i love you, mom, but i've gotta be me

Recently, my mom’s guilt tripping has been a lot less frequent than it used to be. For the first couple of years I was in DC, she would ask me to come back because she missed me. The request was really sweet. I am the youngest and the ‘baby’ of the family. In fact, my mom still calls me ‘baby’ to this day (she calls Serena, my 18 month old niece, by the same name). It’s embarrassing, I know. But my mom would ask me to come back home every single day (because she called every day). It got old…quick.

My mom and I had a falling out right around the time that Jesse and I became serious (shortly after we initially said the I love yous). It was probably the biggest fight we’ve had since I was a teenager. She was upset that I was in a relationship that she suspected would keep me on the opposite side of the country forever. She said some things that I had no idea she felt and I subsequently shut her out of my life—for a short while. My heart needed the recovery time. We’ve made up, of course, but now the phone calls between us are every couple of days instead of every day. The guilt trips have not stopped. They're different now.

As I became more liberal, I stopped going to church. It’s not that I don’t believe in God, because I do, Ann Coulter. I thought it was hypocritical of me to attend. I am, after all, pro-gay rights, pro-choice, pro-euthanasia, and pro-contraception (you already know how I feel about sex before marriage). I realized that I was fooling myself 2 years ago when I attended a Saturday night service at a church in the city. The sermon was about abstinence only sex education and how it was the only way to keep kids safe. I walked out during the sermon. I could no longer support a religion that stood for everything that I am against.

My mom does not know that I’ve come to this conclusion about the faith that she worked so hard for me to learn and grow in. I don’t have the heart to tell her. Instead, I’ve put on the hypocrite hat whenever I go home and attend Mass with her. I’d rather lie than hurt her because she’s such a devout Catholic (apparently, I’m pro-dishonesty too).

Last night, when we spoke, she asked me if I had gone to church (it being Sunday and all). I told her no. She got upset and asked me why. Because the Church hates gays, because it’s unrealistic about sex ed., because it won’t support the use of condoms to prevent the spread of HIV, because it would prefer that an unwanted child be born to a rape victim. I replied, “I don’t know.” “Liz, you know how important it is to go to church. The least you could do to thank the Lord for all that He’s done for you is go to church once a week. That’s all He asks. And take Jesse with you. I know he’s not Catholic, but he should go too. Even though you don’t go, I pray for you at church.” Thanks, mom.

My mom will never believe what I believe—that everyone is entitled to their own relationship with a higher being if they so chose. They should have the right to challenge their faith and choose the path that is right for them. As my niece’s Baptism sponsor, I will do my best to guide her faith, support and encourage questions, and provide her with the information to make the right decisions for her based on what she believes in (I wish I'd had that). Mom, I’m sorry I’ll never be the kind of girl you raised me to be. But I think too much.

hold out no more

Reggie Bush signs! Details to be released later today. For USC Trojans info, check out Fight On Forever.

why am i doing this? i forget

MySpace. I've never been the slightest bit interested in joining. I figure it's the new friendster and I'm rarely on friendster (actually, the first version of this blog was on friendster and that was probably the most time I ever spent on it). I know that MySpace is supposed to be a big deal right now (at least in some circles). But I just don't get it.

I'm not quite sure why anyone's into it. You sign up, create a profile, add a pic, and then add friends. And then you rank your friends (which frankly could be insulting to some). And then you post messages and stuff. You talk about what you like and what you think is cool at the moment. That's the gist, right? Yup, that doesn't sound very appealing.

I think that if I was Amanda's age (she's 15 and my neice), MySpace would be the coolest thing ever. Actually, I know for a fact that she thinks it's the coolest thing ever. When I told my family about my blog, Amanda got really excited and asked me, "Are you on MySpace?" I replied, "No" while trying to hold back any feelings of condescension. She looked incredibly disappointed. I didn't know you could blog at My Space, but I've seen seen some MySpace pages and some of them are pretty ugly. Sure, OC girl is a little pink, but at least I don't have obnoxious images all over the page, making it difficult to read anything.

Jesse joined MySpace not too long ago. He did it because his friend, Ashish, told him to (I wish I had Ashish's power of persuasion). He continues to go to MySpace to keep in touch with his friends. I could understand that.

Last night, while out with my boys, Rudy asked me if I was on MySpace. I told him no and then he begged me to join. Roo Roos has made some friends through MySpace who share his interests in music (which he expresses on his page). I asked him to sell me MySpace. Why should I join? Initially, he replied, "I don't know." But then he thought about it and went into how great it is to make friends there and how people you knew in high school look you up and you can see how they're doing now. Frankly, I'm not sure if I want any of my high school friends looking me up. They could be Republicans for all I know.

Come on. I already blog. What else do I need to do to be cool? I thought blogging was sufficient. And I love blogging. I can't see myself loving MySpace.

Oh, Roo Roos. I'm such a sucker. It's hard to say no to you. If anyone is interested, here's my MySpace page.

If you're on MySpace too please add me as a friend. I've got no friends right now and I'm feeling kinda lonely.

isn't it ironic?

yuck
Originally uploaded by lizzie c..

Clean Adams Morgan is an oxymoron. I'll let the photo speak for itself.

because of me, there’s another drug dealer out in the streets of DC

Have my peeps already heard about Karl Rove and Madeline Albright doing jury duty on the same day this week? Isn’t that exciting? I’m so envious. I wish I could’ve been called for jury duty.

I’m one of those rare people who actually enjoys jury duty. In fact, I recently received a jury duty summons for DC court (apparently, they didn’t get the memo that I had moved to VA) and was so sad to report that I wasn’t eligible. If it wasn’t punishable by a fine and jail time, I would’ve lied and gladly accepted my civic duty.

Out of three tries, I served as a juror twice, once in the OC and once in DC. I had imagined a “12 Angry Men” scenario or (even better) a “Law & Order” type of trial. In the OC trial, I got neither. I sat in on a malpractice suit involving an orthopedic surgeon and his patient, an elderly gentleman who had had total knee replacement surgery. At the time, I was experiencing some serious knee pain of my own and was happy to sit in and listen to all of the testimony regarding the surgery and the physician’s alleged negligence. Naturally, I sided with the patient. Apparently, it is really hard to prove negligence. As a jury, we had to agree as a majority that a single act of negligence on the part of the physician directly led to the deterioration of the patient’s health/well-being. The prosecution’s case was dependent on a physician from the Mayo Clinic, the man who ended up fixing the patient’s botched knee surgery. If he had just said, “the defendant did this and that is why I had to go in and fix his knee,” we all would’ve sided with the patient. Unfortunately, the Mayo Clinic doc didn’t and the jury decided in favor of the defendant (except me and one other person—we dissented).

The next case was far juicier and was more Law and Order than the OC case (and the deliberations were very “12 Angry Men”-like too). A young man was charged with drug possession and possession with the intent to sell. He was caught with crack just 8 blocks from where I lived on the Hill! In order to convict him on both counts, the prosecution had to first prove possession. Which they didn’t. The prosecuting attorney was awful. She looked nervous half of the time. She was not very convincing. It was obvious that the kid was dealing. The drugs were individually packaged in ziplock bags which definitely reeks of “intent to sell”.

