early Friday, she came to work with me and then spend her day doing a self-guided tour of the capitol, monuments, and museums. (She was especially thrilled to see the Constitution on the anniversary of its signing.) The nice thing about the city is that tons of alumni from our school have made their way here, so there is always someone to catch up with. KM lunched with a guy from college who I knew-of, but had never really met. As far as I knew of him, he was a football meat-head who slept his way through college, a nice guy, but certainly not my type. During the day, I managed to talk one of my co-workers (MD2) into showing us the town and the between the two of us and KM + lunch date, our Friday night foursome was made.
Post-work, KM and I swung into the local World Market (which if you've never been, take my advice and don't go when you're hungry) to pick up libations, chips, and salsa before heading back. One thing I love about us is that we eat. Don't laugh. Everyone reading this has friends that don't--those girls who always order salads and veggies. KM and I are not those people. We polished off a 6-pack and an entire jar of salsa before so much as showering for our PM outing.
Now, before you go any farther, take ten and Google "Esquire I Think You're Fat." This article had half my office buzzing last week. Personally, I think its a nice idea but would make for a pretty cynical world. Honesty is good. Radical honesty is a little much for me. Anyway, as I ran around the office Friday morning, MD2 made KM read the article - a move which later prompted the "radical honesty bar game." The premise? Ask anything and get a completely honest answer. Trust me, you get a few drinks down and everyone is ALL ABOUT radical honesty. It was amazing...and educational, but mostly just awesome. Lets just say we learned a lot.
With one bar down, the three of us moseyed our way to the next where shots and dancing ensued. So. Much. Fun. Then, KM decided she needed Subway. At some point, it was decided that we were all sleeping at MD2's house, and 984092845029485 blocks later, MD2, KM, lunch date and me were all sleeping.
Fast-forward to 6AM Saturday morning. KM's phone rings... its lunch date! Wait. WTF? He's calling? But wait, lunch date is definitely passed out on the couch next to KM.
Hello?
Hi! Who is this?
This is KM, where did you get this phone?
(suddenly, meat-head lunch date realizes that he is, indeed, down a cell phone)
LUNCH DATE LOST HIS PHONE AND NOW A HOBO HAS IT AND IS DEMANDING MONEY TO GET IT BACK!!
Bahahahahahaha! I learn about all of this when I wake up at ten, and so we start calling and calling Homeless to retrieve the phone. Two episodes of Entourage later, we've got no information and growling stomachs so we decide to make our way to brunch.
One hilarious meal later, and long story short, the hobo makes his way to us and returns lunch date's phone for the bargain basement price of $15.
After a night like that, it becomes pretty difficult to out-do yourself, so KM and I spend the rest of her visit enjoying the company and making endless hobo jokes. We wined. We dined. We shopped the mega-amazing-james-perse-sample sale. It was good, and I can't wait to have more visitors...and the adventures that'll surely come with.
KM came in late on Thursday, and I still had to work Friday, so that evening we kicked it at my house. Early Friday, she came to work with me and then spend her day doing a self-guided tour of the capitol, monuments, and museums. (She was especially thrilled to see the Constitution on the anniversary of its signing.) The nice thing about the city is that tons of alumni from our school have made their way here, so there is always someone to catch up with. KM lunched with a guy from college who I knew-of, but had never really met. As far as I knew of him, he was a football meat-head who slept his way through college, a nice guy, but certainly not my type. During the day, I managed to talk one of my co-workers (MD2) into showing us the town and the between the two of us and KM + lunch date, our Friday night foursome was made.
Post-work, KM and I swung into the local World Market (which if you've never been, take my advice and don't go when you're hungry) to pick up libations, chips, and salsa before heading back. One thing I love about us is that we eat. Don't laugh. Everyone reading this has friends that don't--those girls who always order salads and veggies. KM and I are not those people. We polished off a 6-pack and an entire jar of salsa before so much as showering for our PM outing.
Now, before you go any farther, take ten and Google "Esquire I Think You're Fat." This article had half my office buzzing last week. Personally, I think its a nice idea but would make for a pretty cynical world. Honesty is good. Radical honesty is a little much for me. Anyway, as I ran around the office Friday morning, MD2 made KM read the article - a move which later prompted the "radical honesty bar game." The premise? Ask anything and get a completely honest answer. Trust me, you get a few drinks down and everyone is ALL ABOUT radical honesty. It was amazing...and educational, but mostly just awesome. Lets just say we learned a lot.
