I'm right! I'm right!

So, a couple of days ago I posted about rolling bags.  Specifically, how much I HATE them.  Anyway, I'm hear to say, I'M RIGHT!!!  For those of you who don't know, there was a bomb threat on some of the Metro stations.  Here is a link to an article in the Washington Post:

Suspect in D.C. Metro bomb plot sought to fight U.S. troops overseas, records say

My favorite part is this:

"Ahmed proposed an additional Metro station target, suggested locations to place bombs and even recommended that putting explosives in rolling suitcases instead of backpacks would be more effective, Dayoub wrote."


So, basically rolling suitcases are now considered terrorists.  I'm not crazy.  But I am RIGHT!!!


Also, Mom, none of the Metro stations are anywhere close to where I live or work.  

Today, I hate....

Those stupid rolling bags.  I HATE them.

Let me put those god awful things into perspective.  Today, I was getting off of the Metro and veered to my right to get to the stairs, when "Bam!"  I'm on the ground.  My glasses fell off and my hand bent one of the sides.  I fell over one of those horrible contraptions.  To top it all off, the lady has the audacity to yell "Watch it" to me.  Seriously?  (How many of you have caught on that I'm a big fan of Grey's Anatomy from the number of times I say seriously?)  I immediately realized that she had one of those rolling bags.

The thing about these bags is that the people who carry them take no responsibility for how much they annoy other people.  Especially people who routinely use public transportation.  Another example.  Last week, I'm getting on the Metro with a guy I work with.  We happen to get behind this woman (I'm seeing a trend) who is also getting on with one of those horrible bags behind her.  She is taking her sweet time and there is no one in front of her.  We are getting irritated because we hear the bell signaling that the doors are about to close.  My friend, who is in front of me, is about halfway on when the doors shut with his bag hanging out and I'm still outside.  I had to wait eight more minutes for another train.  My friend told me later that he had to wait until the next stop to get his bag out from the door.  He said something to the lady who shrugged and said we should have taken another car.  Very frustrating.

So hear is my plea.  Please, if you have one of these bags, be courteous.  FYI, lady who I ride the bus with, I'm talking to you.  Your bag does not deserve it's own seat in the front, when the 80 year old lady has to stand the whole way.  Also, when on the escalator, the bag should either be in front of you or behind you.  Not beside you.  There are people (usually not me) who want to walk up the stairs of the escalator and they can't because your bag takes up the whole stair.  Also,  I hate little kids rolling their bags along.  The next generation of kids is going to be lazy anyway, do we really need to get them rolling bags?  Also, what's up with briefcases on rollers?  I thought the whole point of briefcases was to carry them.  Also,  those stupid bags are top heavy and fall over a lot.  So when you're not paying attention they fall over and hit a stroller on the Metro.

You know what?  I have no plea.  I hate those stupid, God-awful things.

Missing fall

For the past three years (give or take a few weeks), I have lived in Charleston, SC.  Charleston is a gorgeous coast city that's full of palm trees and stays about 100 degrees for six months of the year.  I loved it.  It never really got cold until late November/early December.  It would stay that way until February/March and I was back in my flip flops by my birthday in April.  Basically, there weren't seasons. It was either summer or a sorry excuse for winter.  Earlier this year, it snowed for the first time in over 20 years.  And by saying it snowed, I mean it snowed maybe an inch, it suck on the ground for one night, and it made the roads look like it rained.  It didn't even freeze.  However, you would have thought it snowed 70 inches and Charleston was going to be cut off from the outside world from the way people reacted.  It was kind of like Tennessee whenever there is a threat of snowstorms, except 20 times worse.

Anyway, I really loved the set up.  We would deal with cold weather for a couple of months, then it was back to sunshine for most of the year.  I didn't really miss the spring or fall.  In fact, I became increasingly annoyed when I would go home for Thanksgiving and it was in the thirties while Charleston was sitting in the sixties.

Living in Washington, DC is going to be more like living back in Tennessee season wise.  It's already starting to get a bit of chill in the air.  Leaves are turning and on my walk home I'm starting to hear the familiar crunch of leaves that have fallen from the trees under my shoes.  The mornings are freezing and it's not hard to get out of bed (yet), but it is getting harder and harder to leave the shower.  I realized this weekend that I need to go shopping, that I'm hopelessly unprepared for this winter.  I'm already dreading the snow and ice that is sure to come.  I've also started complaining about the cold weather.

However, on my afternoon walk with Rocky, I found myself standing in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes closed, just breathing in the crisp, fall breeze.  I could feel fall.  The cool air wrapped me like a warm, cozy blanket.  I could feel the leaves falling from the trees gently brush by.  I could hear kids laughing and dogs barking.  The sun was just starting to fade and the last bit of sunlight was hitting my face.  A huge smile spread across my face.  In that moment, it hit me.  I missed fall.  I miss this time of year when the day is just cool enough for a long sleeve shirt, but too warm for a jacket.  I miss the hot chocolate, the scarves, and the boots.  I miss watching my breath in the air (I'm going to regret saying that in about a month).  Mostly, I miss watching the leaves changing colors.

