Today was my last day in the office. I didn't realize it at the time, but it turns out that I don't have anything else to do, so I'm not going in on Friday.
I thought they were having a going-away party for me today, which I was not looking forward to, as I didn't particularly want to make a big deal of my leaving, especially since I'll still be working in the building this summer. When I checked my email again today, I realized that the party was actually scheduled for tomorrow, when I have class and when I pointed this out, they decided to give me my parting gift today.
This involved the entire office staff (or the people that were there this afternoon, anyway) standing around my desk and staring at me. In silence. We briefly discussed my summer plans, but the whole exchange lasted less than 3 minutes in uncomfortable silence.
I'm curious to see how the party would have turned out.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Inside the cube
Once again, I have found myself spending my time inside a cube, though unlike my summer internship, there were no rules about personal items inside it. This did not, however, make the office any friendlier, which I think is due to the fact that I worked in a research office, where people don't exactly practice their social skills.
They read. A lot. Often with the doors closed. Occasionally, some of them meditate, but I only know that's happening because I hear a gong going off. A GONG. I couldn't make this up if I tried. The most social interaction that occurs during the week is the staff meeting.
I have found that when I return from my people-deprived cubicle in the evening, I spend it talking because I am so starved for human interaction. Or, I spend the better part of the day talking to myself and draining the batteries on my iPod. When the batteries die, it's time to go home.
They read. A lot. Often with the doors closed. Occasionally, some of them meditate, but I only know that's happening because I hear a gong going off. A GONG. I couldn't make this up if I tried. The most social interaction that occurs during the week is the staff meeting.
I have found that when I return from my people-deprived cubicle in the evening, I spend it talking because I am so starved for human interaction. Or, I spend the better part of the day talking to myself and draining the batteries on my iPod. When the batteries die, it's time to go home.
I'm sorry! I'm sorry!
I apologize for not updating as often I as I should.
When I get home, I find myself watching my new favorite show (The Real Housewives of NY) or until recently reading Twilight (I swore I wasn't going to jump on the bandwagon, but I did).
But now, the internship is over, I am finished with Twilight and I have lots to catch my loyal readers (all 5 of you) up on.
When I get home, I find myself watching my new favorite show (The Real Housewives of NY) or until recently reading Twilight (I swore I wasn't going to jump on the bandwagon, but I did).
But now, the internship is over, I am finished with Twilight and I have lots to catch my loyal readers (all 5 of you) up on.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
On Living in a Zoo
When I moved in with my 10 roommates, I thought that life would be super-easy, considering that I spent the last 3 years in a sorority house with 30 girls. Wrong-o.
This morning I woke up to find dirty dishes stacked on the floor next to the sink. Why, you ask? Was the sink also full? No. Was the dishwasher filled with dishes? No.
I can only assume that someone wanted to use the sink to wash or prepare some sort of food, but what I cannot figure out it why after using the sink, this idiot wouldn't pick the dishes up off the floor?
I think someone needs a little home training. And until I install a hidden camera in the kitchen, I'm not going to be able to educate them.
This morning I woke up to find dirty dishes stacked on the floor next to the sink. Why, you ask? Was the sink also full? No. Was the dishwasher filled with dishes? No.
I can only assume that someone wanted to use the sink to wash or prepare some sort of food, but what I cannot figure out it why after using the sink, this idiot wouldn't pick the dishes up off the floor?
I think someone needs a little home training. And until I install a hidden camera in the kitchen, I'm not going to be able to educate them.
Monday, March 2, 2009
A simple "No" would have been nice
I apologize for the long delay in my posts. It turns out when I sit in a cubicle in front of a computer all day, I don't have any desire to sit in front of my computer. But anyway, I feel a few stories are long overdue.
A few weeks ago, we conducted visitor surveys at one of the museums. This mainly required me to walk up to museum visitors and tell them (I didn't ask because they didn't need an option to say no) to take my brief survey before they started their museum visit. Because it was a survey, I certainly couldn't force them to take it, but I was supposed to be a good salesgirl and stand there and convince them.
