Breaking the Ice

Tuesday night. Panera Bread in Silver Spring. Walter and I are having our usual sign-language-and-steaming-cup-of-decadent-hot-chocolate rendez-vous, and we're having a typical conversation. The gist is that I am not confident enough about my sign skills to break the ice and introduce myself when I see other people signing in public places.

Since looking at deaf people essentially amounts to eavesdropping, behaving correctly around signers can be tricky. The best thing to do, I've found, is to break in, say something small-talkish, and immediately then go back to your reading or looking out the window or people-watching or whatever. This shows the signers that you aren't staring voyeuristically and also that you understand the cultural rules.

The problem is that I totally freeze up. What are you supposed to say, exactly, to break the ice in a couth manner? Walter suggested simply asking, "Are you deaf?" Please understand that deaf culture is extremely blunt, and such a question is by no means considered rude.

I mulled it over, and we turned our attention to The DaVinci Code movie.

As Walter walked me to my car, I noticed two guys about my age having a conversation in sign language. I got their attention and asked if they were deaf. Walter cracked up like it was the funniest thing he's ever seen, signed that he was proud of me, and the four of us chatted for a while about where our new friends should go for dinner, where we all worked, and (in my case) how long we've been learning sign language. He was right - it was easy, succinct, broke the ice for further conversation, conveyed the appropriate cultural signals, and who knows... maybe I'll make some new friends, too.

Maturity Is Something Other Than Being Dull

Quoth my dear friend and coveted companion while extolling some of the lesser known virtues that I have in common with his beloved, who far surpasses me as a woman in every way. Regardless, I am always appreciative of the brief but thorough feeling of grace and sophistication which comes over me while dining with he who shall remain nameless (in an effort to quell the unintended publicity that tends to come his way as an accomplished and oft discussed journalist, historian, classicist, and author).

I've written about him before, more eloquently than I shall tonight, as being a friend who knows me deeply, who knows me only as one who understands the HC can understand me, who makes me feel at my best, womanly, sirenly, intelligently, enchantingly.

I look forward this summer to many more glasses of wine and talks tottering between irreverent and intellectual.

Exhale

Feeling much better since my last post. I have a new apartment which is a lovely studio with a sunroom in my own beloved neighborhood. I had a great week at work and everyone there has been kept happy.

Now I am relaxing, my usual Friday night in. I have a film and a bottle of wine. Formal yoga practice followed by a hot shower, and now I am ready for a lovely weekend.

Rob is taking me to his favorite sushi restaurant tomorrow night which, alarmingly, I've yet to experience. Aside from that I have a few good friends in town who I intend to keep company, a nice long run waiting for me tomorrow, a few naps, some music, some reading, and some nothing.

Let it commence!

Discomfort

I hate indecision. I hate when things are not clear. I am uncomfortable when plans are nebulous; I can't handle standing on the verge of being displaced. I don't like being a stranger in my own home. I don't like being (feeling) uprooted.

I am distracted at work now and can't concentrate on anything. I want to go back to my apartment and do yoga and make tea and nap.

I want to settle in somewhere for months and years and have a home of my own.

All Is Vanity

Some of you may not know this, but I am obsessed with my collarbones. They have become a bit more pronounced lately due to some carefully crafted yoga series' targeting the upper body. This is a good thing.

Sometimes I dream that I'm looking in the mirror and I have these beautiful bony, fragile collarbones.

Tonight I'm having dinner downtown with Stephanie to celebrate her first completed year of law school!

DMV Exp.

One would think, given that the DC DMV is located on the first floor of my building, that the convenience of location would temper the frustration of procedure. Not necessarily true. Today, however, was an exception.

I made it through the pre-screening process, where a brusque lady made sure I had all my paperwork in order, and took a seat, by chance, next to Counter Thirteen. The woman taking care of her vehicle registration at Counter Thirteen had almost finished as I was taking my seat, and I saw her not only thank the attendant she was dealing with but reach across to grasp the attendant's hand, look right into her eyes, and laud her profusely. I was intrigued by that point. Since when did the DMV start hiring customer service personnel worthy of such praise?

Twenty long minutes later my number was called. I waited impatiently for the screen to flash my counter number. Thirteen! Yes!

"Oh my god," I breathed to the attendant, "I was hoping to get your counter after I saw that other woman leave here so happy!"

"Oh baby you've come to the right place then, I'll take care of everything you need."

And she did! But I still have to pay a $100 parking ticket. Yeah. My fault. No contesting it. Failure to display proper tags. Which resulted from a failure to receive the tag renewal in the mail, which is because I never officially changed my address when I moved a year ago, so the DMV doesn't know where I live. So whatever, at least now my car won't get towed, and I feel a sudden urge to commit a random act of kindness, all on account of the DC DMV. Have stranger things happened?