Here’s the scenario. The alleged dealer was in a car with a minor, when a cop car approached. The car flashed its lights and the cop asked them to step out of the car. When the alleged dealer stepped out, he allegedly threw the drugs under the car. During the course of the trial, the prosecutor never did prove that the drugs belonged to the dealer. They could’ve belonged to the passenger and the alleged dealer threw the drugs under the car for him.

During deliberations, all but two of the jurors were ready to declare him guilty because there was clearly an intent to sell. The two jurors stated their case, saying that we couldn’t convict on possession simply because there was an obvious attempt to sell. So, unanimously, we decided to let him go.

I’m still not happy about that decision. But we did have to follow the law. I still wish the prosecutor had done a better job.

the untold horror of the california heatwave

I'm sure you've all heard about the heatwave in California right now. Apparently the entire state is experiencing temperatures over 100 degrees for the 12th day in a row. When I was a kid, temperatures this high would force my school to close. But such a high heat for so long is unheard of.

Over 50 people have died throughout the state due to the heat. But what really upsets me is the loss of life among the cow population. Apparently in Chino (where Ryan from "the OC" is from and no, Chino's not ghetto...it's kinda rural), some dairy farms are reporting losing two to three cows a day. In the Inland Empire (which is just a hop, skip, and a jump away from Vegas) Tony Rodriguez, owner of Three Palms Dairy in Chino said, "They're dropping like flies. In the 20-plus years I've been doing this, I've never seen anything like this." According to the SD Union Tribune, "In the San Joaquin Valley, a combination of the heat, bigger dairies and fewer plants to properly dispose of dead animals created a backlog of carcasses." So dead cows are just sitting there. Rotting. Amongst their bretheren. Can you imagine the tremendous sense of loss? Meanwhile the survivors are probably mourning and wondering, Oh my God, am I next?

I don't know why but I love cows. They're such harmless, gentle creatures. And they produce such yummy milk (which I won't drink until it's been processed and the fat's been removed). Unfortunately, they're stinky. In fact, for the full 40 minute drive through the IE on your way to Vegas, you are forced to breathe in their stench. But despite the foul odor, they're sweet and lazy. And so useful. Their lives must be made a priority.

photo courtesy of AP

So, please, Mother Nature! Stop the slaughter. End this heat. Save the happy cows from California! End their suffering now!

happy, happy, joy, joy

I've got some good news to share (besides the fact that this is my 100th post). I got promoted!!!! I am now a step above scrub. Actually, I am now in the Communications Dept. which for us means advocacy. Be prepared for more soap boxing

But the best news is I get to go to Cali for our annual conference. Woo-hoo. West Side, here I come!

putting the “personal” in personal training

Yesterday was my first appointment with a personal trainer. Despite working out regularly and eating better, my body just isn’t responding. Although the jury’s still out on whether it’s a biological problem, I thought I’d make an effort to naturally nip this problem in the bud.

Although my appointment was at 6, I didn’t meet with my trainer until 10 after 6 because he was still working with someone else. I tried not to let this get to me, but I was kinda pissed about waiting because I was starting to cool down from my warm up on the elliptical machine. When I cool down, I start to get lethargic.

Eventually, he came up to me and said, “You’re Liz? Oh, I thought I was working with someone else today.” So sorry to disappoint. Snippily, I said, “Yeah, I’m Liz.” After doing an initial assessment (full of embarrassing questions that I’d rather not reply to ever again in my life), he asked me what I personally wanted to work on. I told him I wanted to work on my upper body because it’s worse off than my lower body (all of my strength is in my legs for some odd reason).

We did some arm strength training exercises. One of them was the chest press machine. I sat in the contraption and the trainer was behind me toward my left. I pushed the bars forward at chest level. Upon letting go, I moved my left arm behind me and then under the bar to rest on my lap. As I moved my arm, my hand accidentally touched his package. OH MY GOD. I was so embarrassed I could die. Luckily, I was already sweaty and red-faced so my trainer couldn’t tell that I was blushing. I muttered an apology (I was still not letting go of my initial impression of snippiness). He replied, “That’s ok.” I looked up at our reflection in the mirror and could see that he was smiling. That’s probably the most action he’s had in a while, considering his surliness. For whatever reason, I let my first impression of him go and proceeded to be my usual whiny self during the rest of the session.

At the end (after my realization that my core muscles are now on strike), my trainer wrapped up the session by saying, “I don’t know if you want to see another personal trainer because I only work this late on Mondays.” In my head, I thought, I see. Now that I’ve touched your crotch we can’t have a normal trainer/trainee relationship. Instead I said, “You’re trying to get rid of me already. I’m THAT bad that you’re gonna pawn me off to one of your colleagues.” After chuckling he said, “If you want to have a session once a week that would be ok. I just want you to keep exercising.” PLEASE. I come to this gym 4 times a week. I’m not gonna stop going just because my new trainer isn’t around to see me. I replied, “Once a week is fine.”

I’m really feeling the pain of that session. My arms are killing me. That’s the price I have to pay for getting fresh with my trainer.

the complications of male/female friendships: a primer

My Bruin friend Lisa once told me that a boy had told her that girls and boys can’t be just friends. This boy also said that boys will be friends with girls they like and only stay friends if the girl doesn’t like the boy that way. A few weeks later, Lisa and the boy were dating. Despite this evidence to the contrary, I feel that platonic relationships between boys and girls are possible.

When it comes to guy/girl friendships, there’s definitely a thin line between platonic and romantic. As a girl who has been on both sides of the unrequited feelings coin, sometimes it looks very tempting to cross that line. When I was younger, my friends and I thought that the best relationship with a guy would start out as a friendship first. For me, that has not been true. I’m not quite sure why, but every relationship I’ve had with a boy that was first a friend has ended horribly. For Jesse and me, the friendship came second. I’ve never felt closer to any guy in my life before.

Whenever I tell Jesse that I have plans to hang out with a guy, his first question is, “Is he gay?” And for the few times the answer to that question is “No,” Jesse gets just a little bit worried. Sure it’s true that a lot of my straight guy friends abandoned our friendSHIP when things started to get serious between me and Jesse, but I refuse to speculate on their reasons for doing so. After all, denial is often a safe place to be. But for those guy friends who decided to stick around, I feel as though our friendship is of the purest form—one without an underlying motive.

Back when I was anti-boy and anti-relationships (a long phase that lasted almost 3 years), Johnmichael, a co-worker, once proposed this theory—the reason why I have so many gay male friends is because they are safe. At the time, I dismissed his theory by claiming to be a ‘gay man magnet’. But perhaps, there is some truth to what JM said. Besides the great benefits of gay friends (awesome make up, fashion, and home decorating tips, etc.), there is no pretense, no motive. I did feel safe and secure that this boys were being friends with me for me and no other reason.

I’d hate to think that Lisa’s boy could be right. But I feel that the male/female relations are much more complicated than that. It’d be best to leave that up to the experts and that most certainly excludes me.

confidential to smarty pants in Atlanta

just wanted to make sure you saw this before the bar tomorrow...

