Frienaissance

It all began in the fall of 2003. We met while interning together at the National Museum of American History.

Our first Happy Hour was at a place called Lulu's, on the edge of George Washington University's campus, and we all finished our internships, more or less, by December.

But the friendships were SET.

Now that we're spread out from coast to coast, it's obviously less than easy to get together. Betsy's in California, Merrick and Laurel are in DC, and I'm stuck in the Midwest.

But now? This evening, they are all flying in for a FRIEND SUMMIT in Ann Arbor! I think that it's awesome that we're still close after seven years, especially since we brushed paths so quickly. Perhaps it tells us that museum dorks are loyal. Or that we're just dorks. Either way.

Here is a really horrid picture of the four of us at Betsy's "Farewell DC, Hello NYC" Dinner. It was the middle of a DC summer, and we were all disgustingly shiny and sweaty. And I made everyone squeeze together for a photo. God, I'm an asshole.

P.S. LOOK AT MY FOREHEAD. GROSS.

And if I could learn how to scan a picture on the ridiculous scanner at work, I would be able to show you a picture of us from that first happy hour at Lulu's. But I'm an idiot and I can't figure out the scanner. Here's all you need to know: We were seven years younger, we were morons, and we drank too much beer and too many shots. And I think that my hair is in pigtails. Lord.

Anyway, we are going to do so many fun things, you guys! Most will involve food. All will involve wine, including a trip to the Botanical Gardens. It's like you need wine to look at flower after flower. And there will most likely be cupcakes.

I went to the grocery store last night and picked up waaaay too much junk food. I already have at least ten bottles of wine - do you think that will be enough? I also have shit beer (Bud Light) leftover from my birthday party, but that's going to have to sit in the fridge unless it proves itself to be absolutely necessary.

It's Supposed to Be Windy Today

Like, really windy. And apparently there is something called a Great Lakes Cyclone. Awesome.

Or, if you were to listed to newscasters, meteorologists, and the street person who yelled at me for not giving him change, I would believe that at roughly ten o'clock this morning, I should bunker down and prepare for ARMAGEDDON.

If I were still in DC, you can bet that there would be no milk, bread, toilet paper, or beer available at any store within the Beltway. Because that's how it's done in DC. Here? We're shrugging it off.

So here's hoping that I don't blow away at the bus stop.

UPDATE: There were errant bursts of wind. It rained at one point. When I left work at 5:00, it was sunny and lovely. So... I'm glad everyone expended so much energy by freaking the fuck out over nothing.

The End.

Blue Sky at Morning

What Am I Supposed to Do On My Commutes Now? Listen to the Voices in My Head?

Balls on a stick, I think I lost my iPod.

FUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK.

I'm really not sure where, when, or how it happened, but I'm guessing that it's my own damn fault. I carry it with me everywhere, and it's possible that it fell out of my bag. More likely? Someone stole it. MOST LIKELY? I lost it.

Evidence of Why Mike and I Should Probably Not Have Children

Completely crocked.

I Seriously Hate You, Guy Across the Street

Dear Guy Who Lives Across the Street From Me,

I don't know you. I see you often, and you seem quite innocuous. I'm pretty sure that you are a renter like me, but I'm not sure. I don't really care, to be honest.

Let me tell you something about me. I park in front of my house. Not because it's my favorite place in the world to park my sweet-ass car, but because my landlord parks in the driveway, and I park on the street. It's just how it works. Of course, if she would just unclench and repave the driveway instead of leaving it to nature, maybe I would park there. But because it's a muddy mess nine months out of the year, and I don't relish the thought of playing musical cars when one of us wants to drive somewhere, our arrangement seems to be working.

Question, though. Why in the hell do you insist on parking in front of my house all the goddamned time? You have your OWN DRIVEWAY, and the space in front of your house is large enough to fit 2.5 cars.

I understand that you might want to have your car pointing in a certain direction, so that when you leave for work, you won't have to turn around in a driveway or go around the block and out of your way, but... YOU HAVE A DRIVEWAY.

The driveway allows you to back out, and while turning your steering wheel in one direction or the other, your car can go EITHER WAY. North OR south!

But you know what else? You don't even drive to work! I'm not even sure that you DO work. Your car is ALWAYS somewhere on the block.

Yes, I know that you can park wherever you damn well please. I know. But the only time I park anywhere other than in front of my own house is when someone (YOU) is parked there already.

Here's my idea: Park in your own fucking driveway.

Love, Heather

I HATE YOU.

PUZZLE

Old roommate Jenny sent me a (belated) birthday present, and it's taking over my life. I love it. I don't want to work. I don't want to sleep. I don't want to eat, and I have been over two hours late to Mike's on more than one occasion because of it.