Spoiled

Dinner tonight is New York strip steaks with red wine shallot sauce and mushrooms stuffed with a lovely blend of bread crumbs, chopped mushroom stems, chopped pecans, garlic, and Herbes de Province - topped with grated parmesan cheese and complimented by Belgian beer.

And the best thing is, I cooked it all!

(If by 'cooked' you mean topped with parmesan cheese and by 'all' you mean the mushrooms.)

Attempts At Writing Well

I don't enjoy writing anymore.

When I was at the HC, regularly required to submit exegeses on arcane concepts wrought in classical Greek literature, I took great pleasure in smoothing out on paper the cultural and intellectual complications seeding in my mind.

Now, all I seem to write is narrative. At work, I'm bound to technical memos and documents which require standardized language. If I'm composing an analytic report pertaining to a certain crime event, I must standardize my language so that if the document goes to court it looks and sounds like other documents of it's type. It's not meant to be a place for creative expression.

My blog has the potential to be a cathartic outlet, but instead I just write about what I did the day before, in bullet points mainly, without exploration or seeking clarity. I want to be compelled to write, to feel as though my head will explode unless I get my thoughts down on paper. I used to feel that way all the time. But I used to be innundated with inspiration and example. I used to be immersed in an environment representing the very pinnacle of classical thought and intellectual rigor. Now, I work for the police department.

Moment

Beginning my run in Rock Creek Park this lovely, cool, sunny evening I saw a female duck napping between the trail and the river, her head tucked beneath her wing. The mallard was standing next to her, looking around and keeping faithful watch.

Reminded me of Rob and me, early on Sunday mornings when he wakes with the dawn and I sleep in.

Downsizing

The spring cleaning fever has hit me. I am prone to becoming obsessed with downsizing. Right now I am waiting for the college hunks to come take away my old pine desk. I might have them quote me on a price to remove my dresser as well...

I am obsessed with having only things that I can move myself. Right now, I own 3 - soon 2 - pieces of furniture that I cannot move myself. This makes me nervous. I guess it's a control issue...

If I move in the next month or so, I think I will get rid of the dresser... it would be a good opportunity to get one that is a bit smaller, one that I could handle by myself.

Is there a theme here? I don't know... I always think, what if there's some sort of emergency and I have to move quickly and there's no one to help me? I panic when I think of being tied to a location because of possessions. Ideally, I would like for everything I own to fit in my car. That way I would be totally free.

Live Wire

Welp, I'm online. Live! Wired! Blogging from home!

It's actually kind of nice to be able to take care of things from home now, on my own time, to research items of personal interest without feeling guilty or waiting until a lunch break...

Had an excellent day today. I might have news, but I'm going to wait until things are more clear before I say anything publicly. The last thing I want to do is retract a joyous proclamation.

I Want To Stay Still, But I Can't

My rent is increasing. A lot. Not more than I can afford, but more than I'm willing to abide.

So I'm thinking about moving. Rather, I'm thinking about whether or not staying in my apartment would depress me just on principle. I have a lovely apartment in a beautiful, safe, tree-lined neighborhood. But I don't want to pay four figures for it.

But I'm not a risk-taker. I like things to be safe. I don't want to give notice that I'm moving unless I have another apartment lined up. But I have to give notice in 7 days. If 7 days go by and I haven't found another apartment, will I still give notice? How strong are my principles?

It's not that I'm afraid I'll be homeless, it's that I'm afraid that I'll wind up being forced to take an apartment that is either inordinately expensive, or unsafe. It's that I'll have to compromise. It's that I'll have to take something short-term and then move again in a matter of week. It's that I prefer a comfortable, convenient life.

Oh Lord, please don't turn this into a lesson in learning to live on the outer edges of my boundaries...

Ignorami

What is the plural of 'ravioli'?

Is it 'ravioli'?

I hate it when people say 'raviolis.'

I Am Torn

Well, I was torn, but now I think I know what to do.

Here's the situation.

I have a brand-new Dell computer at home that I never use. Sometimes I draft MS Word documents before handcopying onto stationery, I sometimes keep track of running progress, every now and then I burn a CD. But most days, the computer is left untouched.

So the only way to actually use my computer, which I want to do because I paid for it and it's there, is to restore internet access at home. But I even under-utilize the internet, as all I ever do is check email and maybe get directions from time to time.

So do I get rid of the computer or restore the internet?

I have decided. I am coming back online, as painful as this is.

There are some advantages, though, like not having to use my work computer to do this like *THIS* and check bank accounts, other personal business...