GOOD LUCK!

just how fun are brunettes anyways?

Last night, I made the final decision to change. Since I moved to DC, I have experienced many different hair makeovers, but the one that has remained the same is my hair color. Before moving here, I added red highlights to my blond highlights and my tresses have been tri-colored for years. Considering that my hair had been super short for the majority of my time in DC, the color really accentuated the cut. But now that my hair is the longest its been in several years (it's finally just beyond shoulder length), the color really doesn't do anything for the cut. So, I'm going with chestnut brown with blonde highlights. I'll let you all know how it turns out as soon as I get it done (hopefully some time this week).

If you know me, then you know that my hair is very important to me. I'm the kind of person who buys those $15 shampoos and $20 hairsprays (non-aerosol, of course) and $30 hair wax because ithey're supposed to be better and I don't want to take my chances. You know how guys are stereotypically into their cars and are preoccupied with taking care of 'em, waxing 'em and doing preventative maintenance and having the best stereo and speakers and spoilers and whatever. Well, that's the way I am with my hair.

Because my boyfriend has to look at me everyday, I asked him what he thought of my decision. He said, "It's just hair. When it's all said and done, it's still you." Awww...isn't he sweet?

even men who don't exist suck

Yesterday, a coworker emailed me a link to this blog about a woman who found out that her husband was cheating on her with her best friend. Immediately, I was drawn in by the potential for drama as the blogger enacts her revenge. So I checked out the blog and read with interest from the beginning.

It turns out her best friend, Lauren, had convinced her to start a blog as a personal diary for Emily. This suggestion followed a conversation between the two where Emily inquired about Lauren's sex life (little did Emily know that Lauren was sleeping around with her husband). Lauren felt that the only people who ask about other people's sex lives are those that are not satisfied with their own (I have NEVER inquired about someone else's sex life--yay me!). So Lauren thinks that Emily should start a blog (probably her ploy to read everything about Emily's innermost thoughts).

So Emily writes about the normal stuff like "Jason and I want to have kids," "I'm off to Nantucket for the weekend," blah, blah, blah. And then you feel this sense of impending doom when her brother (who apparently works near where her husband works) urges Emily to keep an eye on her husband and that he would hire a PI. Emily doesn't feel the need for a private investigator and thinks the PI would only reveal that her husband still smokes the occasional cigarette.

And then she finds out. In a short post she reveals that her husband is cheating on her. In the following posts, Emily decides to enact her revenge. It begins with a billboard (see left). And
then it continues with Emily giving away his collection of wine. After that, Emily shows us a video from her PI of her husband and her best friend in compromising situations. She then posts fliers all over the city (LOST DOG, insert pic of husband here) the next day. Her next move, waiving all the good players on his fantasy baseball team, doesn't really seem like such a big deal but it probably is to her husband. She follows that up with giving him back his favorite teddy bear piece by piece.

I begin to have real sympathy for this woman. As a woman who has been cheating on before, I can totally relate to what she's feeling. During the wine hour at work yesterday, we all supported this woman's gusto, her bravado, her guts to do this to her husband. She is the epitome of the scorned woman but she's doing something about it. She refuses to be a victim and that's something to be admired.

Anyone else think that this is too good to be true? Don't get sucked in by the drama! It was all fake! Damn you Court TV and your viral marketing campaign.

an open letter to the object of my boyfriend’s affection

Dear XBOX 360,

You entered our lives on Monday and already I am fighting with you for his attention. He was so eager about your arrival. You see, Jesse's been wanting you since November. For 8 months, he has been checking you out (behind my back, might I add), watching your every move, reading all about you and how great you are. He has been tracking you down and just waiting for that right moment when you would finally become available. I had been operating under the assumption that he stopped tracking you in January. I was hoping that his obsession with you had become a passing fad. I hadn’t heard about you for months until I called Jesse to see what he was up to on Monday. “So, what are you up to?” I asked. Jesse says (with a smile that’s evident in his tone), “I’m hanging out here…with XBOX 360.” My heart sank. How is it possible? How did you sneak into our home, our lives together? How did you manage to steal my boyfriend’s affections from me and right under my nose?

It is difficult for me to express the hopelessness and despair I felt at that moment. I knew then that our lives would change forever. What was once a perfectly happy twosome has now become a threesome (and not a pleasurable one for me, might I add). I long ago had won the sole right of being the object of Jesse affection. I had no idea that one day I would have to share him.

I remember seeing you for the first time on Monday evening. Jesse displayed you with such pride. Me? I wasn’t impressed. Frankly, you’re a little too ‘vanilla’ for my tastes. You’re very pale (practically white) and flat and your green and silver accents do nothing for me. For whatever reason, my boyfriend is attracted to you.

Over the past few days, I’ve had to witness your time together. I see the way he looks at you, with a childlike eagerness in his eyes. I see how his big, strong hands carefully caress your buttons, pushing them in just the right way. You’ve taken away the time we spend together in the evenings. Those times when he should be cuddling with me and paying attention to me are now devoted to you.

Somehow, we’ve got to come up with a way to share him. I’m not giving up on Jesse that easily. And I should tell you that I failed the sharing lesson in kindergarten. But if he wants you AND me, there must be a way for us to co-exist in peace and civility. I am confident that his obsession with you will eventually come to pass but I will still be here as I have been for over two years.

If this is what Jesse truly wants, perhaps I could be convinced to participate in a threesome.

bush's idiocy: why I should not be surprised

The president of the US ruined a perfectly good workout for me yesterday. There I was, happily on the elliptical machine with my Marie Claire mag and Beyonce in my ear. For some odd reason, I decided to look up at the TVs in the gym and caught a glimpse of Bush on CNN with babies in the background. I knew the Stem Cell bill was gonna fall on his desk Wednesday. I had a small hope that it wouldn't get vetoed, but my cynical, Dem self knew better. So Bush staged this little press conference to announce his veto with all of these formerly frozen embryos (now grown kids) in the background.

How like Bush to ignore public opinion. Afterall, a vast majority of the public supports stem cell research. On Tuesday, the Senate voted 63-37 in favor of easing limits on federal funding of stem cell research. That means a great deal of Republicans voted in favor of this measure. Although more still needs to be done, stem cell research holds great promise in finding cures for diseases such as Parkinson's and Alzheimer's and treatment for quadriplegics and paraplegics.

I honestly don't feel that this is a major setback for researchers. That's because the major setback occurred almost 5 years ago--Aug. 9, 2001--when Bush announced that federally funded research would stop at the 20 already existing stem cell lines. The day marked the beginning of our slip down the research pipe line. You see, other countries (the UK for example) are still plugging away at this. In fact, we are losing researchers to these countries that are funding this research (if they don't leave the country, they could always head over to Cali which is big on stem cell research).

Sure, I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed that our researchers are lagging behind. I'm disappointed that our President doesn't care about what the public thinks (I said 'disappointed', not 'surprised'). But what really upsets me is that these frozen embryos he's so desperately trying to protect will end up getting discarded anyways if they're not used. These potential human beings he speaks of are getting trashed. Wouldn't a better alternative be to use them for research to produce a cure for Parkinson's or cancer or whatever?