With one bar down, the three of us moseyed our way to the next where shots and dancing ensued. So. Much. Fun. Then, KM decided she needed Subway. At some point, it was decided that we were all sleeping at MD2's house, and 984092845029485 blocks later, MD2, KM, lunch date and me were all sleeping.
Fast-forward to 6AM Saturday morning. KM's phone rings... its lunch date! Wait. WTF? He's calling? But wait, lunch date is definitely passed out on the couch next to KM.
Hello?
Hi! Who is this?
This is KM, where did you get this phone?
(suddenly, meat-head lunch date realizes that he is, indeed, down a cell phone)
LUNCH DATE LOST HIS PHONE AND NOW A HOBO HAS IT AND IS DEMANDING MONEY TO GET IT BACK!!
Bahahahahahaha! I learn about all of this when I wake up at ten, and so we start calling and calling Homeless to retrieve the phone. Two episodes of Entourage later, we've got no information and growling stomachs so we decide to make our way to brunch.
One hilarious meal later, and long story short, the hobo makes his way to us and returns lunch date's phone for the bargain basement price of $15.
After a night like that, it becomes pretty difficult to out-do yourself, so KM and I spend the rest of her visit enjoying the company and making endless hobo jokes. We wined. We dined. We shopped the mega-amazing-james-perse-sample sale. It was good, and I can't wait to have more visitors...and the adventures that'll surely come with.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Everybody Loves a Good Routine
Generally speaking, the metro is a pretty lovely place. Now, the escalators are always broken and sometimes it smells, but if you can appreciate good people watching...morning rush hour is the place to be. Parking around here is such a nightmare that most people tend to rely upon the trains in one way or another a fact that translates into seeing people from all walks of life on my morning commute. Additionally, I get a newspaper every day! A NEWSPAPER!
Last Thursday morning, I dashed out my door about ten minutes late -- which really isn't a big deal, for the most part, my work doesn't particularity care what time we roll in, so long as we get our responsibilities taken care of -- and after nabbing my paper and rolling my sunglasses up my forehead and into my hair, my morning routine began.
So there I am, standing on the platform, perusing the newspaper and I catch the eye of this boy. Now...I really really really don't want to make this website your one-stop-shop for all the men in my life, because, lets just be honest, there are lots of them, and not in the hanky panky sense, either. Friends. Lots of us are just friends. The others...well...there are those too. Whatever. Bottom line, this is not and will not ever be my man diary. Onward.
He and I lock eyes. Cute. Well-dressed. Back to my newspaper. Then our train arrives, and though I am sure there is some rhyme/reason/mathematical equation for the train crowds in relation to time and day of the week...all that jazz is beyond my level of city expertise, all I know is that on this particular morning, it seems like everyone has decided to ride the metro at 8:30 am.
We pack ourselves in and said boy and I end up side by side. He's got headphones on, Dave Matthews. Good call. So there we stand, and two stops later, the crowd loosens up and I mosey my late and sleepy self to a seat. We lock eyes again. There is an open seat next to me. Like a leading man, he swoops in, and we spend the rest of my ride making mindless small talk.
No names and no numbers exchanged, I spend the rest of my day kicking myself for not just TAKING THE CHANCE! I have business cards, and my name looks damn good on them, why didn't I just give him one?!?!
So this was my Thursday epiphany: I'm a new girl. In a new city. With miles of opportunity around. I've got to be bold. I've got to ditch routines and be late and branch out and meet people and try new things and be young and be alive. Because I'm lucky to be here.
That night, I (of course) relayed the entire story to best friend, who (in her infinite wisdom) tells me that if it is supposed to happen we'll meet again, and damn if I wasn't late on Friday morning.
Halfway through my morning paper, I peek up only to lock eyes with him again. WHAT! Okay, so we've always joked about how my life is a little cinematic sometimes, but really, its now pretty clear that I LIVE IN A MOVIE!
There we are, standing on the train together for the second day, pushed to opposite sides by everyone in between us. Fumbling for a pen, I reach into my purse and whip out one of those shiny new cards and jot down my cell phone number and "What I should have done yesterday." Ugh, terrible handwriting. Reaching back down into my purse, I reach for another card. The final draft. I am shaking. Why am I shaking? Is this what boys feel like when they do this? Wow. Shaking! Poor things. I'll be nicer about that from now on. Focus. Handwriting must be good. Neat. Okay. Its done.