I never knew how much I missed fall.

And I'm feeling old

So, this week I have felt nothing but old.  There have been a lot of references to the fact that I'm old.  There was the whole iCarly backpack incident.  I thought iCarly was some kind of computer, apparently, it's a show on Nickelodeon.  I told a kid on the bus how old I was and he responded with, "Wow, that's old."  Compared to the age of his teenage parents, I probably was ancient.  Anyway, there has been a lot of the fact I'm not 21 anymore right in my face.

Tonight took the cake.  There is a guy moving into the open room upstairs.  I've met him a couple of times and he seems perfectly nice.  Earlier I was in my apartment with the windows open.  It was a beautiful day.  It was one of those days where you don't need the air or the heat on.  It was perfect.  Anyway, I'm sitting in my apartment when I hear the guy with his girlfriend walking up the front stairs.  She asked who was home.  He responded with, "Byron and the lady who lives downstairs."  The lady?  WTF?  When did I become a lady?  Ma'am, I can live with.  I'm a Southerner, I've been called a ma'am since I was 18.  But, lady?  Seriously?  Seriously?  Do I really look that old?  I'm sure he meant no harm, but seriously?  Lady?  I feel like I'm halfway to crazy cat lady.  I should just start collecting the cats now.

Here's hoping!

Tomorrow is my first evaluation at my new job.  It probably wouldn't be a good idea for me get drunk tonight and come in hung over tomorrow.  Here's hoping I don't get fired!

Boys and Girls

Here is an actual text conversation my brother Jared and I had earlier this evening:

Me: Please explain to me how 1 min left on the clock in a football game turns into an
        hour.

Jared: Timeouts, official replay reviews, squeezing the last paid commercials in.

Me: It's a little ridiculous.

Jared: If u like football, then it just prolongs the celebration of great theatre.

Me: Are you really comparing football to great theatre?  Like a Titans football game is
       the same as watching West Side story?

Jared: No, I wouldn't want to insult the art form and human drama of football by
          comparing it to West Side Story.

Me: I just want you to know that I am shaking my head at you right now.

Jared: That was my plan.  Different course for different horses.  U like theatre, I like
           sports.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

On a complete side note, there are now mice in the house.  Byron found a couple of traps and graciously set mine up for me.  As I was watching him set them, I screamed like a little girl on more than one occasion.  I kept thinking he was going to hurt himself.  Of course, he would have been a lot less likely to hurt himself if he wasn't laughing so hard at me screaming like a little girl.

The living situation

I live in a "basement" apartment of a three story house.  I put basement in parentheses because it is not what I traditionally think of as a basement.  The entrance is only 4 steps below ground level.  To me, a basement is an entire floor underground and cold, dark, dreary, and concrete.  Mine is warm, has hardwood floors, and not really that dark.  I have my own kitchen, bathroom, and living room.  Above, there are four rooms rented out and they share a kitchen, bathroom, and living "area".  I've never quite lived in a situation like this and, so far, I'm really enjoying it.  Rocky loves it.  Everyone has been great about him.  Whenever Byron, one of the housemates, comes home Rocky barrels upstairs and they have a lovefest for about 15 minutes.

Even though I like hanging out with everyone, on my anti-social days, I can basically lock myself into my apartment and never see anyone.  That's really nice.

Anyway, having all these different people in the house makes for some interesting situations.  For example, I came home late the other night and heard Byron in the kitchen upstairs.  The kitchen is right off of the stairs to my apartment, so I decided to run up and say hi.  I was a little more than halfway up when Byron, without even looking in my direction, says, "I don't think you should come up here.  You're not going to like what you're going to see."  I do what everyone would do in my situation would do, I run up the stairs even faster.  I get to the kitchen and see Byron pulling a dead mouse of a white bag that I know for a fact sits in the freezer.  I ask in a horrified voice what exactly is he doing with frozen dead mice and why is he putting them in water.  "I'm defrosting them for the snakes."  I guess this is a good time to mention that Byron has three snakes.  After a couple of minutes of light conversation, the defrosting of the baby mice, and a tour showing off all three snakes (including the mean one), I called it a night and went downstairs.  As I was getting ready for bed, I couldn't help but think that I just had an encounter that I would never have had in South Carolina.

I'm liking DC more and more.

The right time

I have always believed that things happen for a reason.  That everything happens to/for me propels me towards an unknown goal.  Sometimes, I think that unknown goal is to leave me cold and destitute somewhere where it snows 350 days of the year.  Regardless, I believe that everyone you meet plays a role in your end goal, as you play in theirs.  Never does this mean more to me than at work.  As most of you know, I work almost exclusively with oncology patients.  One bad experience at a hospital and it can change their entire outlook on their prognosis.  I always try to make it as easy as possible on them and in return, I get some of the most heartfelt thanks a person can receive.  Anyway, back to my point.  I believe that people come into your life, as fleeting as the encounter may be, for a reason.  I've had a couple of encounters recently that have enforced that belief.

