Laughing at my expense

I, like many others my age, have a complicated and complex relationship with religion and God.  No, I'm not really interested in talking about it now, so don't bother.  However, God was definitely laughing at my expense yesterday.  After a funny incidence or two at work (which I don't want to talk about because, well, I don't want to get FIRED), I then got lost walking around DC trying to find a Bank of America.  Then, last night was the icing on the cake.  I had been sitting in bed after posting for a couple of hours and chatting on Facebook with my friend, Tracy.  Rocky began to get restless when I noticed it was after 11:00 and he needed to go outside.  I was dressed in sweats and a tank top, and (warning about to talk about boobs) no bra.  Now, I didn't mind taking Rocky outside, but I was dreading the thought of putting on a bra.  It's the whole process really and they are very uncomfortable.  Seriously, when I'm old and retired, I'm taking mine off and never putting one back on.  Plus, I'm, um, well endowed.  They are embarrassing without a bra on.  Someone two miles away could tell I wasn't wearing a bra.  Anyway, I saw a sweatshirt and put it on thinking that it would somewhat hid my embarrassing "fun bags".  It was about 11:30 and I knew that not very many people would be out walking.  I thought I had gotten away with it when on the last leg of our walk, I ran into a lady who I met on Sunday.  She too was out walking her dog.  I immediately crossed my arms and said hello.  The next thing I know her husband, two friends, and her neighbor were outside.  Apparently, they were having a dinner party and everyone wanted to enjoy the nice night.  My anxiety was rising and the only thing I could think was, "I have to get inside and away from these people."  I quickly mumbled something about it being late and started walking away.  That's when I heard my name.  I looked up to see my neighbor waving.  Suddenly, my body jerked forward and I was looking at the sidewalk.  I had fallen.  Tripped over some invisible something.  Everyone was around me.  My neighbor, the lady walking her dog, her husband, her neighbor, and her two friends.  I was trying to get up so no one would notice my bralessness.  Unfortunately, my sweatshirt had creeped up my back and no one was going to let me get up with out help.  Let's just say having someone help you get up while trying to pull your shirt down and cross your arms across your chest, is a big fat fail.  I'm pretty sure everyone noticed I wasn't wearing a bra because they averted their eyes and walked away quickly.

The only thing I could think was, "I'll never call a 7-11 or Bank of America manna from heaven ever again, God.  Happy now?!"

Manna from Heaven

Today Manna from Heaven, for me, came in the form of a Bank of America and a 7-11.  Before you judge and throw actual pieces of manna (am I even spelling that right?) hear me out.  So, I've been using my credit card for most of my daily expenses.  I plan on paying it off fairly quickly, but I checked it today and the balance almost made me cry.  I desperately needed to get to the bank.  I had a couple of checks that would easily take over my bills and everyday stuff.  I looked online and there was a Bank of America just a few blocks away from my apartment and was sorta on my way home.  I calculated it and is only six blocks out of my way from my usual route home.  There was no way I was driving my car for six blocks.  So, I carefully mapped out the way to get to the bank from Union Station.  I just forgot I was going to be going at rush hour.

My problems started at Union Station.  The platform was incredibly busy.  Much busier than the actual Metro.  I was riding towards the front of the metro which was unusual for me.  When I got off, the crowd was pushing everyone who was getting off to a different set of stairs than what I'm used to.  I decided not to fight it and just go with the flow.  I had never been this way but I shrugged it off thinking it couldn't be too hard to find my way to the correct exit.  Yeah, no.  I got outside and I was at the back of Union Station.    To get an accurate picture of what I was dealing with, Union Station is about five blocks front to back.  I was about a block from the very back of the Station and on the wrong side.  I walked around to what I thought was the front, but it wasn't.  Instead of wasting time, I decided to walk until I ran into the street I needed to turn on to.  The street name was 'H' and I was starting at 'I'.  No biggie, right?  I started walking.  I'll admit I was taking my time and looking around at everything trying to get a feel for the area.  When I realized that I had been walking for a while, I looked at the nearest street sign.  I was on 'B' street.  So I backtracked, looking for 'H'.  I went past 'E', 'F', 'G' and then look, there's 'I' again.  No 'H'.  I walked down to 'G' and walked a block and then went back up a block.  No 'H'.  Again, I walked down a block and over.  No 'H'.  I repeated this two more times. Finally, I saw 'H'. But the sidewalk I needed to go down was under construction.  I went up two blocks then walked ten blocks to the street I thought the Bank of America was on.  By this time, I had walked WAY more than the six blocks out of my way than I originally thought.  Also, I had worn my Dansko's to work.  For those outside the medical profession.  Dansko's are clogs that are slip-on.  Extremely comfortable, but they weigh about five pounds and are not meant for city walking.  I tripped no less than 15 times on my little adventure.  So here I am tired, sweaty, my feet are aching, I am very thirsty, and I really have to pee.  Then, suddenly out of nowhere... Bank of America!

