A Clevelander at Heart

Sunday, August 30, 2009

It's moving day!

I know, I know - I moved a mere three months ago, almost to the day. But the rent in this new place was just too spendy for my poor wallet too handle, resulting in weeks where I literally subsisted with less than $10 in my bank account.

So the time has come to move on yet again. Half of my stuff is already at my new place in Woodley Park, where I'll be cohabiting with two friends & their third roommate. The two friends are a couple. Yes, I'm prepared to be the female incarnate of "How I Met Your Mother's" Ted Moseby. Say it with me, HIMYM fans: "Haaaaave you met Kate?"

The movers were supposed to be here at 2:00, but they called to say they'd be late because two of them were stuck in an elevator at their last job... I'd nap, but all my bedding is already at the new place!

As I wait - & struggle to stay awake - I should note something significant: Cleveland!

Say what?

I'm originally from Northeast Ohio, about 35 minutes south of the Mistake on the Lake (said with affection, not malintent). After living in the area my whole life, save three oops-years in southern Ohio for college before transferring, I began my "adult life" in DC - in the neighborhood of Cleveland Park, to be specific. And today, after two years in this 'hood I've come to love, I'm headed to a new one. But the name of my new building, even in this new area, is - you guessed it - Cleveland House.

Here's hoping it feels just as much like home.
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Confessions of a Craigslist Lover

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

I'm back! It's brief, but it's real.

I have a confession: I love Craigslist's Missed Connections. Seriously, have you ever read them? It's an Interwebs goldmine of genius-meets-insanity-meets-kismet-meets-cute-meets-OMGWTF. Where else will you find lines like "your bird liked my tongue ring"? Or my favorite recent "American Psycho" reference in a two-part series? (Enjoy: part one & part two)

But the actual confession is this: I recently posted one!

Judge if you must, but I will not be ashamed. A hella-hot guy lives somewhere within my building, & I'm moving out in a week. Much to my dismay, I tend to only run into said hella-hot guy when I look absolutely foul, i.e. on my way to the laundry room with sporta bra-induced uniboob, or the time I was crying hysterically after leaving my wallet (containing someone else's $100) on a city bus, or the night I donned my grandpa's pajama pants & a highlighter-stained sweatshirt during a building evacuation following a gas leak. As a result, I have yet to come up with a creative way to talk to this guy at a time when I'm looking snappy, so I took the nerdy way out... & posted it online.

I figured it'd be a good outlet for me to admit into the faceless, anonymous Internet atmosphere that I wish I were ballsy enough to get chatty with the evasive hella-hot guy on the third floor. No one reads those, right?

Except I saw him tonight. Twice. Outside my building while I was in my pajamas (but looking fairly normal/not heinous) talking on the phone to one of the BFFs &, OK, eating cashews.

So was I paranoid or was I getting the "There's that crazy Internets girl" stare-down?!

Um, Moving Day, please...
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Hold That Thought...

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

It's been awhile since the Great Trashcan Fire of 2009 - eight days, to be exact. And lots has happened since then! I turned 25, submitted my notice to vacate my apartment, established future housing with a friend... & OK, fine, that's it, but that's a lot for a week, right?

I haven't been a good blogger for awhile, I know. I just haven't had it in me. I've blogged consistently for almost two years now, & lately, I'm just totally without inspiration when it comes to writing for the public sphere. At the wise old age of 25, I have learned better than to get emotional or to wax personally poetic on my public blog as I did during my college years on my good old Xanga account. Instead, these days, I've been taking to pen & paper again, working things out for myself in the comfort of a leather-bound journal like I did in those pre-Internet days of yore.

I'll be back. I don't know when. I'll be back whenever I'm feeling funny again, which is not right now. And I hope that when I come back, you'll still be here - I know I won't stay away for very long, but for now, I need some time. For myself.



PS: Before I go, a photo to tide you over:
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"It Looks Like Hiroshima in There."

Tuesday, August 4, 2009

A UPS guy ran into my office today with no package to deliver to us. "The trash can outside your building is on fire," he informed us.

"Attention staff," our receptionist announced over the office intercom system, unsure of what else to do. "There's a trash can on fire outside the office."

In the midst of an AIM conversation with an off-site colleague, I wrote "FIRE!" (sorry for the scare, bud) & jetted outside, extinguisher in hand, to meet a few coworkers on the sidewalk. The verdict? Trash can. On fire.