My first survey out of the gate was the most awful experience, and after that I was assigned to hold the counter and count visitors. Our point person sent me to talk to a pimple-faced sixteen year-old, who apparently had a mother who failed to teach him any manners. He was the perfect candidate for a little "home training." I politely walked up to him and handed him my survey. At that point, if he really didn't want to take the survey, the polite answer would have been, "No, thank you."
At that point, I would have asked him for his zip code, collected a little demographic information and walked away. What he chose to do was repeat "No, thank you" over and over again, while staring at his feet and avoiding eye contact. He was not developmentally delayed, he was not visiting with a special needs class. He was just a sorry little punk, who is lucky that my boss was there because he really deserved a nice whack with my clipboard or a very strongly worded talking to.
I feel sorry for his mother.
A few weeks ago, we conducted visitor surveys at one of the museums. This mainly required me to walk up to museum visitors and tell them (I didn't ask because they didn't need an option to say no) to take my brief survey before they started their museum visit. Because it was a survey, I certainly couldn't force them to take it, but I was supposed to be a good salesgirl and stand there and convince them.
My first survey out of the gate was the most awful experience, and after that I was assigned to hold the counter and count visitors. Our point person sent me to talk to a pimple-faced sixteen year-old, who apparently had a mother who failed to teach him any manners. He was the perfect candidate for a little "home training." I politely walked up to him and handed him my survey. At that point, if he really didn't want to take the survey, the polite answer would have been, "No, thank you."
At that point, I would have asked him for his zip code, collected a little demographic information and walked away. What he chose to do was repeat "No, thank you" over and over again, while staring at his feet and avoiding eye contact. He was not developmentally delayed, he was not visiting with a special needs class. He was just a sorry little punk, who is lucky that my boss was there because he really deserved a nice whack with my clipboard or a very strongly worded talking to.
I feel sorry for his mother.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
On Fevers and Flatulation
There's only one housemate that really drives me crazy on a regular basis. He's one of those creatures who doesn't really take social cues very well, and it just means that he and I butt heads. I don't think he intentionally tries to be an ass, but he clearly has no idea how to behave otherwise.
For example, I went to a concert a few weeks ago and on my way out the door he says, "Where are you going?" To which I replied, to the 9:30 Club to see The Fray. And he replies, "Oh, well have fun. I only listen to good music."
Excuse me? When I asked him what qualified as good music, he said that he had no idea, so I told him the next time he was going to say something so blatantly insulting, he should at least justify it. If you're going to tell me you only listen to good music, you would do well to tell me what that is.
So anyway, I was power-walking around Capitol Hill the other day (after my giant cup of coffee) and I ran into Big A on his way home from work. I asked him pleasantly (as pleasantly as possible, and I was talking super-fast) how his day was, which is when he told me that the night before he'd had a headache and felt rather gassy.
I felt bad for his roommate. And despite my abundance of energy and my overwhelming desire to hear myself talk, I was speechless. What on earth? Why would he advertise that he was feeling gassy? That sounds like something he'd want to look up on WebMD, and not tell me about.
For example, I went to a concert a few weeks ago and on my way out the door he says, "Where are you going?" To which I replied, to the 9:30 Club to see The Fray. And he replies, "Oh, well have fun. I only listen to good music."
Excuse me? When I asked him what qualified as good music, he said that he had no idea, so I told him the next time he was going to say something so blatantly insulting, he should at least justify it. If you're going to tell me you only listen to good music, you would do well to tell me what that is.
So anyway, I was power-walking around Capitol Hill the other day (after my giant cup of coffee) and I ran into Big A on his way home from work. I asked him pleasantly (as pleasantly as possible, and I was talking super-fast) how his day was, which is when he told me that the night before he'd had a headache and felt rather gassy.