I'm holding this thing in my hot little hands and he steps towards me. Our conversation resumes where we left off yesterday, and as the metro pulls into my station, as calmly as I can, I pass my card along with a wink and a smile.
Its been a week, and I've gotten nothing out of him, but to be honest, I don't really care. It was fun. My little Friday morning adventure, because the idea is bold, people.
We're going for bold.
Last Thursday morning, I dashed out my door about ten minutes late -- which really isn't a big deal, for the most part, my work doesn't particularity care what time we roll in, so long as we get our responsibilities taken care of -- and after nabbing my paper and rolling my sunglasses up my forehead and into my hair, my morning routine began.
So there I am, standing on the platform, perusing the newspaper and I catch the eye of this boy. Now...I really really really don't want to make this website your one-stop-shop for all the men in my life, because, lets just be honest, there are lots of them, and not in the hanky panky sense, either. Friends. Lots of us are just friends. The others...well...there are those too. Whatever. Bottom line, this is not and will not ever be my man diary. Onward.
He and I lock eyes. Cute. Well-dressed. Back to my newspaper. Then our train arrives, and though I am sure there is some rhyme/reason/mathematical equation for the train crowds in relation to time and day of the week...all that jazz is beyond my level of city expertise, all I know is that on this particular morning, it seems like everyone has decided to ride the metro at 8:30 am.
We pack ourselves in and said boy and I end up side by side. He's got headphones on, Dave Matthews. Good call. So there we stand, and two stops later, the crowd loosens up and I mosey my late and sleepy self to a seat. We lock eyes again. There is an open seat next to me. Like a leading man, he swoops in, and we spend the rest of my ride making mindless small talk.
No names and no numbers exchanged, I spend the rest of my day kicking myself for not just TAKING THE CHANCE! I have business cards, and my name looks damn good on them, why didn't I just give him one?!?!
So this was my Thursday epiphany: I'm a new girl. In a new city. With miles of opportunity around. I've got to be bold. I've got to ditch routines and be late and branch out and meet people and try new things and be young and be alive. Because I'm lucky to be here.
That night, I (of course) relayed the entire story to best friend, who (in her infinite wisdom) tells me that if it is supposed to happen we'll meet again, and damn if I wasn't late on Friday morning.
Halfway through my morning paper, I peek up only to lock eyes with him again. WHAT! Okay, so we've always joked about how my life is a little cinematic sometimes, but really, its now pretty clear that I LIVE IN A MOVIE!
There we are, standing on the train together for the second day, pushed to opposite sides by everyone in between us. Fumbling for a pen, I reach into my purse and whip out one of those shiny new cards and jot down my cell phone number and "What I should have done yesterday." Ugh, terrible handwriting. Reaching back down into my purse, I reach for another card. The final draft. I am shaking. Why am I shaking? Is this what boys feel like when they do this? Wow. Shaking! Poor things. I'll be nicer about that from now on. Focus. Handwriting must be good. Neat. Okay. Its done.
I'm holding this thing in my hot little hands and he steps towards me. Our conversation resumes where we left off yesterday, and as the metro pulls into my station, as calmly as I can, I pass my card along with a wink and a smile.
Its been a week, and I've gotten nothing out of him, but to be honest, I don't really care. It was fun. My little Friday morning adventure, because the idea is bold, people.
We're going for bold.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
You know those days when...
you put together an absolutely killer outfit using only clothes/accessories that you already own and you clomp around town feeling fabulous all day long? Totally had that day yesterday. Knew you'd understand.
-
My week has been bazooka-crazy. Work work work work. But...there are sparkles to tell you about. Stories to come. Xoxo.
(edit: Haha, why did no one tell me about the massive grammatical error I just edited out of here!)
-
My week has been bazooka-crazy. Work work work work. But...there are sparkles to tell you about. Stories to come. Xoxo.
(edit: Haha, why did no one tell me about the massive grammatical error I just edited out of here!)
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
A Golden Rhinosaurus
I'm mad at myself for not keeping up with this thing like I should.
No excuses. I'll try and do better.
Trying to find a place to live out here was an adventure and a half. Surviving almost solely on four-cheese flavored Cheeze-Its, Circus Animals (frosted animal crackers, which if you have not tried, do so immediately), ham sandwiches and Diet Coke my dad and I made it to St. Louis on day one and into the City on day two.