A photo montage is probably better suited to tell you the story:

Jason's heroics - while heroic indeed! - weren't quite enough to do the trick. Peering into the pseudo-extinguished mess, someone yelled an uncouth, "It looks like Hiroshima in there!" A passing policeman, spotting our powdery, post-extinguisher mess, phoned the fire department, but they arrived so slowly that we had to call them again. When they finally made it:

The fire melted the trashcan, mutating the sides & putting a hole through the bottom, but DC's finest returned it to its little trashcan cage nonetheless. And we returned to our office, where we presented Jason with an award for his heroics.

Never a dull day.
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"I Bought Milk, Eggs & Fabric Softener!"

Monday, August 3, 2009

Name that '90s movie!

OK, I give up on waiting for you to answer. It's "Home Alone," one of three movies I know nearly every line to (the others are "Newsies" & "Men in Black." Judge if you must).

Anyway, here's something little Kevin McAllister never dreamed of buying:

Yep. Little European kid, aged 6 or under, carrying a sixer of Miller, keepin' it classy at Dupont Circle's Metro Supermarket. No worries, of course: His dad paid &, I presume, did not consumed it with the help of his uber-underage offspring, but this scene gave the cashier & I a good laugh.
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Legalize Gay! (Which Will Probably Not Keep Bank Tellers From Thinking I'm Hitting On Them)

Saturday, August 1, 2009

The American Apparel store in Bethesda was recently vandalized for featuring tees in its front display that read Legalize Gay: Repeal Prop 8 Now! Whether you believe the phrase "Legalize Gay" makes any sense (I do, but it's spurred multiple debates/heated conversations between my more literal coworkers), it's safe to say that any non-gay-hating liberal will be exasperated by this bit of news - really, more gay-bashing? COME ON, HOMOPHOBES.

Instead of backing down & removing the "controversial" shirts from their public display windows, American Apparel has stepped up, offering free t-shirts to any organization in the DC area working for LGBT rights & marriage equality. I just so happen to be employed by such an organization, & on Wednesday, our much-anticipated box of 20 black & white "Legalize Gay" shirts - all mediums - rolled in via USPS. Thanks, American Apparel!

First, I'm happy that a medium tee fits across my chest. Because, you know, sometimes things don't. And by "sometimes," I mean, "I haven't worn a medium anything since I was 15." But more importantly, I am more stoked than a vegan in a veggie patch to be able to wear my new "Legalize Gay" shirt proudly across DC.

I would probably be more excited to wear it - & also more afraid of getting beaten up - if I were still living in Ohio, where there are more bigots & fewer loud-&-proud stores like Dupont's Lambda Rising, which features crotch-bulging mannequins in teeny-tiny undies on display on Connecticut Avenue. Here in the District, same-sex couples are free to engage in the same nauseating public displays of affection as straight couples, which means I am able to be an equal-opportunity vomiter & eye-roller. But really: Here in my adopted city, gay is not a dirty word - a fact that makes me quite happy.

But yesterday, wearing my new shirt through Cleveland Park as I ran my errands, I watched through sunglassed eyes as passersby took note of my note of my tee's message & then either smiled or looked disdainful. Two people told me they liked my shirt (including a withered old rockstar who told me I was beautiful); one mother blatantly shot me the stink-eye as she sheparded her kids around me. And I later realized that the bank teller I'd been chatting with seemed to think I was hitting on her, which was probably a result of the toxic comibination of the shirt, my unfortunate habit of stranger-talking (inherited from my grandmother) & the shirt & the fact that she was hot. [Note: I've always been a loud ally, which sometimes means I'm mistaken for a lesbian, to which I say, "Whatevs" & "So what if I were?"]

OK, so not every gay person has it emblazoned across his or her chest at all times, I get it. But wearing my new tee yesterday was an interesting reminder of how difficult it can still be to be gay today, even in a city as LGBT-friendly as DC - there are still those close-minded enough to think that being gay is some sort of disease worth shielding children from or that attempted friendly conversation on the part of a lesbian means she's putting the moves on you. And that's just the beginning.

The only way to "legalize gay" is for citizens to speak up & make it happen, to say that we won't sit back & accept the fact that our country still treats gay, lesbian, bisexual & transgender people as second-class citizens. No civil rights movement ever succeeded without the help of allies - women needed men, black needed whites, & now, gay people need straight people. So gay or straight, do your part to make it happen:
I was going to try to end this on some witty note, but I've got nothin'. Speak up. Legalize gay. And look for me in my t-shirt.
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