You see, we're sacrificing science for ideology. And that's really disappointing.

because only the best people are

I had no idea Churchill was a Trojan. Fight on, dude.

For more info on the V for Victory (and USC's honorable mention) click here.

obama for prez

I have a little crush--a political crush, as strange as that sounds. Today, I had the privilege of attending the Capitol Hill briefing on Microbicides. The event was sponsored by the Alliance for Microbicide Development, the Global Campaign for Microbicides, the International Partnership for Microbicides and Women's Policy, Inc. The briefing was funded by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. What are microbicides, you ask? Microbicides are topical agents (there are many different kinds in development and in clinical trials)that when applied before sex can prevent against HIV or STI's or pregnancy. The development of an effective microbicide is essential to empower women of impoverished nations to protect themselves and take charge of their own sexual health.

Several congress peeps were to be in attendance, including Barack Obama, Olympia Snowe (who was a no show CORRECTION--I heard this afternoon that she was indeed there) and Hilda Solis (also a no show which was sad for me because I really like her). Obama sneaked in during the first presentation (as only a man of his stature can). It was immediately evident when he came in the room. I can hear people whispering, looking in the direction of the door (the Caucus Room was packed with Dems, I'm sure). Suddenly, no one was paying attention to the speaker (well, I was because she was interesting--I did acknowledge Obama). When the speaker realized this, she stopped HER OWN presentation to see if Obama wanted to speak right then. I'm thinking, Wow, does this man just demand this respect and consideration? He graciously refused and urged the speaker to continue (how classy).

Obama was given command of the floor following the speaker (who quickly wrapped up her presentation so that Obama could speak). He read from a prepared speech (Microbicides are imporant...blah, blah, blah...Give women the power...blah, blah, blah). And then he ditched the speech and spoke from personal experience. He's going to Africa next month. He feels very connected with the people from Africa. His dad's from Kenya and he wants to visit. His mom did a lot of international development work. He's passionate about helping others, especially those that can't help themselves. And that was when my crush began. His remarks following the prepared speech felt sincere. I was moved by what he said (and I'm already pretty passionate about this women and HIV cause). I surprised myself with my reaction. I'm typically pretty cynical when it comes to politicians. But this guy's got charisma for days.

As a Dem, our pickings have been slim as of late. Gore in '00--eh. Kerry in '04--ho hum. Hillary in '08--ugh. But Obama in '08. Now that's a bumper sticker I'd display proudly...if I had a car.

i'm not white but that's not the point

I just don't get it. First of all, I don't understand why some people insist on being defined by their race. Secondly, I don't understand why race continues to be an issue in this country. I feel as though the last couple of days, I have been reading a lot about racial tensions since the murder of a British politico in G-town last week (with the exception of this great post on the popularity of the Confederate flag in NJ). What I read on a recent DCist comment thread about this murder is a subtle (and sometimes not so subtle) implication that black = crime. I was shocked by such blatant racism. Some samples:

• "If I am walking to my home in my predominantly white neighborhood after midnight and approach a group of young African-Americans I am naturally (and logically) concerned only with correlation."
• "we should continue to overlook the undeniable correlation between race and violent crime. We won't be any safer on the streets for doing so, but at least our consciences will be more secure in their cocoons of white guilt."

The comments at AmericaBlog were just as bad (and frankly unnecessarily alarmist). So, what does this say about the people in this area reacting to this crime? People who claim to be open-minded really harbor innate feelings of racism and prejudice? The thought of that possibility scares me.

Believe me, I've experienced my fair share of racism. Let's see...there was the time (while working at the Crap) that a woman called me "The White Devil" when I wouldn't let her buy the items that another customer had placed on hold. Or the time that these women were criticizing me in Spanish ("Gringa, blah, blah, blah") and had no idea that I'm Mexican (and fluent in Spanish). Or how about when Jesse and I went to NYC on our third date and while on the subway ride to Yankee Stadium, a young kid muttered to me under his breath, "White Bitch!" (presumably because I was with my boyfriend who's black and I'm not).

My question is: At what point do we all become colorblind? What needs to happen to eliminate the barriers caused by race? Why do we still judge others by the color of their skin? Exactly what does a person's skin color say about the individual person?

The answer is nothing. My skin says nothing about me (other than the fact that I wear sunscreen regularly and avoid tans like the plague). My skin doesn't tell you that I'm a girl who was born in Orange County, California of Mexican immigrant parents who came here (legally) to provide my siblings and me with a better future. My skin doesn't tell you that I worked really, really hard to get full scholarships to both my private, Catholic high school and USC. My skin doesn't tell you that I saved every penny I had to move to DC and advance my career. My skin doesn't tell you that I've fought and I've struggled and I've earned every award, every accomplishment in my life.

So, please don't judge people on the color of their skin. You really don't know anything about anyone beyond that.

for those of you who ever wanted to know what hell is like

People who subscribe to the theory that hell is a miserable, flaming mess might be interested in visiting the DC area this week. Our weather here will be very similar to that of hell without the flames. Temperatures will reach 100 and I have no idea about the heat index but I'm thinking that the combination of 100 degree temps and DC's trademark humidity will produce temperatures that my body is not familiar with and hopes never to experience again. How people can live in these conditions is unfathomable to me.

Sure, Cali gets hot too and we do have deserts and all, but our so-warm-but-I-can-just-stand-here-in-the-shade-to-cool-off type of heat is nothing compared to DC in the summer. There is such a thing as dry heat and, let me tell you, it's so much better than heat and humidity. It is enough to make me roll my eyes whenever my mom complains about the heat back home.

So, stay cool and drink plenty of water. Or you could just take the next flight out to Cali. I hear humidity doesn't exist over there.

7 glasses of wine + empty stomach = bad idea

Ugh. Some random thoughts as I sit here, nursing my hangover...

I love my coworkers, but I think that if I work with them much longer, I will become an alcoholic. I had no idea that happy hours and non profits go hand in hand. For example, my coworkers have instituted a weekly Friday wine hour where we all stop work at 4 pm and get together in the conference room for wine and sometimes cheese. I just drink too much with my coworkers. Drinking is somehow embedded in our worklife. It's definitely encouraged. Empty wine glasses are frowned upon during wine hour. Yesterday, despite the fact that we were all getting together after work at the President's house for B's going away party, we still had our 4 pm wine time.

Lunch was an unsuccessful endeavor for me on Friday. J suggested that we get Vietnamese in G-town. My intention was to get a nice Subway sandwich with 6 grams of fat or less. I decided to go with J and I picked up some rolls. Took them back into the office and began to eat. I took one bite of the already greasy looking roll and I was disgusted. The roll tasted fine. However, it was full of grease and the remainder of the roll was leaking it. J says, "Isn't it good?" I'm like, "It's greasy." J says, "I know, but so good." I gave the rest of my lunch to S and didn't have time to run to Subway.

Which was a big mistake. I should've eaten something. Instead I proceeded to drink without anything in my belly to absorb the alcohol. I'm 27 years old for crying out loud. I should know to eat before drinking.