But... I... my pride... my asceticism... what will happen to me?

Because I Don't Do Enough Gushing...

Have I ever mentioned that my boyfriend is an amazing cook? And not only that, but he aims to please. His home is basically my restaurant. I place my breakfast order the night before, he goes shopping while I sleep in, and cooks to order while I lounge around on the couch watching trashy Sunday morning TV.

Once he made this amazing apple compote that we had over blueberry pancakes. His omelettes (eggs with feta cheese, spinach, and sauteed shallot) come with slab bacon AND tea AND hot chocolate.

For dinner last week he made shrimp and chorizo quesadillas with guacamole which can I just say he MADE FROM SCRATCH with all sort of yummy ingredients.

Before I'm labeled a spoiled brat (which actually I won't deny) I WILL say that I try my best to make sure the dishes are done before we part ways for the day. But still. I get the better end of the deal.

Chugging Tea Like An Englishwoman

I'm in that oh-so-frustrating stage where I'm pretty sure I'm about to get sick, and I'm pretty sure that there's nothing I can do to stop it.

It will probably be a common cold, although coming down with the plague would be kind of interesting. Hell, if you're gonna get sick you might as well get the plague. It's much more fun to call in sick to work if you have the plague.

Apparently a donzen or so people come down with the plague every year, and most don't die.

Sign for Spring

I just adore the weather we've been having in DC lately. This morning it was 62 degrees when I left for work at 6am, but it's only going to get to 73 degrees for the high this afternoon! Perfect!

The other lovely thing is that it's light out now when I wake up. I firmly believe in not being awake before the sun. There's something so depressing about crawling out of bed in the dark, sure that the majority of people nearby are still snug in their beds awaiting a 7am alarm. But when it's light out it feels later than it is, it even feels natural to be up and moving about.

Which is not to say that I enjoy waking as early as I do. But I enjoy the long afternoon ahead of me when my early shift is over.

I've worked 10-11 hour shifts the past two days. Last night I got home around 6:30, had a glass of wine and a hot shower, and was fast asleep by 8:30. Sad, I know, but I feel great today; well rested and ready to exact justice.

Is Breaking Up Hard To Do?

Having never been through an official breakup (although something once felt like it), I am exploring this topic anew. Naive, maybe. But admittedly.

Just as I cannot imagine two people transitioning seamlessly from lovers to friends, I cannot imagine transitioning seamlessly from lovers to nothing.

Given that neither party is unquestionably angry or hurt (having been cheated on, mistreated, etc), is it not possible to part ways carefully and communicatively? Lovingly, even? People can grow apart and concede that they would be happier separated without turning into drooling, possessive, defensive monsters? How is it that two people who treat each other with care one week can so easily become neglectful and hurtful the next?

Maybe my 'given' is too much of one to ask.

Fogo de Chao

I got paid for some overtime at work and decided to take Rob out to dinner at Fogo de Chao, one in a string of amazing restaurants on Pennsylvania Ave NW between 6th St and 12th St. We knew a little bit behind the concept of the cuisine there but, based on our frames of mind and body upon finishing, were clearly not prepared for the succulence and abundance within.

The menu is price-fixe and therefore the meat (Fogo de Chao is a Brazilian steakhouse) is continiuous and unending. The diner indicates that he or she is ready to eat by turning a little disc from the red to green side up. Almost instantly, the gaucho servers appear with one of fifteen different cuts of meat that they slice directly from skewers onto your plate.

The meat keeps coming (and I mean it keeps coming) until you turn your disc to the red side, indicating that you need a break. Return it to the green side and the gauchos appear again, like magic!

For meat-lovers such as the two of us, this place was pure heaven... and now that we've gorged ourselves senseless, next time we will refrain from sprinting to the finish and try to pace our stride a little more evenly.

Now I know why gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins. And why, if given the chance, a horse will eat itself to death. Because it feels so, so good while you're doing it.....

This will be a post of randomly disconnected thoughts.

I cannot figure out how to put a title bar on this blog.

This morning on the metro someone was clipping their fingernails. Gross. Sorry, but I think that personal hygiene should be, well, personal.

I am not a fan of wearing running shoes with a business suit. Even if it's just for the walk from the parking lot into the office, where the person will then change into more appropriate shoes. If your dress shoes aren't comfortable enough to walk in, don't buy them, don't wear them. But please, don't submit us bright-eyed morning commuters to your own way of fixing the problem of uncomfortable shoes. I can't take it before 8am.

Tonight I am going to see a deaf interpretation of Much Ado About Nothing. I'm not sure I could even understand the play in English, let alone in American Sign Language, but we'll see!