About two weeks ago, I read my cousin's blog (jenniferandtrent.blogspot.com).  I often check it because Jennifer is really good about posting pictures of three of the most adorable boys known to men.  I checked it and she had posted that they had just put down one of their labs, Oscar.  This really got to me because a) Oscar is a yellow lab mix, just like Rocky (my dog) and b) the way the boys responded by wanting to bury a treat in the backyard so Oscar would have it in Heaven.  I was actually pretty sad about it for a week or so when I just happened to strike up a conversation with a patient's family member.  She was an elderly lady who had been married to her husband for over 60 years!  Anyway, she asked me the question (actually two) that almost every married woman asks me.  "Are you married?" and "Do you have children?"  My answer to the first question is always, "God, no!" While the answer to my second is, "I have a dog, that's plenty."  The lady preceded to tell me about all of the dogs and how all of them died at an early age of some weird, rare disease.  I guess she could tell she was depressing the hell out of me because she looked me dead in the eye and said, "I may have lost them all early, but I wouldn't change a thing.  I've never learned more than when I owned a dog.  I keep getting more.   That means something."  For some reason, this made me feel better about the whole thing.  I just hope the boys remember how much they loved Oscar, not how badly they felt when he died.

My next encounter was just plain funny.  I have major issues with balance and coordination.  Anyone who knows me, or has seen me walk, can back me up.  I was running down the stairs trying to get to work, late as usual (thank you Washington, DC public transportation).  When I misjudged a step and fell backwards on the stairs.  Don't ask me how, it just happened.  As I was doing this remarkable display of gymnastics, the director of my department walked into the stairwell and saw the whole thing.  My ability to speak completely left and I was mortified.  Inside, I was beating myself up and thinking that something like this could only happen to me.  My director looked at me and said, "Well, if the only bad thing I can say about you is that you can't walk down stairs, then I think you're doing alright."  I don't think there is anything else he could have said.  His little off the cuff remark has made me feel much better about taking the leap to move to a much bigger city.  Things have been a little rough, but something tells me it might just be working out.

Yes, I'm a dork

So, this weekend was pretty much the first weekend I actually spent in DC.  Luckily for me it also happened to be the weekend that the Library of Congress was hosting the annual National Book Festival.  I can't possibly describe how excited I was to hear this news.  I was originally planning to go to a museum at the suggestion of my friend Elizabeth Martin.  Saturday was also Museum Day, but when I heard about the book festival, I couldn't resist.  I live in DC, the museums are free here, I can go any Saturday.  But the Book Festival is only once a year.  It was just too much to resist.

For those who have never been, a book festival is a book lovers dream.  I went several years ago with my mom and a friend of hers to the Southern Festival of Books and was hooked.  I heard Mitch Albom speak and I was also able to have him sign a couple of books.  I also was able to hear a new author by the name of Meghan Daum.  She had just released the book The Quality of Life Report and I had been dying to read it.  Unfortunately, it was only available in hard back and I, a poor college student, couldn't afford to buy it. Fortunately, a book salesman overheard me tell my mom how much I wanted to read it, gave me the book for free, and also showed me where I could get her to sign it.  That was when I fell in love with book festivals.

I'll be honest, even though I would have gone regardless, my main reason for going was Jonathan Franzen.  I wanted to hear what he have to say.  He was cool, but my favorite author was one that took me quite off guard. I was headed to the children's tent, when I heard someone speaking very passionately about immigration.  I stopped and turned.  His name was Steven Roberts.  The woman interviewing him about his book?  One of my heros, Cokie Roberts.  Now, you may not know who Cokie Roberts is, but let me tell you she is badass.  Not only is she an author, journalist, mother, grandmother, wife, political correspondent, but she was able to do all of this carrying around the name Cokie.  Can't you just imagine the jokes she had to endure?  My last name was Wilber and that was bad enough.  But a first name of Cokie?  I just can't imagine.  You know she had to work twice as hard to get half as far, but she did it.  I have nothing but the utmost respect for her. 

Steven Roberts spoke about immigration with a passion I had only heard from a negative side of the argument.  I'll admit, I don't have a fully developed opinion on immigration, other than the fact that this country was built on immigrants.  I understand both arguments.  Those who want strict regulations and others that say we should give immigrants the benefit of the doubt.  It's a subject I definitely need to do more research on and one that doesn't get me going.  When I heard Steven Roberts speak, I realized that there is a much larger argument that needs to be had.  He produced hard cold facts about immigrants "stealing our jobs" (aka, they really don't) and intertwined it with stories of immigrants from all walks of life.  From Hispanics to Asians.  He even spoke about German citizens who immigrated during WWII. 

I won't say he got me on his side, but he as propelled me to do more research about the topic.  That is the point of books.  They are there to push you, help you look at things from a different angle, and most of all, to think. 

I hope that there will always be a book festival with speakers like Steven Roberts.  And, I hope the electronic age helps us, as a society, to expand things like this, not deter them.