At the party, I picked at some snacks and stuff but didn't eat anything substantial. I DID drink though. After my two glasses of wine at work, I then drank 5 more over the course of the night. By 10 pm, I was ready to pass out. By that time, my coworkers had begun to eye me with sympathy. B says, "Really? You're drunk? Because you're hiding it really well." I was comsumed by my overwhelming desire to sleep, but they were probably expecting me to start dancing on tables (which I've done many times while drunk...but not in front of my coworkers).

Jesse and I shared a cab with A and her boo. I barely remember the trip. I do remember A asking me repeatedly, "Are you ok?" At some point during the cab ride, I do pass out. Jesse and I get out of the cab and start walked towards the car when I feel it. That powerfully debilitating feeling of dread at the pit of my stomach. Immediately, I know. I'm gonna be sick.

I did the most embarassing thing that I've ever done during my relationship with Jesse. I got sick in the bathroom. With Jesse right outside. Ugh. I'm never gonna drink this much again.

Who am I kidding???? I probably will drink this much again. However, I will remember to eat something before hand.

meet the Condom Granny

Because in the age of Viagra you are never too old to have sex - and develop AIDS...HIV does not discriminate and it affects both the young and old. This great article from the Sydney Morning Herald profiles a volunteer for the Senior HIV Intervention Program in FL.

Peeps, meet Miriam Schuler, the Condom Grandma. photo courtesy of the Syndey Morning Herald

Nine years ago, Ms. Schuler decided to do some volunteer work to help pass the time. Although she didn't know much about HIV/AIDS, she thought she'd give the Senior HIV Intervention Program a try. Ms. Schuler uses the words "shy" and "private" to describe herself, yet somehow found the way to say to a random stranger on her first try, "My name is Miriam, our program is called SHIP, Senior HIV Intervention Project, and we are here to educate the senior public about the dangers of unsafe sex".

Her reaction is classic--"When I heard myself say that, I nearly fainted. I mean, I have four children, but I've never spoken about it. It was a very big step for me."

Best part of the whole article is this:
Once a man asked her if one size of condom fitted everyone. She said: "Yes, of course they do".

He said: "Oh no, I need extra large." So she took a condom, rolled it down her arm to her elbow and said to him: "If you are this big, please give me your telephone number."

Kudos to you, Condom Granny. As a fellow AIDS activist, I am proud that you are educating the seniors of Ft. Lauderdale. Despite the resistance you've encountered ("At your age you ought to be ashamed of yourself"), I admire your perseverance and attention to this issue.

next up on Project Runway: design the most stylish hospital gowns

Today was my annual well woman visit. I'm sure that you're all thinking--TMI, OC girl, TMI. But this post isn't about all the poking and prodding and peeing in a cup. This is about my examination outfit. The infamous hospital gown.

Come on, now. You know the one. The shapeless potato sack with an open back (and not a sexy open back). At least I was fortunate enough to wear the gown backwards (open in the front so my boobs were exposed instead of my ass) so I could hold it together myself without feeling awkward. Oh, who am I kidding? It was still awkward. However, at least I didn't have to reach around my back to hold it together.

People have been complaining about the hospital gown for ages. I think it's time for an update. Afterall, it's already plenty uncomfortable to be wearing it in a cold, sterile room. Is it too much to ask to look cute while being examined? I'm sure plenty of you think that this is not the point. But my argument is that the hospital gown can contribute towards your state of mind during your medical visit. For example, if the gown had been stylish and somewhat modest, I would probably not have been twitching with nervousnous during my EKG (or did the EKG make me twitch?). A modicum of decency in a new hospital gown is not too much to ask for, in my opinion.
Perhaps we can remove the backless option. Or maybe it can be tied around to look like a wrap dress (actually...I think this idea could work). How about we just strategically place ties to avoid any gaping? This gown overhaul doesn't have to be that complicated.

Here it is, the potato sack.
*I actually took a picture of myself in it but it was too rated X for this blog (and that's for Jesse's eyes only)

i cancelled on happy hour? clearly it was a bad day

Work today was absolutely shiteous. I've been busy as of late because a couple of people in my office have turned in their notices and I've been asked to take over the tasks of one of the quitters. Her position, which is higher on the totem pole than mine, is something that I can easily do if I didn't already have other tasks (like my own job and the other responsibilities I have that are outside of my job description). However, the quitter's supervisor is someone I now consider a friend so I wanted to help her out.

The quitter can't properly explain a task to save her life. Each day this week so far, we've met so she can show me the various tasks she does with various computer programs. Unfortunately for me, quitter jumps around in her explanations rather frequently. For example, on explaining steps 1 through 10 of a task, on step 8 she said, "oh wait...I forgot step 2. Let's go back to step 2 and then I'll finish step 8." Ummm...ok.

Frankly, I'm not really learning anything new. I guess I'll just have to wing it when the quitter leaves. I think the worst part about learning her job is that it won't be my job when it's all said and done. Do I want it? Well...I only want the position for advancement purposes, but it's not what I ultimately want to do within the organization nor would it help me get there. But at least I wouldn't be at the lower end of the totem pole. Is that a good enough reason to want a job?

Additionally, I often feel like I've been downgraded to "boss' gopher" status. This is certainly not a position I want to be in. But it pains me to do the work that is under my job description when I really want to be doing all the out-of-job-description stuff that I do--full time. Now that's a position I'd be content with.

How many people out there are actually working the job that they envisioned themselves doing while in college? I was shocked to hear that my new work friend actually doesn't like her job. And what's truly shocking to me is that she's so good at what she does. But it's not what she wants to do. Wow. I'm trying to grasp that but I can't. At least I honestly feel as though I'm working towards what I want to do.

So, am I supposed to wait and be patient and hope that one day, the ideal position for me will open up within the organization? Could I be satisfied with doing the work I truly love on the side only? Or do we just never get to do the job that we thought we were meant to do?

Come on, Fate. Is this some kind of test? Because I think I'm failing.

OC girl and kickball? an unlikely pairing

As of today, I am officially a kickballer. Those of you who know me from my Wonkette mention are probably thinking, “oh no. Little miss priss is gonna ruin her mani-pedi with organized sports.” Actually, I don’t do manicures because my desire to keep the color intact seriously reduces my typing speed and I like typing quickly. Although I really don’t know much about kickball, the reality is that I’m kinda looking forward to playing.

How difficult can kickball be? You kick a ball and run some bases. It’s easy, right?

My friend Kate invited Jesse and me to join her team. Jesse’s an ol’ kickball pro so he’s cool with it all (and he was one of the best players on that team from what I recall). On the other hand, I haven’t played kickball since grade school so I’m not too sure about my skills. I’m a little nervous that I’m gonna suck. And as far as team sports go, I don’t really want to bring down the team. So, I’m feeling a little pressure.

But there’s a certain adrenaline rush that comes with the competition in organized sports. The desire to win fuels your performance, which in turn, hopefully drives your team. That’s probably what I enjoyed the most about my previous oraganized sports endeavor—IM-REC co-ed basketball at USC. I enjoyed that people thought that I couldn’t play basketball since I’m a girl (hard to believe that some people still think that these days). My desire to prove them wrong furthered my desire to win which then affected my performance. Competitive sports does have its perks.