Home-hunting pretty much went as follows:
Day One -- Found two lovely town houses. One had its own bathroom, three roommates, and a beautiful kitchen. Literally a stone's throw away from the metro. The next had a shared bathroom, two roommates, terrible transportation access and a creek/running trail that ran behind it. The only problems here would be that my commute to work would average forty-five minutes, and I don't do mornings very well.
Day Two -- Oh my gosh. No I do not want to live in the basement of a retired Asian couple with a hotplate in my "kitchen" and the stale smell of geriatrics. Thank you. No.
Day Three -- Toured the token, post-college proverbial frat house. Bottles everywhere. Jersey Shore (no, for real) on the television. Five girls total, plus me. Amazing location. Metro accessible. Mall accessible. Cute house. The very first indication that there might be a problem was the giant Che Guevera poster on the wall. Whatever, I can deal with hipster illusion. One of my key questions in this whole process is, can I visitors? Most of my friends, both collegiate and otherwise, haven't spent much play time in the city, and I need them to come visit. I need my friends around me. Frat house answer? "Oh my God, like YES you can. We had this place packed five deep when all of our friends came for the INAUGURATION..." Oh. Yeah, I can't live here.
Day Four -- We've got two stops scheduled, and the second, although in a pretty prime location would make me the roommate of Ragu and Hamir. Now, I'm pretty open to whatever, but I was not looking forward to that possibility. Fortunately for me, I got to cancel my second appointment, because earlier that morning, I met MM. Shes awesome. A quiet, laid-back, San Diego transplant with good taste in music and furniture whose first roommate (and best friend from college) had signed the lease in May and walked away from it to join the convent by mid June. Yup, convent; she's going to be a nun. MM is fun, low-maintenance, loves vintage stores, and came out here in order to get as far away from home as possible. We're on the same page in a lot of respects...minus the maintenance part. (Oh trust me, I'm well aware that the comb and hairspray that reside permanently in my purse categorize me as anything but.) Our latest same page moment? Simultaneously deciding the the over-sized three dollar wooden rhinoceros sitting on our large bookcase would look better if he was spray-painted metallic gold. Yes, gold.
Like I said, so far--so good.
No excuses. I'll try and do better.
Trying to find a place to live out here was an adventure and a half. Surviving almost solely on four-cheese flavored Cheeze-Its, Circus Animals (frosted animal crackers, which if you have not tried, do so immediately), ham sandwiches and Diet Coke my dad and I made it to St. Louis on day one and into the City on day two.
Home-hunting pretty much went as follows:
Day One -- Found two lovely town houses. One had its own bathroom, three roommates, and a beautiful kitchen. Literally a stone's throw away from the metro. The next had a shared bathroom, two roommates, terrible transportation access and a creek/running trail that ran behind it. The only problems here would be that my commute to work would average forty-five minutes, and I don't do mornings very well.
Day Two -- Oh my gosh. No I do not want to live in the basement of a retired Asian couple with a hotplate in my "kitchen" and the stale smell of geriatrics. Thank you. No.
Day Three -- Toured the token, post-college proverbial frat house. Bottles everywhere. Jersey Shore (no, for real) on the television. Five girls total, plus me. Amazing location. Metro accessible. Mall accessible. Cute house. The very first indication that there might be a problem was the giant Che Guevera poster on the wall. Whatever, I can deal with hipster illusion. One of my key questions in this whole process is, can I visitors? Most of my friends, both collegiate and otherwise, haven't spent much play time in the city, and I need them to come visit. I need my friends around me. Frat house answer? "Oh my God, like YES you can. We had this place packed five deep when all of our friends came for the INAUGURATION..." Oh. Yeah, I can't live here.
Day Four -- We've got two stops scheduled, and the second, although in a pretty prime location would make me the roommate of Ragu and Hamir. Now, I'm pretty open to whatever, but I was not looking forward to that possibility. Fortunately for me, I got to cancel my second appointment, because earlier that morning, I met MM. Shes awesome. A quiet, laid-back, San Diego transplant with good taste in music and furniture whose first roommate (and best friend from college) had signed the lease in May and walked away from it to join the convent by mid June. Yup, convent; she's going to be a nun. MM is fun, low-maintenance, loves vintage stores, and came out here in order to get as far away from home as possible. We're on the same page in a lot of respects...minus the maintenance part. (Oh trust me, I'm well aware that the comb and hairspray that reside permanently in my purse categorize me as anything but.) Our latest same page moment? Simultaneously deciding the the over-sized three dollar wooden rhinoceros sitting on our large bookcase would look better if he was spray-painted metallic gold. Yes, gold.