I felt bad for his roommate. And despite my abundance of energy and my overwhelming desire to hear myself talk, I was speechless. What on earth? Why would he advertise that he was feeling gassy? That sounds like something he'd want to look up on WebMD, and not tell me about.
Uh, excuse me?
I have recently decided to stop riding the Metro everyday. It turns out, it takes me about the same amount of time to walk to the office as it does to hop on the Metro, change trains and get to the office. And walking gives me the added bonus of saving a couple of bucks and walking all of those weekend calories off.
But, that's not really why I did it.
Last week, as I was making my morning change from the Red Line to the Yellow and Green, I hit this woman with my bag (complete accident). I apologized to her profusely, even though she was standing on the right, completely blocking all walking traffic. Her response? "Thanks, bitch."
Excuse me? Charmed. I did not step off the train with the intent to hit her with my bag. Nor did I forget to say excuse me before I hit her (with my back, I didn't body check her) and I apologized. I did try to sidestep her. The platform isn't that big.
So, thanks to this unbelievably rude woman, I am now walking to work. I suppose I should thank her when my pants start to slide off.
But, that's not really why I did it.
Last week, as I was making my morning change from the Red Line to the Yellow and Green, I hit this woman with my bag (complete accident). I apologized to her profusely, even though she was standing on the right, completely blocking all walking traffic. Her response? "Thanks, bitch."
Excuse me? Charmed. I did not step off the train with the intent to hit her with my bag. Nor did I forget to say excuse me before I hit her (with my back, I didn't body check her) and I apologized. I did try to sidestep her. The platform isn't that big.
So, thanks to this unbelievably rude woman, I am now walking to work. I suppose I should thank her when my pants start to slide off.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Beyonce, Bono and Bruce, oh my!
So, I originally intended to get up and leave with one of my roommates at like 7:30 on Sunday morning to stake out a spot on the lawn at Lincoln Memorial. Before we left to go out to Adams Morgan, this seemed like a wonderful idea. When I was on my way home in the wee hours of the morning, it didn't seem to be in my best interest to wake up at 7:30.
Thank god I voted to sleep in. My roommate who did go out early with blankets and boots didn't seem to have any better seat than we did, since we weren't VIPs like Oprah (yet), we didn't get to sit right up front in the seats that were reserved for us. When I did eventually make it to Lincoln Memorial, it was closer to one. We sailed through security with no problem and walked up the sidewalk past hundreds of Port-a-Potties (a beautiful sight right next to our national monuments). Brad claimed that his brother was waiting for us with seats, so we pushed through the crowd to move forward. And got stuck. Surrounded by strangers with no end in sight, it was at that point I started to wish that I had stayed home in my pajamas to watch the telecast on tv. At least I wouldn't have been touched and yelled at by strangers who seemed to think that they were more important than me. I particularly enjoyed people saying "excuse me," and staring at me impatiently to move, as if I liked having my head jammed into someone's armpit and that I could magically just walk through the people who were standing in front of me. Apparently the slogan "We are One" meant everybody had to stand next to each other so that they couldn't breathe or move. We had to be one complete unit on one patch of sidewalk and no one was allowed to breathe.
Standing in that crush of people though, I did see some lovely sights. People were hauling themselves up on top of the port-a-potties to see better, and one particularly large woman hauled herself on top of the one Marie had stopped in. I can only imagine how terrified she must have been, that woman was large. Anyway, at this point, the police officers started to yell at people to get down, which was only appropriate, as I can only imagine what kind of problems we'd have had if the things had fallen over. I'm pretty sure Brad and I would have been crushed, considering we were standing pressed up against the things. The large woman, however, seemed to think this was hilarious that a police officer would dare impede on her right to sit on a dirty port-a-potty and started railing at the police officer and claiming that he really didn't understand the point of the whole day. According to this crazy, we were supposed to be neighborly and "one" with our neighbors and she should have been allowed to stay up there because it was neighborly of the cop to let her enjoy the concert. When he started to draw his weapon, she snapped a picture. And then started yelling some choice words, while the small child she had with her watched. She also said that people should have had to take a test before entering the concert, so that only the people who knew about the election and the spirit of the day could get in.