I finally get inside, but can barely deposit my checks because I am dancing I have to pee so badly.  I manage to get everything done.  I go out the back part of the building and I see.....a 7-11.  I feel like my problems are solved.  Air conditioning, water, and a place to pee.  At that moment it looked like the Taj Mahal.  It was my manna from heaven.

Exhaustion

The exhaustion has set in.  These past few weeks have felt like they have gone at warp speed.  There have been so many changes in the past month and a half that everything has hit me.  Hit me like an 18 wheeler going 60 miles per hour.  I'm having trouble getting up in the morning and getting home in the afternoon.  I seriously want to get on the metro, lean my head against the window and just sleep.  I fantasize about riding for hours and no one bothers me.  This is just so I can get enough sleep and energy so I can walk home in the afternoon.  I have also thought about starting a petition so that maybe a Starbucks can be placed inside the Metro.  Who's with me?

But then were we would put all of the tourists?

On a side note, I came across this article in Newsweek about more women earning Doctorates than men.  I think it nicely ties in with my last blog.

www.newsweek.com/2010/09/15/women-earn-most-doctorates-but-find-colleges-not-family-friendly.html

Generational Gap

Before I left for my spontaneous weekend at home, I told my co workers where I was going and why.  As soon as I got back, I was pelted with questions about the baby and some general questions about my family (keep in mind I've barely been there two weeks).  I happen to work with two older women, about my mom's age, and a younger guy about mine.  One of the women asked if getting married and having kids was on my bucket list. I kind of shrugged my shoulders and said I was indifferent.  If it happened, it happened.  If it didn't, it didn't.  They both drew in their breath and had that look on their face.  You know the look I'm talking about.  It's the same look Mom gets when she completely disagrees with a decision I make.  I suddenly felt really uncomfortable and a little less like a person.  

Maybe I just had really good parents, but I was never led to believe that my life would ever be wrapped around a man.  I was never told that I had to be married when I was 20 and my first kid by 21.  The only thing I was told is that I was going to college.  On this, I had no choice.  I'm not saying people who do get married at an early age are wrong, just that it was never on my agenda.  Do I see myself getting married?  I dunno.  I don't see myself spending the rest of my life alone.  But getting married?  That's a huge thing.  It's not something that is to be taken lightly.  

Most of my friends are the same way.  Sure, many would like to get married and have kids, but most want to go to college, travel, make stupid decisions, and have a career first.  Both of the women I work with, got married, had kids, then had a career.  My mom was the same way.  She went back to school when I was in kindergarten and started working when I was in third grade.  This is such a foreign idea to me.  If I had a child at 21, they would probably already be in juvenile detention, smoking 3 packs a day.

If I was one of those really cool people I would have looked up all sorts of stats about how there are more women in the workplace, more are getting married and having babies later, and more and more women are becoming the primary breadwinners in the family.  But I'm not.  I just wonder when this shift happened and why.  I'm also grateful that I have really cool parents who are completely supportive and don't care if I get married OR have babies.  

Sorry about the rambling, but I just couldn't get this conversation out of my mind.

According to my mother....

Darby is already gifted.  That's right, my four day old niece is apparently gifted.  But, maybe I should back up first.  My brother, Matthew, and my sister and law, Alison, had a baby on Thursday, September 9, 2010.  Her name is Darby Kay Lynne Wilber and she weighed 6 lbs, 10 ounces, 20 1/4 inches long and has a head full of hair.  Oh, and she's perfect.  I'm not saying that because I'm her aunt, I'm saying it because it's true.  Okay, I might be a little biased, but not much.  I meant to let everyone know the news, but I was able to catch a flight on Friday and I spent the whole weekend at home.  I had a great weekend and was grateful that I was able to catch a flight and that Darby has good timing.

Anyway, so Darby is gifted.  This whole gifted came about on Saturday night.  I was holding Darby against my chest, when she lifted her head slightly and looked around.  I know it sounds like I'm crazy when I say a two day old lifted her head on her own, but I'm not.  There are pictures to prove it.  So, anyway, after Darby did this I looked at my Dad and asked if this is normal.  My mom overheard the conversation and said, "It is if they're gifted."  Mom may think she is gifted because she has lifted her head, I think she is gifted because she has peed or pooped on my brother at least two days straight.  Other than the gifted comment, my parents are over the moon at the birth of their first grandchild.  I'm surprised my mom has been able to limit herself to daily visits.  I expected her to rent out the hospital room next to Alison's so she could have unlimited access.  Darby doesn't stand a chance.