Like I said, so far--so good.
Monday, August 30, 2010
8/28 - The Restoring Honor Rally
Glenn Beck. Two words that seem to inspire every human emotion possible - love, hate, rage, joy, passion...the list goes on and on.
To be honest, throughout the day on Friday, several co-workers and I predicted that his Restoring Honor rally on Saturday would spark some pretty intense protest. Good ole Rev. Al threatened to crash the party, as did the new Black Panthers and a variety of other activist groups, and my money was on violence.
Now, I love politics and debates and news, but anyone who knows me, is also pretty well aware that despite these things, for the last several years, I've been much more a part of the media than the ra-ra-rally crowd. Beck's Restoring Honor rally on Saturday marked my very first rally experience. (The phrase "go big or go home" comes to mind.) Attendance estimates range anywhere between 100k and 600k, but the bottom line is that there were more people here than anywhere I've ever been in my entire life.
People everywhere.
On Friday, several of our activists left our event explaining that they had to get back to their campsites on the National Mall, many of which their friends had been holding since 10am that morning! Officially, you cannot sleep or camp on the Mall, but you can sit there all night--so they did. Our people are hardcore, and I love them for it! Friday was my first experience meeting several of our activists and VIPs, and not only were they nice, they're all so humble and excited about the political process.
I like the Tea Party movement, and I appreciate that these people are excited about grassroots politics, but having covered the 2008 RNC and some other Michigan events, I must say, my impression of these guys was less than stellar. Too much glitter. Too much red, white, and blue paraphernalia. Where the hell did you buy a golf shirt featuring the Constitution? Too little substance. Too little history. Just lots of people fired up because they hate the administration. GW had stirred up much the same type of resentment on the opposite side of the aisle; what separated the Tea Party from the Bush-haters who emerged in his second term?
The answer? History. Facts. Knowledge. Organization.
Having spent the last two days kickin' it with the Tea Party, I must say, my impression of the movement is vastly different than it was on Thursday. They are not racist. They are not bigots. The listen to talk radio. This isn't about Obama. They brought their kids. They are not looking for a savior or answer. They are just people. Worried people. People concerned for our country. Concerned because they have the depth and knowledge to appreciate what we've got here. I think what worries the Tea Party the most is what we might lose.
Young. Old. Black. White. Whatever. Everyone I spoke to on Friday and Saturday was just happy to be there. People with cameras are scary, but without so much as an introduction, folks were eager to chat and nearly always interested in learning more about what brought the four of us to Saturday's rally.
We didn't have interviews, we had conversations.
The tiny journalist that still lives inside me was shaking in her boots. This is not how this works.
And I think that's why the mainstream media sucks at covering the Tea Party.
Because they quite literally don't know what to do with these people.
They're too nice. Too chatty. Too homegrown.
And that's not how this works.
To be honest, throughout the day on Friday, several co-workers and I predicted that his Restoring Honor rally on Saturday would spark some pretty intense protest. Good ole Rev. Al threatened to crash the party, as did the new Black Panthers and a variety of other activist groups, and my money was on violence.
Now, I love politics and debates and news, but anyone who knows me, is also pretty well aware that despite these things, for the last several years, I've been much more a part of the media than the ra-ra-rally crowd. Beck's Restoring Honor rally on Saturday marked my very first rally experience. (The phrase "go big or go home" comes to mind.) Attendance estimates range anywhere between 100k and 600k, but the bottom line is that there were more people here than anywhere I've ever been in my entire life.
On Friday, several of our activists left our event explaining that they had to get back to their campsites on the National Mall, many of which their friends had been holding since 10am that morning! Officially, you cannot sleep or camp on the Mall, but you can sit there all night--so they did. Our people are hardcore, and I love them for it! Friday was my first experience meeting several of our activists and VIPs, and not only were they nice, they're all so humble and excited about the political process.
I like the Tea Party movement, and I appreciate that these people are excited about grassroots politics, but having covered the 2008 RNC and some other Michigan events, I must say, my impression of these guys was less than stellar. Too much glitter. Too much red, white, and blue paraphernalia. Where the hell did you buy a golf shirt featuring the Constitution? Too little substance. Too little history. Just lots of people fired up because they hate the administration. GW had stirred up much the same type of resentment on the opposite side of the aisle; what separated the Tea Party from the Bush-haters who emerged in his second term?