I'm thinking that this woman really missed the point. The police officer wasn't being neighborly? I needed to take a test? It certainly wasn't neighborly of her to climb on top of the toilet while my small friend was inside. It wasn't neighborly of her to obstruct the view of the people behind her with her rather large rear end, and it certainly wasn't neighborly of her to verbally assault an officer of the law who was doing his damndest to keep order with 500,000 other people at the Memorial. And as for the test, I'm pretty sure that would go against many of the things that the Obama administration supposedly stands for. Take a test to see a free concert, that I have every right to be at? That smells a bit like taking a test to vote prior during the Jim Crow era. That is a terrible idea.
Here's a little taste of the people that surrounded me.
When we finally did make it out of this crunch, we eventually found Brad's brother, who was nowhere near the spot that Brad had originally said he was in, but there was plenty of room to stand, I didn't have to touch strangers and Marie didn't have to fear that the toilet was going to fall in on her, or pound so she could actually get out of the port-a-potty. The concert, on the whole, was pretty awesome, though I'm a little upset that Beyonce opted not to sing "Single Ladies" (I know it wasn't in the spirit of the day, but I would have enjoyed a little dancing) and Tom Hanks did not jump into the reflecting pool like Forrest Gump (that might have been due to the fact that it was frozen).
We made it home around seven, after walking past hawkers selling Obama apparel (my favorite, Obama condoms and a t-shirt with Obama in gold chains that read "Run DC") and about a thousand people who had no idea how to look at a map before they tried to step on a train, thereby obstructing the people who had figured the system out while they stood in the doors and asked questions. Thank god I live close enough to walk home.
I stole a few pictures from my friend Rebecca, she had the foresight to bring her camera. And mine was tucked safely in my tiny room at the house. More pictures to come...
Sheryl Crow and Will.i.am jamming out to a little "One Love"
Josh Groban. Mmmmmm......
Ellen stayed home because she claims that she doesn't go places below 65 degrees. I think she's on to something.
Thank god I voted to sleep in. My roommate who did go out early with blankets and boots didn't seem to have any better seat than we did, since we weren't VIPs like Oprah (yet), we didn't get to sit right up front in the seats that were reserved for us. When I did eventually make it to Lincoln Memorial, it was closer to one. We sailed through security with no problem and walked up the sidewalk past hundreds of Port-a-Potties (a beautiful sight right next to our national monuments). Brad claimed that his brother was waiting for us with seats, so we pushed through the crowd to move forward. And got stuck. Surrounded by strangers with no end in sight, it was at that point I started to wish that I had stayed home in my pajamas to watch the telecast on tv. At least I wouldn't have been touched and yelled at by strangers who seemed to think that they were more important than me. I particularly enjoyed people saying "excuse me," and staring at me impatiently to move, as if I liked having my head jammed into someone's armpit and that I could magically just walk through the people who were standing in front of me. Apparently the slogan "We are One" meant everybody had to stand next to each other so that they couldn't breathe or move. We had to be one complete unit on one patch of sidewalk and no one was allowed to breathe.
Standing in that crush of people though, I did see some lovely sights. People were hauling themselves up on top of the port-a-potties to see better, and one particularly large woman hauled herself on top of the one Marie had stopped in. I can only imagine how terrified she must have been, that woman was large. Anyway, at this point, the police officers started to yell at people to get down, which was only appropriate, as I can only imagine what kind of problems we'd have had if the things had fallen over. I'm pretty sure Brad and I would have been crushed, considering we were standing pressed up against the things. The large woman, however, seemed to think this was hilarious that a police officer would dare impede on her right to sit on a dirty port-a-potty and started railing at the police officer and claiming that he really didn't understand the point of the whole day. According to this crazy, we were supposed to be neighborly and "one" with our neighbors and she should have been allowed to stay up there because it was neighborly of the cop to let her enjoy the concert. When he started to draw his weapon, she snapped a picture. And then started yelling some choice words, while the small child she had with her watched. She also said that people should have had to take a test before entering the concert, so that only the people who knew about the election and the spirit of the day could get in.