But kickball perks are different. Apparently, there’s alcohol and happy hour involved. And frankly, it’s hard to say no to that.

OC GIRL BREAKING NEWS--I was at Ballston Metro with the Crazy Guy

I'm sure all of you Orange Line riders are very upset about the delay this afternoon. You heard it here first, peeps...what really went down at Ballston Metro today during rush hour.

Ann, my work buddy, and I were on our way home shortly after 5 pm. We got off the Orange Line train at Ballston Metro and suddenly, we hear commotion on the train at the opposite platform (in the direction of New Carrollton). Clear as day (even with typical rush hour noise and commotion), we can hear this Crazy Guy just yelling while in the train. He then continues his crazy yelling on the platform. Ann and I paused as people who would just stop and stare while something insane was happening before our eyes. The train just stayed there while this Crazy Guy was spewing his crazy talk. He seemed very angry...at what or who, we don't know. Ann says, "Should we tell people not to go down to the platform? What if he's got a gun or something?" After thinking for a few seconds (cuz really that's all the time we have to come up with these kinds of decisions), I tell her, "I'm gonna go tell the station manager; I'll be right back."

I went to where I thought the station manager would be and I find people telling (what appears to be) a metro maintenance worker about the Crazy Guy. The worker doesn't really seem to know what to do. I repeat to her, "Look, there's a Crazy Guy on the platform...you might want to tell the Metro police." There was, after all, a lone cop on the other side of the turnstyles (he appeared to be dealing with juvenile delinquents at the time). The worker tells the station manager, who then waits for the cop to be finished with the juveniles before he tells him about Crazy Guy...because clearly it's more important to stop kids who skip out on their metro fares than to prevent a major catastrophe.

Before the cop finally heads down to the platform, we hear multiple people saying, "the guy's got a gun!" I tell Ann, "Looks like it's time to go." Ann says, "We've gotta stop people from going down to the platform." I'm thinking that's the station manager's job, but what do I know? I don't work for Metro. Ann and I decide to look for more cops instead (because clearly the cop more interested in ticketing juveniles couldn't handle Crazy Guy on his own). We run up the escalators and find that there are no cops around. Are you freakin' kidding me? Where are the cops when you need them?

Within seconds, one cop arrives. One single girl cop. Ann and I had the same reaction--"oh great...one cop and it's a girl." But then, the cavalry arrives. Six...Seven...no, EIGHT cop cars arrive. Cops come out in full riot gear and shot guns and run down the escalators. Ann says, "Still no one is telling people not to go down there." So, what do we do? Ann and I position ourselves on either side of the Metro 'down' escalator and tell people, "Look, don't go down there. There's someone on the Metro platform with a gun...allegedly."

People start asking us (as if we're the authority) what's going on. We tell everyone the same thing...we're not sure....we saw this guy acting crazy on the platform...people who were getting off his train were saying that he had a gun...we're trying to err on the side of caution here. Suddenly, the cops come up the escalator...with Crazy Guy (who's still angry and screaming and yelling). They take him to my bus stop and force him down to the ground. The cops then search every inch of his body (and frankly, if I was a cop I would be pissed about having to search his dirty, filthy body). Following this search, they then search the huge duffle bag he was carrying (I think he was homeless). Crazy Guy reveals there is a hatchet in his duffle (while all of this is happening, people are still coming up to Ann and me like we're the authority on what happened).

The police removed several items from his duffle and placed them in a plastic bag. They then hauled him into the car.

Ann asks me, "do you think we're gonna be in the news?" Nah, no one's gonna talk about how Ann and I did our best to prevent major chaos. I do have many concerns about how Metro handles these kinds of escalated situations. First of all, the whole Crazy Guy incident caused a major delay on the Orange Line. Where were the Metro employees who should've been warning commuters about the delay? Whatever happened to PlanBdextrous (the one time a Metro slogan comes in handy we can't even use it)? Or how about keeping commuters from the platform for safety's sake? What if the guy had a gun and was shooting up the place? If it was up to Metro, we probably wouldn't have known.

In the end, everyone was safe. I'd like to think that Ann and I played a role in that.



There's Crazy Guy, on the ground in that bus stop.

because when you look at me like that, it so makes me want to leave my boyfriend for you

Give me a woman who doesn’t have a story to tell about some guy and his unwanted public advances and I’ll give you a dollar (hey, I work for a non profit). Hollaback DC, a blog about women against street harassment, got some props on DC Blogs today and after perusing the site and its stories about men and their catcalling and their “hey baby”s, I thought of the STARE. You know what I mean, ladies-- the guys who just look and look and look until they can look no more because you are now too far away from them. If anything, this could be just as annoying as the catcalling and such.

I’ve encountered the STARE on many occasions (trust me, I’m not bragging). One time, I was all dressed up for work and decided to do a day time smoky eye make-up scheme. On my way into Union Station metro, a man leaving the station literally stopped and STARED at me. It wasn’t until I had passed through the turnstiles that he said something—“damn, baby, those eyes!” Why even say anything at all at that point? I was already halfway to downtown.

Every day on the bus ride to the Metro, I get the STARE. In fact, whenever I make it a point to look nice for work, I feel that the STARE potential increases and I kinda dread it. It’s very uncomfortable to be sitting there with my nose in my book and to feel like people are looking at me. It makes me lose my focus (and it makes me want to hide any potential cleavage sightings).

The all-time worst STARES are the ones I get while I’m out with Jesse. Most of the time, Jesse points them out to me (I’m usually too distracted by my boyfriend’s sexiness to notice much else). I could be holding his hand, rubbing his back, gazing lovingly into his eyes and there it is—the STARE. It’s really amusing to me that a guy would do the STARE when I’m so clearly with someone else. Do they think that the STARE is powerful enough to make me want to leave my man?

While out with my boo and I get the STARES, the usual suspects tend to be Latino. Once, Jesse asked me why Latino men do the STARE. After I corrected him and said that all men do the STARE, I hypothesized that it could be a machismo thing with Latinos (when in doubt, always blame the machismo). Apparently, after the cooking and the cleaning, women are also good for eye candy.

Why, why, WHY even bother? I just don’t understand why the STARE even exists. It’s like the wimpy man’s catcall.

another reason for me to hate the 'burbs

bug bites
Originally uploaded by lizzie c..

So, on Saturday, I went out to MD for a backyard bar-b-q party. Little did I know that mosquitos come out during the day (for some reason I thought they were nocturnal creatures...silly me). And mosquitos just love me. Unfortunately, the feeling is not mutual. I hate the little blood suckers because they leave my skin looking like this. And oh my god, I itch so bad, I just wanna scratch my skin raw.

By the way, yes, I really am that white. I'm probably the whitest Mexican out there. Don't make fun tho. I try to avoid the sun since my big skin cancer scare of '05. Yet, my bad mole (now gone and just a scar on my leg) never looked like these bites.

hey, the thick skin actually works

Before leaving the house yesterday, I didn't really think much of my outfit. I threw on cargos and one of my favorite USC t-shirts--the one that reads, "USC girls rock."