The answer? History. Facts. Knowledge. Organization.
Having spent the last two days kickin' it with the Tea Party, I must say, my impression of the movement is vastly different than it was on Thursday. They are not racist. They are not bigots. The listen to talk radio. This isn't about Obama. They brought their kids. They are not looking for a savior or answer. They are just people. Worried people. People concerned for our country. Concerned because they have the depth and knowledge to appreciate what we've got here. I think what worries the Tea Party the most is what we might lose.
Young. Old. Black. White. Whatever. Everyone I spoke to on Friday and Saturday was just happy to be there. People with cameras are scary, but without so much as an introduction, folks were eager to chat and nearly always interested in learning more about what brought the four of us to Saturday's rally.
We didn't have interviews, we had conversations.
The tiny journalist that still lives inside me was shaking in her boots. This is not how this works.
And I think that's why the mainstream media sucks at covering the Tea Party.
Because they quite literally don't know what to do with these people.
They're too nice. Too chatty. Too homegrown.
And that's not how this works.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Kill all the Lawyers, Except This One
Having jetted away to college, I learned early that there are two types of long-distance friendships: those that buckle and fracture under the strain of time and the ones where the conversation always seems to pick up just where you left off.
I spent Saturday evening enjoying LK's homemade raspberry lemonade and the company of several other college friends. I haven't seen any of them since a wedding last year, but they're still like family. Our partying habits have evolved, however. Haha, I love seeing the crowd that (quite literally) taught me how to do a keg-stand, roasting marshmallows on a Saturday night. It was adorable.
Sunday, my roommate and I reunited with CK and MH to visit the DC Aquarium, and $9 later I learned that fish still swim. Post fishys, we roamed the national portrait gallery and ventured up the red line to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception at Catholic University. There really isn't an adequate way to describe the beauty and serenity of Shrine; its simply breath-taking, and Catholic or not, its impossible not to appreciate.
So, lawyers in this town aren't really lawyers; they're lobbyists, and lobbyists are "bad." They're the guys in the perfectly tailored suits with cars and drivers, pimping the joys of tobacco and alcohol products on the steps of Capitol Hill every morning. Guns. Healthcare. Cigarettes. Booze. Pills. Food. Special Interests are all controlled by lobbying. Generically speaking, these guys are douchebags. Stay. Away. (Or, if you feel like playing around, get your gifts and then get out.) No marriage. No commitment. Just fun. But, I digress. Lawyers, as a rule are not good news, unless...you meet them by chance during happy hour with a bunch of co-workers and it turns out that they interned with the firm you worked for and now they're in town interviewing for several different positions with family organizations, as a child-advocacy lawyer. In this case, they're adorable. Correction...he's adorable. Because there's probably only one.
Things you need to know? Texas. Hot. Like two inches too short. Probably moving here next month. Great taste in music. Super sweet. Bad a text-chatting. Loves Jesus. Got my number. And held the door.
I spent Saturday evening enjoying LK's homemade raspberry lemonade and the company of several other college friends. I haven't seen any of them since a wedding last year, but they're still like family. Our partying habits have evolved, however. Haha, I love seeing the crowd that (quite literally) taught me how to do a keg-stand, roasting marshmallows on a Saturday night. It was adorable.
Sunday, my roommate and I reunited with CK and MH to visit the DC Aquarium, and $9 later I learned that fish still swim. Post fishys, we roamed the national portrait gallery and ventured up the red line to the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception at Catholic University. There really isn't an adequate way to describe the beauty and serenity of Shrine; its simply breath-taking, and Catholic or not, its impossible not to appreciate.
So, lawyers in this town aren't really lawyers; they're lobbyists, and lobbyists are "bad." They're the guys in the perfectly tailored suits with cars and drivers, pimping the joys of tobacco and alcohol products on the steps of Capitol Hill every morning. Guns. Healthcare. Cigarettes. Booze. Pills. Food. Special Interests are all controlled by lobbying. Generically speaking, these guys are douchebags. Stay. Away. (Or, if you feel like playing around, get your gifts and then get out.) No marriage. No commitment. Just fun. But, I digress. Lawyers, as a rule are not good news, unless...you meet them by chance during happy hour with a bunch of co-workers and it turns out that they interned with the firm you worked for and now they're in town interviewing for several different positions with family organizations, as a child-advocacy lawyer. In this case, they're adorable. Correction...he's adorable. Because there's probably only one.