I'm thinking that this woman really missed the point. The police officer wasn't being neighborly? I needed to take a test? It certainly wasn't neighborly of her to climb on top of the toilet while my small friend was inside. It wasn't neighborly of her to obstruct the view of the people behind her with her rather large rear end, and it certainly wasn't neighborly of her to verbally assault an officer of the law who was doing his damndest to keep order with 500,000 other people at the Memorial. And as for the test, I'm pretty sure that would go against many of the things that the Obama administration supposedly stands for. Take a test to see a free concert, that I have every right to be at? That smells a bit like taking a test to vote prior during the Jim Crow era. That is a terrible idea.
Here's a little taste of the people that surrounded me. 
When we finally did make it out of this crunch, we eventually found Brad's brother, who was nowhere near the spot that Brad had originally said he was in, but there was plenty of room to stand, I didn't have to touch strangers and Marie didn't have to fear that the toilet was going to fall in on her, or pound so she could actually get out of the port-a-potty. The concert, on the whole, was pretty awesome, though I'm a little upset that Beyonce opted not to sing "Single Ladies" (I know it wasn't in the spirit of the day, but I would have enjoyed a little dancing) and Tom Hanks did not jump into the reflecting pool like Forrest Gump (that might have been due to the fact that it was frozen).
We made it home around seven, after walking past hawkers selling Obama apparel (my favorite, Obama condoms and a t-shirt with Obama in gold chains that read "Run DC") and about a thousand people who had no idea how to look at a map before they tried to step on a train, thereby obstructing the people who had figured the system out while they stood in the doors and asked questions. Thank god I live close enough to walk home.
I stole a few pictures from my friend Rebecca, she had the foresight to bring her camera. And mine was tucked safely in my tiny room at the house. More pictures to come...
Sheryl Crow and Will.i.am jamming out to a little "One Love"
Josh Groban. Mmmmmm......
Ellen stayed home because she claims that she doesn't go places below 65 degrees. I think she's on to something.
The Fray at the 9:30 Club
On Friday, I got to take advantage of my friend Rebecca's extra ticket to see The Fray at the 9:30 club. We thought we'd avoid standing in the cold by showing up right when the doors opened and walked from the Metro right before the 8:00 start.
Standing-room only concerts are always interesting, and I forget that The Fray would attract some high schoolers. I'm pretty sure the two little 15 year-olds in front of me have never been to a concert before because they screamed and yelled and recorded every single song on their cell phones. I'm sure if we were MySpace friends I could find the whole audio from the concert on their pages.
Behind me there was this woman who apparently doesn't know anything about personal space and she appeared to be collecting empty Stella Artois bottles in her purse, by the end of the concert she had accumulated quite a few, and quite a hefty bill to match, I'm sure. This woman stayed jammed into my side for the entire concert and every time I moved, she moved with me.
If only I had known on Friday that on Sunday, I would wish to be in crowd full of high schoolers drinking what smelled like battery acid out of a soda bottle and being stalked by this crazy woman, than pushed against a port-a-potty with 500,000 of my newest friends.
On the bright side, I was super-close to the very attractive band. Unfortunately, they were all wearing wedding rings (Rebecca and I checked).
Standing-room only concerts are always interesting, and I forget that The Fray would attract some high schoolers. I'm pretty sure the two little 15 year-olds in front of me have never been to a concert before because they screamed and yelled and recorded every single song on their cell phones. I'm sure if we were MySpace friends I could find the whole audio from the concert on their pages.
Behind me there was this woman who apparently doesn't know anything about personal space and she appeared to be collecting empty Stella Artois bottles in her purse, by the end of the concert she had accumulated quite a few, and quite a hefty bill to match, I'm sure. This woman stayed jammed into my side for the entire concert and every time I moved, she moved with me.