Jesse and I were out pretty much all day yesterday. After attending a party for one of my co-workers in the middle of MD suburbia, we met up with my friends Dave and Enzo and went to the Nats game for our free visors (Jesse really wanted one...I don't think I look my best with a visor on). The Nats lost again so that wasn't very fun. Following the game, we all went to Lauriol Plaza for dinner.

Since Jesse and I were in a vehicle (and the boys had to Metro it), we beat them and waitedfor them in the bar part of the restaurant. While hanging at the bar, I noticed that these guys were looking at me, definitely NOT in a checking out kind of way. Seconds after I noticed them, they started saying (LOUDLY and repeatedly), "USC SUCKS....blah, blah, blah (something purposely inaudible) USC SUCKS." Jesse didn't even notice. If this had happened a week ago, I probably would've just whined about being picked on by random people (if I was drunk, then we would've had a war of words). Instead, I thought, "Stupid Bruins" (I assumed they had gone to UCLA, who else would hate USC so much?), ignored them and continued to drink my delicious frozen strawberry margarita.

I think my thick skin looks good on me.

me and the Mexican are like this *fingers crossed*

The thick skin just came in. Fits like a glove.

In all honesty, yesterday was not the best day for me, particularly because I had never known of random people who would want me dead (and over a silly little blog post). My boyfriend, always the optimist, tried to get me to look on the bright side and encourage me. I didn’t even begin to see the light until he suggested that I write my favorite Mexican, Gustavo Arellano, to seek his guidance. Now you see, Gustavo (we’re on first name basis now) is a talented writer. He’s smart. He’s funny. He’s snarky. But most of all, he’s opinionated (and he’s smart enough to back up his opinions). Regular OC girl readers know that I am a huge fan. And now he does too.

The thing with Gustavo (the columnist at OC Weekly’s “Ask a Mexican!”) is that he’s always pissing off someone. People leave nasty notes on his blog. They send angry letters to the OC Weekly. In fact, this week’s OC Weekly contains a letter asking that Gustavo be fired simply because he's pro-immigrant. Clearly, the kid’s had to face some adversity. Jesse was right in suggesting that I contact him.

So I emailed Gustavo. I informed him that I was a fan and I asked him how to deal with the haters. And the following appeared in my inbox:

Gracias for the love. I deal with the haters like this: anyone who doesn't love me is a MORON.

Gustavo
www.ocweekly.com

Yes, that’s true. I’m so not a moron. So, with thick skin and many opinions, I continue to blog.

the fight against birth control is a fight against women

Just a warning, I’m feeling a soapbox moment coming on. Yesterday, a co-worker passed along an editorial from the New England Journal of Medicine--Plan B, Reproductive Rights, and Physician Activism by Rebekah E. Gee, MD, MPH. The author is one of two people who brought on the lawsuit against Wal-Mart in Massachusetts for refusing to fill a prescription for Plan B (the morning-after pill which is 75% effective in preventing pregnancy if taken within 72 hours of having sex). The article details her story and we all know how it ends. Wal-Mart is now stocking all of their pharmacies with Plan B (or so they say). Currently, there is a case up in New York against the FDA, who has unreasonably blocked Plan B’s over-the-counter status. The article also mentions a growing anti-contraception movement in the United States (which is definitely felt here in my office). My question is why? Why is this country so against contraception?

The easy answer is to blame the religious right. Their claim that access to contraception promotes sexual promiscuity is baseless (where’s the research?). During the FDA’s Plan B deliberations, there was a concern being passed around that teenagers’ access to Plan B would lead to sex cults. Really? Sex Cults? Come on. In reality, the research shows that access to Plan B does not change the sex habits of teens.

So, the religious right is against contraception and abortion. If they’re against abortion, how do you prevent unplanned pregnancies (which I’m assuming is the reason why women have abortions)? What is the realistic solution to preventing an unplanned pregnancy? Contraception. Yet (according to conservatives) women are not to have access to contraception or abortion. In fact, according to our government, condoms aren’t all that effective in preventing STD’s and pregnancy either. So it would be better to bring in an unwanted child into the world (or possibly put them up for adoption in our over-crowded foster care system)? Or perhaps all women should wait until marriage to have sex. If you never marry, then you’re shit outta luck.

What about women? It doesn’t seem fair that we let our government dictate what we should and should not do with our own bodies. There is very clear bias against women here. For example, there is no controversy over pharmacists refusing to fill prescriptions for Viagra. The sole purpose of Viagra is to restore men’s sexual abilities, certainly not to procreate in their old age. However, some pharmacists won’t fill prescriptions for birth control because it’s morally wrong. Really now? I don't see any moral "correctness" in Viagra. Frankly, I don’t see anyone campaigning against vasectomies either.

98% of women use contraception (according to data from Planned Parenthood). Perhaps a woman’s first consideration before voting should be her sex life. Sadly, there are people out there who are fighting to make sure we don’t have one.

now I know how Britney Spears feels

They say there’s no such thing as bad publicity. But what about too much publicity? Frankly, the exposure I received from Wonkette was a catch-22. I appreciate the number of people who visited my blog and enjoyed my post about DC tourists. Heck, most of them understood it to be amusing. However, there were quite a few people who came to my blog without an open mind. I know this because they left behind evidence in the form of negative comments (I have since enabled comment moderation). Among the negative gems I received:

• How completely vapid you are

• pissy little princess

• stop being a stuck-up, self-centered whore

• "Things OC girl should do help me deal better with her" 1. Kill yourself

• Fascist

• You must be a Republican

That last one probably irked me the most (and I didn’t even include all the bloggers that have blogged about how snobby I am). Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. I have mine (and blog about it) and you have yours. Being relatively new to the blogging scene, I was not prepared for these kinds of statements. I may not have thick skin now, but I ordered it and it should arrive tomorrow via FedEx.

confidential to birthday girl in LA

Happy Birthday to you!
Happy birthday to you!
Happy birthday dear 'big sis'!
Happy birthday to you!

Things you should know before you visit the nation’s capital

As a city regular, I know that we’ve all been frustrated at some point with the tourists. It really is ok to admit it. Take comfort in the fact that you are not alone. BEHOLD my effort to train tourists on how we would prefer them to be. I have created a DC fact sheet for you to pass on to anyone you know who is planning on visiting our city. These are just some random tips in no particular order and should be considered an addendum to any published DC tourist guide.

