I'm Back!

I'm back from Orlando where nothing of much significance took place. The weather was nice, and I was more content than I have been here in DC, thereby reaffirming my self-diagnoses of Seasonal Affective Disorder. I spent a lot of time working our two display booths, sucking up to reporters, and I handled our press event like a pro. Also attended a really interesting lecture on corporate branding and have resolved to spend more time in the near future figuring out how I can strengthen the brand name of the partnership program for building industry leaders that I administer and quasi-run. The turbulence we experienced returning to DC on Saturday night was unreal. You will recall the shifting weather patterns that were occurring that day. Be happy you didn't experience it miles high in the air in a silver metal tube as I did.

The trip home being as stressful as it was, I opted to stay in for the evening to catch up on my back-log of shows on Tivo while ignoring all attempts from the outside world to contact me on my cell phone. Note to potential suitors: If I do not answer your call at 3:01 am is it unlikely that I will respond to the one at 3:12 either. Moreover, it is incredibly obvious that at 3:12 am you really only want one thing, and if you can't be bothered to call me during the day ever, it is highly unlikely that I will entertain your request to "come over for a nightcap." Also, please note that business hours have changed and 3:12 is no longer an acceptable time to call me for any reason unless its a dire emergency like you're about to die or something and the only person who can help you lives in Woodley Park and doesn't have a car to transport you to the emergency room with. Otherwise, please call at a more reasonable hour. At 3:12 I am likely asleep or hooking up with somebody else. Please note that needing sex is not an emergency.

On Sunday evening I took L to a house party. I have attended events at this house before and have always enjoyed them. The hosts were people who I count as the bohemian contingency of my friends. I've known some of them since high school in western, Massachusetts where dirt roads, LL Bean and mud splattered Subarus were a way of life. Having been raised in a crunchy sort of community (the town common regularly displayed a sign reminding residents to "Please Spay and Neuter [their] Pets") and having attended Oberlin college (Harvard for Hippies is one of its many nicknames) I've always considered myself to be something of a hippy. I don't wear patchouli anymore, but I have a fairly progressive few of social affairs, like tofu and have deep reservations about the corporate work world. I also have a tendency to not look quite as polished as other women in DC (I have wild curly hair, refuse to diet my way to perpetual size 0, wear Dansko clogs rather than pointy-toed heels and can't seem to retain a normal manicure schedule to save my life). The party. After about 45 minutes there it was apparent to both L and I that we stuck out like piles of bacon at a vegan buffet. Not that we were completely kabuki-d out or anything, but we were certainly the only girls there wearing makeup, and L swears the only who regularly check in with Mr. Gillet and Ms. Bic. Now, I am not saying that people can be defined by their appearances, I'm simply giving my dear readers an idea of the general aesthetic vibe of the evening. After 45 minutes of free beer, brief conversations with the people I knew, and getting weird looks from our fellow female attendees we decided to cut our losses and head out to our favorite Cap Hill haunt. The underlying message spelled out by our interactions (and lack thereof) between us and our peers there was that this wasn't really our place. Sociology tells us that people tend to flock to others who look like them, as approaches to personal upkeep often mirror similar views of the world and our places in it. We all learned that in high school and its all well and good. Well not really, it's actually kind of limiting. Our experience at the party was the inverse of what happens to us at some of the more trendy chi-chi places in town: rather than feeling marginalized because our jeans cost less than 200 dollars, we felt so because they didn't come from a thrift store. Some of this could have largely our own perceptions of the situation, but I don't think that we were entirely paranoid here. But appearance isn't everything kids, and even the earthy seem to make snap judgments based on them. The fact that I like to curl my eyelashes does not mean that I'm a shallow, evil capitalist. I left this weekend with a somewhat unsettling feeling that I still don't know just where my niche is.

In other news, Hey Pretty has a date tomorrow. Yes, a bonifide, eat dinner while seated across the table from an individual of the opposite sex while trying not to dump wine into my lap, hoping that my quips are witty, worrying what signals not inviting him home with me will send, praying there's nothing stuck in my teeth date. So far, he seems to be a non-mutant. Time will tell how accurate this assement is, as we all know I'm not the best initial judge of character (us hopeless romantics tend to give the horridly undeserving the benefit of the doubt). If things go smoothly I will tell my dear readers all about my latest victim. For now best to protect the innocent.

Lastly, I'm trying to make my social activities a little more diverse. Aside from movies and concerts, what are some fun non-bar activities to enjoy in our fair city? I like to go out and people watch, but hanging out at the same two bars every Saturday is wearing thin. Suggest away...