If only I had known on Friday that on Sunday, I would wish to be in crowd full of high schoolers drinking what smelled like battery acid out of a soda bottle and being stalked by this crazy woman, than pushed against a port-a-potty with 500,000 of my newest friends.
On the bright side, I was super-close to the very attractive band. Unfortunately, they were all wearing wedding rings (Rebecca and I checked).
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Are you from Bulgaria?
We ventured out last weekend to a few neighborhood places, and then took a 45-minute subway ride across town to go elsewhere (we could have taken a cab for $3 a person and 15 minutes max in a car, but the Metro is apparently cheaper. It's not that much cheaper, in the grand scheme of things.)
The Metro does, however, have any number of crazies riding. On our way to Dupont Circle, a guy sat down in front of my roommate and I and asked where we were going. It went a little something like this:
Sketchballer: Yo, ladies, where you going?
pause
Sketchballer: You going to Adams Morgan
Us: Uhhh...(We weren't actually going to Adams Morgan) Sure
Sketchballer: Where you live at
My quick-thinking roommate Jessica: Oh, over near the White House
(For the record, there aren't really any residential areas near the White House)
And then, we got off the train.
On the way home, this other gentleman sat down in a seat across from us. We could of fried an egg with all the grease in his hair. He didn't really say much of anything, but then glanced over at Jessica and says, "Are you from Bulgaria?"
The answer is, no she's not from Bulgaria, nor did this attempt at a pick-up line work. Here's hoping the next person we meet on the Metro has practiced his pick-up lines. And thank god we have a new stock answer for where we live. There's no need to tell strangers the truth.
The Metro does, however, have any number of crazies riding. On our way to Dupont Circle, a guy sat down in front of my roommate and I and asked where we were going. It went a little something like this:
Sketchballer: Yo, ladies, where you going?
pause
Sketchballer: You going to Adams Morgan
Us: Uhhh...(We weren't actually going to Adams Morgan) Sure
Sketchballer: Where you live at
My quick-thinking roommate Jessica: Oh, over near the White House
(For the record, there aren't really any residential areas near the White House)
And then, we got off the train.
On the way home, this other gentleman sat down in a seat across from us. We could of fried an egg with all the grease in his hair. He didn't really say much of anything, but then glanced over at Jessica and says, "Are you from Bulgaria?"
The answer is, no she's not from Bulgaria, nor did this attempt at a pick-up line work. Here's hoping the next person we meet on the Metro has practiced his pick-up lines. And thank god we have a new stock answer for where we live. There's no need to tell strangers the truth.
A Trip to the Museum
There wasn't a whole lot of work for me to do at the office yesterday, so I spent the day at the Air & Space Museum, American History and Natural History Museum. We're going to start a new visitor's survey in the next few weeks, so it would behoove me to be familiar with the component parts of the system that I work for. I'm pretty sure the exhibit on Western cultures hasn't changed since the first time I went to the Natural History museum in elementary school, but I do like looking at the shiny jewelery around the Hope Diamond, so I might make a trip back to that exhibit. For the record, it was frigid and not a day to be walking around the mall in my casual Friday outfit and ballet flats without socks on. Some homeless man even commented that I must be freezing, even though I was wearing leggings under my pants and a scarf wrapped around my head, but the fact that this man said something was certainly a reality check. The museums were comfy cozy and the Metro was warm, so except for the quick race across the mall, it wasn't awful, but I think that might be the last time I go out without boots on for a while.