Things you need to know? Texas. Hot. Like two inches too short. Probably moving here next month. Great taste in music. Super sweet. Bad a text-chatting. Loves Jesus. Got my number. And held the door.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
"Both. That's why I invented the bifocal..."
Arriving on King Street, I cabbed it down to a fabulous Irish pub on the water. Take note, cabbies are absolute babies about taking credit cards around here and it is massively annoying, but on my way to the bar, whiny-cabbie explained why.
According to him, the cab companies take their sweet time processing credit card charges. You may pop from Reagan into the City on Monday, but they won't run the card until Friday. This is problematic for two reasons. One: your driver doesn't get his share for days, sometimes weeks, after you charge a fare. Secondly, companies take care to make sure that they make as much money as possible and in doing so, have no shame in removing a credit card processing fee from the tip! Lesson learned? If you must charge a fare, at least tip your driver in cash. Crabby cabbie no more.
So, Irish Pub #1 was awesome. Cute and crowded. And the boys? They had a cold Cape Cod waiting for me. They'd been there for an hour by the time I rolled in so after a few drinks we moved on to Irish Pub #2.
This place is decked out with photos of the owner with everyone from Pope John Paul II to Ronald Reagan and despite the crappy music was awesome. Oh, and the bartender was hot. Like, really hot. The old guy crooning inside ruined the vibe so we take the party to the patio.
It's notable that these are my frat boys and while I am very much the girl who couldn't care less about vulgarity, I really don't want to deal with a fight...so when MH nudges CK, saying, "Hey, figure out who that guy is dressed up as," my mind snaps to attention. Turning to my left I spy nothing less than a post-middle age man in full colonial dress. Hat. Buckle shoes. Pipe. Kickers. Socks. A ruffled shirt he could have quite possible stolen from my closet. All of it.
"Play nice," I plead.
Ignore. "Excuse me, sir? Who are you supposed to be?"
"Well young man, I am James Madison."
...Excuse me? WHAT? Sweet Jesus. I know exactly where this is going.
"So, umm, Mr. Madison, as a Federalist, what is your opinion of modern political theory?"
Here we go.
"Well..."
About thirty minutes in to this little convo, we told Madison to pull up a chair, at which point, our dear Founding Father decided to comment on how "distracting" my legs were. Cue my getting another round...
I return to a point/counter-point on Colonial political platforms. For the visual learners in today's crowd, here's a 30-second preview of my night:
Two hours, three drinks, and one bartender's phone number later we said our goodbyes to Madison and I headed back towards the metro. Truth be told, it was the PERFECT inaugural Friday evening. Welcome to the city. More to come. Xoxo!
According to him, the cab companies take their sweet time processing credit card charges. You may pop from Reagan into the City on Monday, but they won't run the card until Friday. This is problematic for two reasons. One: your driver doesn't get his share for days, sometimes weeks, after you charge a fare. Secondly, companies take care to make sure that they make as much money as possible and in doing so, have no shame in removing a credit card processing fee from the tip! Lesson learned? If you must charge a fare, at least tip your driver in cash. Crabby cabbie no more.
So, Irish Pub #1 was awesome. Cute and crowded. And the boys? They had a cold Cape Cod waiting for me. They'd been there for an hour by the time I rolled in so after a few drinks we moved on to Irish Pub #2.
This place is decked out with photos of the owner with everyone from Pope John Paul II to Ronald Reagan and despite the crappy music was awesome. Oh, and the bartender was hot. Like, really hot. The old guy crooning inside ruined the vibe so we take the party to the patio.
It's notable that these are my frat boys and while I am very much the girl who couldn't care less about vulgarity, I really don't want to deal with a fight...so when MH nudges CK, saying, "Hey, figure out who that guy is dressed up as," my mind snaps to attention. Turning to my left I spy nothing less than a post-middle age man in full colonial dress. Hat. Buckle shoes. Pipe. Kickers. Socks. A ruffled shirt he could have quite possible stolen from my closet. All of it.
"Play nice," I plead.
Ignore. "Excuse me, sir? Who are you supposed to be?"
"Well young man, I am James Madison."
...Excuse me? WHAT? Sweet Jesus. I know exactly where this is going.
"So, umm, Mr. Madison, as a Federalist, what is your opinion of modern political theory?"
Here we go.
"Well..."