It's a motherfucking puzzle, and it's awesome.

I come home for lunch between my AM job and my PM job, and I have a good 35 minutes to relax and whatnot before I have to leave to catch the bus. And I almost missed the bus TWO DAYS IN A ROW because I was hunched over this glorious puzzle.

I'm about 25% done. But I don't want to be done, because I will no longer have a puzzle.

Solution: MORE PUZZLES.

My Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (Or, Perhaps I've Exaggerated a Bit)

It's funny, I started out the week in a pretty good mood - you know, not wishing death on everyone who crossed my path - but now? I want to set people on fire.

I'm hot!

I think that my driving to work in the morning has contributed to this general feeling of murderous rage - people just shouldn't drive. Only I should be allowed to drive. Okay, so maybe other people should be allowed to drive, but they should have a warning beacon in their cars as I approach, alerting them to pull over to the side of the road and assume the fetal position. I don't even want to see their hands shaking on the steering wheel as I pass.

Plus, you know, the Focus is a pretty bad-ass automobile. People cower in fear when they see it bopping down the road.

Rawr!

So I start the day by getting in my car, popping on the Detroit radio station that barely registers, as Ann Arbor is just a little too far away and is a city of trees and hills (carved out by glaciers!), and I hear about every sixth word from the morning show people. Being stuck on the road behind people driving ten mph under the speed limit and coming to complete stops at intersections where there are no stop signs starts my blood boiling. It's enough to give me an aneurysm, I swear. Or a sore throat, from screeching at them to MOVE THE FUCK ON.

Then I get to my morning job, which, while a temp job, is actually pretty fulfilling. And I love the people who work here. Well, except for the woman who bathes in perfume every morning. She walks by my desk - or even within twenty yards of my desk - and I am guaranteed a headache for the rest of the day. It's BAD old lady close-to-death perfume, and she's not even old!

At 11:45, I leave. I head to my car, and the sidewalk from the building is this meandering thing that probably wastes a good 30 seconds of my time when I could have just gone straight. Obviously this is something to get angry about.

Path of Huge Fucking Waste of Time

Then I drive to my house. My home is four miles from work, yet it takes forever to get there due to noon o'clock traffic. And goddamn construction. Construction is everywhere, and there is absolutely no avoiding it. There are two good routes that I could take from work to home, and both are wrought with terror.

I get home. My mail has usually arrived, which means, more often than not, that I have a fucking bill. So that makes me angry. Then I try to eat something for lunch, but I realize that I have nothing in my fridge because I forgot to go grocery shopping with the money that I don't have. So lunch at home tends to end the same way:

Mmmm... sodium.

I leave ten minutes early to catch the bus, and the walk is lovely. But the bus is full of smelly, unshowered people. Well, maybe they've showered, but like, six days ago. The driver is slow and gets us stuck at each and every light - something that could have been avoided if he had been DRIVING THE SPEED LIMIT.

When the bus arrives downtown at the Transit Center, I have a half mile to walk. This is not a problem. I like to walk. When I lived in DC, I walked everywhere.

I had to. I didn't have a car.

Obviously there are shortcuts,
and this map doesn't show my inevitable stop at the coffeehouse,
but you get the idea.

It's a nice walk, but at that time of day, directly into the sun, and since I'm supposed to wear my stupid glasses more often than not, it's a squintastic journey. Sometimes I wear my regular sunglasses and stow my glasses for the walk, trying to be aware of the difference between red and green lights as well as humans versus empty space.

As I get closer and closer to campus, my desire to murder grows with each step. The leggings, the Uggs, the preppy shirts, the dreadlocks. It's enough to make me want to live in a cave.

Then I get to work, do work, and leave at 5:00. You'd think that this is where my attitude would have adjusted to normal-person levels, but most people don't have to catch the fucking bus in rush hour.

I walk the half mile back to the transit center, which normally gives me a few minutes of reading time as I wait for the bus. But lately, with all the CONSTRUCTION, my bus is usually about ten minutes late. Most times, I walk home from there, because what's another mile and a half? But I'm cursing out the bus the whole way. Jerk.

But then I get home. And I relax. And I make popcorn and watch crap television and maybe nap on the couch for a bit. And I realize that life is too short to hate everyone and everything all of the time.

But the next morning, the alarm will jar me awake and the whole vicious cycle begins anew.

(It's possible that I'm PMSing right now.)

The Hunter

Waiting.

ATTACK MODE.

Search and devour.

Success.

I think that it was a red squirrel. Or a chipmunk. Or one of the neighborhood children. You can never be too sure when it comes to Evil Genius Cat.