1. When traveling in DC using Metro, please do not use the Metro until after 9:30 a.m. Monday through Friday as a courtesy to those of us who are trying to get to work in a timely fashion.
2. There are other Metro stations besides Smithsonian station that you can get off at and explore the Mall—to name a few Federal Triangle, Archives-Navy Memorial, Union Station.
3. Please be advised that wearing the same color t-shirt as others in your tour group will elicit ridicule from passers-by.
4. Leave the fanny packs at home. We in DC like to maintain a reasonable level of style and a cute canvas tote (monogrammed with your initials, preferably) would meet your needs in a fashionable way.
5. Please educate yourself about the wonders of the City before you speak. For example, it is not appropriate to tell your 10-year-old son, “Hey that’s where the president lives” in front of the Capitol Building.
6. Tour groups—please skip our shopping malls. Trust me, we have the same Gaps and American Eagles you do in your home towns.
7. Before using Metro, please pick up a Metrorail map and plan your route ahead of time, that way we can read our Express papers and listen to our Ipods in peace.
8. Do not eat or drink on Metro. Although it is illegal, chances are you won’t get caught. However, we prefer not to have to move your garbage over when claiming a seat.
9. Bring enough clothes for your trip and save the souvenir t-shirts for home. When you wear your “FBI”, “CIA”, or “I heart DC” t-shirts proudly in DC, you are immediately identified as a tourist. And trust me, that’s not good.
10. Please be advised that the City itself is not very kid friendly. If you let your kids behave without proper decorum, don’t be surprised when a random stranger disciplines your kids for you.
11. If you are too lazy to walk on the Metro escalators, stand to your right. It is in your best interest to do so. Otherwise, you risk the power of the wrath of the dozens of people behind you who aren’t lazy and have somewhere to be.
12. Before you start clutching your purses and holding them close to you while in the City, you should know that DC is not the crime capital it used to be. But if you’re not used to urban living, stay away from the non-Capitol-Hill parts of NE and SE.
13. If you decide to drive to the City and park here, do not be surprised by the sudden appearance of multiple dents and scratches.
14. Be constantly aware of the people around you. Keep in mind that your presence is a nuisance and please behave appropriately to alleviate said nuisance.
15. Thank you for visiting and bringing revenue to our nation’s capital.
    

raise your hands if you want to take the rest of the week off

Who else had a 4 day weekend? Who else doesn't want to be at work today? I feel like I just got back from vacay and I need another day to come to terms with the fact that I must return to work. Although this is the last place I want to be, I am at work today.

I was also at work yesterday. My building hosted a little (keyword: free) 4th of July gathering and opened up the rooftop to check out the fireworks. The food was not too great but the view was worth it. The fireworks were nice and patriotic as they usually are. The occasional flash of lightning added to the drama. It was Jesse's first time in DC for the fireworks since he was a kid and I think he had a good time.

My biggest concern of the evening was the after-fireworks-rush on the metro. I was expecting to wait a lifetime on the platform for a train that we could manage to board. Strangely, Jesse and I were able to get on the first train we saw at Foggy Bottom. It wasn't a comfortable ride. We were packed in like sardines. Luckily we parked at Courthouse metro, so we had a short trip.

At Rosslyn, a few people stepped out of the train and even more wanted to board. A woman got on the so-tight-we-were-all-sexually-violating-each-other train and actually had the nerve to ask, "Are there any seats?" She was genuinely searching for a place to sit and tried to manuever past my boyfriend with his football player build in her attempt to sit. I wanted to tell her, "Look lady, you're lucky that you even have a place to stand on this train." Ugh. Tourists. I swear...

Anyway, the nightmare only lasted until the next stop. I really do love DC's fireworks but I may have to reconsider catching 'em next year. My disdain for tourists is getting to be too much.

happy birthday, America!

Happy 4th of July, peeps! As we all take the time to reflect on our country's independence from Britain over a few beers and hot dogs, let's not forget to play safe today. Wherever you are and however you celebrate, have fun and be good.

OC girl got a makeover!

Hope my peeps all like the new look. It's still pink but not overly so. Thanks, Jesse, for helping me out with the template switch and for adding the beach image for me.

happy DC birthday to me!

Four years ago today, I left the comfort and perfection of southern Cali for DC--a day that I call my DC birthday. It used to be a day I would celebrate by drinking (back when I needed an excuse to drink). But I think my liver needs a break. So, I will reflect instead.

Earlier today, Jesse and I were cleaning out the condo. We threw out a lot of junk, including this incredibly old plastic laundry basket that Jesse has had since he started college. The handles were broken and it was really falling apart. Every time I've picked it up, it hurt my hands. I've hated that thing since Jesse moved in and I've been stating my case for a replacement for awhile. I just couldn't understand why Jesse wasn't in a hurry to replace it. Even so, I decided to add it to the garbage that was a part of our summer cleaning.

When dumping the trash, Jesse showed me where the basket lay in the dumpster. He had a little nostalgic moment--reminiscing about all the times he had moved since his freshman year and how that laundry basket had been with him through it all. Not realizing the gravity of the moment, I casually said, "Well, it has served it's purpose and now it's time to move on." Jesse replied, "Yeah, I guess." Did that basket really mean anything? Was Jesse really sad? Was I being insensitive?

As I recollect today's laundry basket moment, a thought occurred to me. Is Cali my "laundry basket"? I know Cali's not old and falling apart like the laundry basket, but you get me. It's hard to let go of things that mean so much to you and carry so many memories. I think about home all the time--my family, my friends, my dog, the beach, the ocean. Not a day goes by where I don't compare Cali and DC or West Coast and East Coast. The weather here is constantly an issue for me (a result of being spoiled with great weather back home). Lots of things here remind me of how I am not home.

I love Orange County. I've always been proud of where I'm from, long before the show ever aired on Fox. But the reality is that Cali hasn't felt the same to me since I left. I've endured so much since I moved. Moving to a strange city and not knowing anyone is a difficult task. I know that I have changed significantly since I left home (and I'm not just talking about my hair). Yet, Cali shaped me and helped me to become the person that I am. However, DC has also had a profound influence on me, so much so that I always feel "different" when I step onto that tarmac in Long Beach every time I fly home.

Does this mean that Cali has already served its purpose? Is it my turn to move on? The truth is that I will always be a Cali girl no matter where I live. They say that home is where your heart is. So, if my heart is here, does that make DC my home? Maybe.

about my favorite guy ever

Yesterday, I spent the day with my favorite guy (who shall remain nameless). There are quite a few reasons why he is my favorite guy out of all the guys I know and he demonstrated some of those reasons yesterday.

It all started with my desire to see the movie, The Devil Wears Prada. Expecting to be shot down, I asked him to come. To my surprise, he said, "yes" with little hesitation. During the movie, he sat there with me and kept an open mind. While watching, I could tell that he was getting it--the jokes and fashion references. He even recognized Heidi Klum in a cameo (which I guess is not so hard when you're a straight male.)! But he didn't recognize her from the Victoria's Secret ads. He recognized her from one of my favorite shows--Project Runway!

Following the movie, I asked my favorite guy if he liked it. He said he had enjoyed it! By this point, I probably should've suspended disbelief, but I continued to remain pleasantly surprised. A nice conversation about the good and bad stuff in the movie followed and it made me very happy.

We then ventured on to Ikea. Trips to Ikea always end up being adventures with my favorite guy because we look at every single thing and end up picking up things we didn't intend to buy. He listened to everything I had to say about the stuff he thought he should buy and really valued my opinion. Afterwards, I was allowed to pick our dinner spot and I requested Red Robin (one of the few chain restaurants I actually enjoy). My request was met without resistance. A trip back to Arlington followed. And during this whole day, my favorite guy was decked out in Cali references--a UCSC tee and Padres visor.

So, favorite guy, I'm pretty sure I forgot to thank you for the fun and hijinx yesterday. Oh, and I think I forgot to tell you that you looked sexy in your Banana Slugs shirt.