About thirty minutes in to this little convo, we told Madison to pull up a chair, at which point, our dear Founding Father decided to comment on how "distracting" my legs were. Cue my getting another round...
I return to a point/counter-point on Colonial political platforms. For the visual learners in today's crowd, here's a 30-second preview of my night:
Two hours, three drinks, and one bartender's phone number later we said our goodbyes to Madison and I headed back towards the metro. Truth be told, it was the PERFECT inaugural Friday evening. Welcome to the city. More to come. Xoxo!
Monday, August 23, 2010
From Mountains to Metro, pt. II
Emotional breakdowns at work, bad. Emotional breakdowns on your second day, worse.
Thankfully, my new BFF Genesis (yup, real name; a total sister rockin' it at the Penn quarter Kinkos) saved my ass by not only being helpful, but overwhelmingly kind and sweet.
Lets begin at square one. On Friday, two friends of mine from college (one visiting, the other headed back to school in a few days) invited me on the town to join them for dinner and drinks that night. I let them know that I'd meet them in Old Town when I was done and went on my way. That afternoon, my team and I were charged with building a large-scale mailing to be produced in-house and mailed that afternoon. Now, normally, this is not a big deal: compile the materials, wave a magic wand across Microsoft Word, print the package and letters, slap on some labels/postage and you're done, but no. By the time we got everything proofed and ready to print, our color copier decided that it didn't particularly feel like coming to work that day. Cool. Total hurdle, but not insurmountable.
So, I roll into the copy-shop at 4:30 knowing full well that the odds of my making dinner are shot but I'm still game for drinks. Tell the boys I'd be there at 7:30 and start making 1000+ back-to-back color copies of materials plus another 1000+ 4-page one-sided letter. All in all, a lot of effing copies. About $2300 worth, to be exact.
TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS IN COPIES ON MY SECOND DAY OF WORK! Now, for whaterver reason, this ignited panic. Its my second day, and I've just racked up thousands of dollars in copying charges. So, I got to get a receipt from the desk and their reader doesn't register any charges on the credit card. Seriously? Okay, so I made this many copies blah blah blah, sign the thing, chat it up with my new friend about where to go in the city, etc.
Now, at this point I'm pretty convinced, for whatever reason, they they're going to fire me over this whole thing, a feeling undoubtedly fueled by copious amounts of caffeine and no food. Swinging into Starbucks, a berry coffee cake saves my sanity, and tucking what feels like seven reams of paper into my purse, I stroll back to the office.
Just as the clock strikes 10:45 it is finally time to meet the boys at the bar...which is where the real fun begins.
Thankfully, my new BFF Genesis (yup, real name; a total sister rockin' it at the Penn quarter Kinkos) saved my ass by not only being helpful, but overwhelmingly kind and sweet.
Lets begin at square one. On Friday, two friends of mine from college (one visiting, the other headed back to school in a few days) invited me on the town to join them for dinner and drinks that night. I let them know that I'd meet them in Old Town when I was done and went on my way. That afternoon, my team and I were charged with building a large-scale mailing to be produced in-house and mailed that afternoon. Now, normally, this is not a big deal: compile the materials, wave a magic wand across Microsoft Word, print the package and letters, slap on some labels/postage and you're done, but no. By the time we got everything proofed and ready to print, our color copier decided that it didn't particularly feel like coming to work that day. Cool. Total hurdle, but not insurmountable.
So, I roll into the copy-shop at 4:30 knowing full well that the odds of my making dinner are shot but I'm still game for drinks. Tell the boys I'd be there at 7:30 and start making 1000+ back-to-back color copies of materials plus another 1000+ 4-page one-sided letter. All in all, a lot of effing copies. About $2300 worth, to be exact.
TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS IN COPIES ON MY SECOND DAY OF WORK! Now, for whaterver reason, this ignited panic. Its my second day, and I've just racked up thousands of dollars in copying charges. So, I got to get a receipt from the desk and their reader doesn't register any charges on the credit card. Seriously? Okay, so I made this many copies blah blah blah, sign the thing, chat it up with my new friend about where to go in the city, etc.
Now, at this point I'm pretty convinced, for whatever reason, they they're going to fire me over this whole thing, a feeling undoubtedly fueled by copious amounts of caffeine and no food. Swinging into Starbucks, a berry coffee cake saves my sanity, and tucking what feels like seven reams of paper into my purse, I stroll back to the office.
Just as the clock strikes 10:45 it is finally time to meet the boys at the bar...which is where the real fun begins.
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