Over the last few months and even this weekend, there's been a lot of "I hope Darby is ______."  We would feel in the blank with drummer (Matthew), clean (Alison), a liberal (me), a reader (Mom), you get the idea.  And even though I have grandiose ideas for her, what I want most for Darby is that she is Darby.  I want Darby to be whoever (whomever?) she wants to be.  I want her to run around in the rain, get dirty, go to the zoo.  I want her to play in mud puddles.  I want her to skin her knee while learning how to ride a bike.  I want her dance and tumble and laugh.  I want her to give her parents a hard time when she is three by repeating everything they say at the worst times.  I want her to realize how lucky and loved she is, but without feeling she will never be good enough for that love.  I want her to have slumber parties, giggle with her girlfriends, and read a book with a flashlight under the covers.  I want her to be a kid.  One that can just be a kid, and doesn't have to grow up before she is supposed to.  I want her to know that there always be a place for her in this world.  I want her to know that my door is always open to her.  I want her to grow up to be whatever she wants to be.  Whether that be a stay at home mom, an astronaut, a nurse, the president of the united states, she has the whole world open to her.  Darby is perfect the way she is and there is nothing wrong with her.  God created her to be her.  And I want nothing more than she be Darby.  She is going to be her own person.  A person that I will always be proud to call my niece.

First Day Nerves

Yesterday was my first day at my new job and I don't think anyone ever gets over the first day anything.  These past few weeks have been CRAZY.  I haven't had any time to wrap my head around everything.  I got a new job, had a major move in less than three weeks, my grandfather had a heart attack, and my sister in law is pregnant and due sometime this month.  The only thing I can say is, my poor parents!  My respect for them has quadrupled over the past year.

So, all of this has resulted in my being very stressed and continually pissing my friends off.  I haven't meant to, it's just been part of the whole deal.  Anyway, so my first day.  I have to admit, it didn't even hit me that I was starting a new job until halfway through my first day of orientation and we were going over HIPAA training.  I had a, "That's not the way MUSC does it" moment.  And that's when it hit me.  I have a new job.  I have to learn everything over.  I have another probation period where I can't mess anything up or I can get fired for no reason.  None.  That's when I started looking for a place to throw up.  I think I'm so nervous about this job because I thought it would be a long time before I had to look for another one.  I really thought I would be in Charleston for much longer than I was, but that's not the way things worked out.  So, I'm back to square one.  Which means my stomach hurts constantly and I'm not sleeping because I'm worried that I won't hear my alarms.  Which means that I'm exhausted when I'm at work and not sleeping when I'm at home.  So yeah, you can imagine where my performance level is right now.

My first impression of the hospital is a good one.  I have to say it's mostly of this video they showed of a dog getting better treatment at his vet than his owner did at the doctor.  Which is the way God intended it.

Sirens

I plan on writing a much bigger and better post about my day today soon, but I have to figure out a few things first (i.e. I'm a moron).  In the meantime I thought I would leave you with this tidbit.  My mom is incredibly freaked out about this move.  She's gotten tons better since I first told her I had an interview in Washington, but she's still not entirely comfortable with the whole thing.  Example: today I was walking Rocky to the park and talking to my mom on the phone.  Out of nowhere, I hear sirens blaring.  I look up in time to see an ambulance flying down the street towards me.  On the phone I hear, "Are those sirens?"  "Yes, mom, " I respond, "Sirens from an ambulance."   Silence.  At this point, I think the aneurysm that has been building up finally burst.  Finally, after some poking, she sighs.  "Well, it's time to watch the game."  At least she has college football to help soothe the pain of sirens.

Adult content

I was messing with some of the settings on here, when I came across one labeled "adult content".  Apparently, if you check "yes" all of your visitors will get a warning box about adult content on this blog.  Don't be surprised if I do this just to mess with my mom.

First Impression

My first impression of DC is that I feel really safe here.  Shocker, I know.  I feel safer here than I did living in Charleston.  That's not really saying much since the last two places I lived were a little sketchy.  I'm glad I feel comfortable already.  I need to because I am out and about a lot more.  A big part of that is because of Rocky.  In my last place, I had a sliding glass door that led out to a yard.  I would just open it, Rocky would go out do his business and then come back inside.  It's not the same here.  I live in the city.  My apartment is the basement of apartment of a three story house.  It's very narrow and the house next door is connected to ours.  The idea of a yard here is laughable.  So, Rock and I go for walks.  Usually, it's just around a two block radius, but at night we go to the park.  The park is maybe three blocks away, a ten minute walk at the most.  The reason we go at night is because it's cooler.  I can't tell you how many people have already told me Rocky looks tired when we go for walks.  This may be because he doesn't typically try to drag me when he's on a leash.  He's usually pretty good about staying right next to me.  Either that or he's three steps behind me and I look like I'm dragging him down the street.  Regardless, we go to the park and play ball at night.  There are lots of other dog lovers doing the same thing.  It's not exactly like the dog parks in Charleston, but it's close.

I haven't really driven anywhere except to Target.  It's took me 25 minutes to go four miles.  And that was in light traffic (I think).  I'll talk more about this subject later, but I can already tell you that I have no idea what the speed limit is.  I'm staying at 30 and praying that's right.

I'll talk more about moving later.

Also, I'm sure when my mother reads this, she's going to freak out.  You walk at night?!  You're going to get shot!  That's okay mom, I have a vicious guard dog living with me.