One of my supervisors suggested that I act like a visitor and think critically about how people were using the museum exhibits, were they paying attention? Were they reading? Did they use the computer parts? At Air & Space, I followed this girl around for the better part of an hour. She was fascinating, I don't think she read a single sign, looked at a single movie, touched a single computer screen. She walked around the exhibits, digital camera in hand and just snapped pictures of every case and hanging piece of aircraft. I can't say that she actually appreciated the museum and I'm pretty sure she's going to post her pictures of her trip to DC on her MySpace page and just write that she went to some museum, not the National Museum, but she went to the nation's capitol and just took a few meaningless pictures. I'm pretty sure she has absolutely no idea what she knew that she looked at the Wright glider or the replica American Airlines stewardess uniforms, she just snapped pictures. I can only hope that she doesn't take this approach when she reads things, it would be a real shame if she just flipped through the pages and actually reads something on them
Here's hoping the other 4 million people that are about the descend on this city take a minute to read something.
One of my supervisors suggested that I act like a visitor and think critically about how people were using the museum exhibits, were they paying attention? Were they reading? Did they use the computer parts? At Air & Space, I followed this girl around for the better part of an hour. She was fascinating, I don't think she read a single sign, looked at a single movie, touched a single computer screen. She walked around the exhibits, digital camera in hand and just snapped pictures of every case and hanging piece of aircraft. I can't say that she actually appreciated the museum and I'm pretty sure she's going to post her pictures of her trip to DC on her MySpace page and just write that she went to some museum, not the National Museum, but she went to the nation's capitol and just took a few meaningless pictures. I'm pretty sure she has absolutely no idea what she knew that she looked at the Wright glider or the replica American Airlines stewardess uniforms, she just snapped pictures. I can only hope that she doesn't take this approach when she reads things, it would be a real shame if she just flipped through the pages and actually reads something on them
Here's hoping the other 4 million people that are about the descend on this city take a minute to read something.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
On Being Forrest Gump
My dad has dubbed this year the year I live like Forrest Gump. I spent the summer in Beijing, China in the midst of Olympic mania and now I'm foregoing my last semester in Chapel Hill to live on Capitol Hill and intern. I'm once again riding public transportation to work, but it doesn't require me to stand pressed up against sweaty strangers and I can understand the language of the train maps and the metro conductors. And I've learned that people are more willing to help me when I look lost instead of asking me to pose for pictures in their scrapbook.
I'll be missing a potentially winning basketball season (Hint hint boys, let's light a little fire and start stomping on people. I know you can.) I'll be here in the midst of an historic inauguration, a new presidential administration and I'm going to resume my travel-guide reading and restaurant finding ways and take advantage of everything that DC has to offer. I'm thinking that this experience isn't going to be quite so cheap as my summer abroad. I don't think I'll be brunching at the Westin or spending Sundays at my tailor, Fei Fei, but I think I can rustle up a little fun.
I'm still working in a cubicle, but it's not feeling like Office Space, like my last experience and I can hike to the Mall and visit the various museums on my lunch break. I'm no longer working for a creature that terrifies everything he walks past, and no one has given me a speech to tell me "the company is me".
And so, fair readers if you would like to know what I'm up to while I'm not in Chapel Hill attending class and driving the White Suburban around while I babysit (or drinking 50 cent beers at Country Music night and Firefly at Top O'), check the blog. And feel free to leave me a comment.
I'll be missing a potentially winning basketball season (Hint hint boys, let's light a little fire and start stomping on people. I know you can.) I'll be here in the midst of an historic inauguration, a new presidential administration and I'm going to resume my travel-guide reading and restaurant finding ways and take advantage of everything that DC has to offer. I'm thinking that this experience isn't going to be quite so cheap as my summer abroad. I don't think I'll be brunching at the Westin or spending Sundays at my tailor, Fei Fei, but I think I can rustle up a little fun.
I'm still working in a cubicle, but it's not feeling like Office Space, like my last experience and I can hike to the Mall and visit the various museums on my lunch break. I'm no longer working for a creature that terrifies everything he walks past, and no one has given me a speech to tell me "the company is me".
And so, fair readers if you would like to know what I'm up to while I'm not in Chapel Hill attending class and driving the White Suburban around while I babysit (or drinking 50 cent beers at Country Music night and Firefly at Top O'), check the blog. And feel free to leave me a comment.
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