Pity Party

It’s funny, just two years I remember lamenting what a bitch I was. I was depressed at being in law school, and I wanted nothing to do with it or anyone around me. After I left law school I wished I had been kinder and more compassionate. Now, I kinda miss the bitch.

I think it just might be possible to be assertive without being aggression. I’d like to be sure of myself without being arrogant. It will be a challenge, and it’s even more difficult trying to do these things while being a woman. It’s too bad I can’t talk about my coworkers or my boss because I’d have a lot to say. I will say that I hate the environment. But since fiancé and I plan on moving either shortly before or after the wedding to a different city, and because on Friday I just got promoted, I made the decision to stay in this job until we move. As fiancé once told me, I could either change my attitude about my job or change my job. Well, it’s time to work on my attitude.

I’m not sure how to go about this. I still have a few things to get done before I’ll be able to spend some time on myself… it’s going to take a good bit of thought.

How do each of you deal with your own personal shitstorms?

Nuts

I'm almost done with White Teeth by Zadie Smith. It's been great, but I find that when I'm in the midst of reading a book I begin to see and feel like the author. Everything becomes ultra bright, visual and sensitive. I feel poetic about pigeons fighting over breadcrumbs or plastic bags caught in a gust of wind. I speak less and listen more; I pretentiously observe passersby or fellow train riders and imagine whatever broken home or loveless relationship that strikes my fancy.

Over the weekend I was lucky enough to observe a funny moment. I wasn't so lucky yesterday. And even if I wasn't busy writing the great American novel in my head as I drag myself through the city, I think it still would have bothered me a lot.

Waiting for the train at the end of the day sucks. You just want to be home. You don't want to wait, you don't want to hear that the train is having technical problems and will be 10 minutes late... you just want to call your spouse/significant other and play the "what's for dinner?" game. Last night the train was 6 minutes later than usual. When it arrived, everyone scrambled towards the door as usual. I took my spot just to the side of the door, but one brave (or stupid, or just not thinking) woman stood directly in front of the door with her briefcase on wheels stretched out behind her. That was the first mistake. The second mistake was that the second the train doors opened, this woman tried to dart in instead of waiting for everyone to exit first.

Well, the young woman waiting to get off the train wasn't having any of this. In my hypothetical novel I imagine that maybe her boss just took some serious shit out on her at work, but in reality I have no idea. Woman waiting to get off the train screams, "FUCK! Can't you just wait for me to get off the fucking train first?! JESUS CHRIST!" And simultaneously with the yelling of "Jesus Christ" came a swift and hard kick to the other woman's briefcase on wheels and she stormed off.

I think it's a combination of the author in me as well as my sensitivity to verbal violence which caused this incident to seriously upset me. On the ride home I sat diagonally from the woman who without a doubt, thank you law school, was victim to an assault and battery. She was younger than middle aged, maybe. She was South Asian. She was completely silent.

I don't know what it is about public transportation, or even private transportation, that enrages people so much that they explode. Maybe it's not the transportation, it's just the icing on the cake after a long day of being shit on. You wake up to shit transportation, spend 8 hours of shit job, and at the end of the day you've reached your breaking point. But everything we do has so many consequences spiraling out like purple veins.

I wish I could focus on the funny or absurb, but there's so much anger in this city hidden just beneath the surface.

Ode to the Working Girl

Why can't I just be like other women? When I'm walking to work in DC I see women in business suits, cute cable neck vest type things with collared shirts underneath, pleated skirts, high heels, herringbone pants and Dooney & Bourke bags.

When I'm trying to decide what to wear in the morning I have to look real hard at my clothes and try to determine what I could away with as "business casual." Too bad that most of my wardrobe is old t-shirts, and nothing would please me more than to wear jeans and Birkenstocks (I do tempt the fates and wear the Birks anyway!).

The average business-like shirt at J.Crew or Banana Republic is at least $80, give or take a few clams. Dumping all that money on one article of clothing makes me feel simply queasy. I'm not hurting for money or eating out of the trash can yet (although maybe I should be, looking at how much money left in loans I have to pay back… thanks again, law school), but it just seems like such a waste of money. When I started working, my mother suggested that I put aside some money from my paycheck each month for new clothes and accessories. New clothes and accessories? Does she know who I am? I still sometimes wear clothes from middle school!

And hair… how do these women get the energy to blow dry, straighten, or whatever else before work in the morning? When I put my mind to it, my hair can look pretty decent. Notice that I said, "when I put my mind to it," meaning that most days you'll find me sporting a bun.

These super women are also thin. No, not thin… lean! I must think about weight more now than I ever did in college; there has got to be something wrong with that. Why now? Why not in college when I could have been romping and frolicking free in all my lean splendor?

I know the only thing that will work is if I set my alarm for 30 minutes earlier, get my lazy, tired ass out of bed, throw on some gym clothes, go down to the first floor gym, and burn some calories. But I hate it. I hate everything about it. I'd rather go to the dentist. I'd rather go to the National Postal Museum. I'd rather give a public speech on sexually transmitted diseases! I hate the feeling before going to the gym (that I'd rather be doing anything else, I hate walking into the gym and feeling all eyes on me, I hate the workout (sweating, body parts bouncing, etc), and of course the after (when you have to wait to stop sweating before you can even take a shower).

Maybe there's no hope for me after all!

With Washington, DC Comes Great Responsibility

First, has anyone updated to the new, fancy Blogger? I'm trying to decide whether or not to take the plunge.

I was able to speak with my friend who is in Africa yesterday. She asked me what the boyfriend and I are doing next year and whether we plan on moving. I can easily answer these questions: no clue!

So many people we know just love it here in DC (of course, I'm willing to bet that's because DC is the land of the single, working professional. The bars are packed with them every night). But if there's at least one thing that I know about myself, it's that I'm not a city girl.

Scrambling around the metro, dodging homeless men sprawled and sleeping in the streets/some yelling strange phrases or cursing/or the occassional insane homeless person who you never know might choose today to get violent, smelling trash/sewer/the piercing burning rubber smell coming from the metro stations/exhaust/and too many kinds of women's perfume or men's cologne, beeping cars late for the office, women my age trying to hold on tight to their sorority days, the impersonal/brusque shuffle and haste of it all. DC and I are not a comfortable fit.

I love the museums. The Smithsonians are incredible and free, the Spy Museum, the National Zoo, the Eastern Market, the Cherry Blosson Festival, and of course the White House, Capitol, the Lincoln Memorial... those are all unique features of this city. I might even say no other city has a setup quite like this one. But all those things also bring a sense of fear. I can't get on the metro without my mind wandering towards the question that always lurks in your mind in DC, "Is it safe?" You never know.

I'm not ready to pull a Baby Boom where I give up my professional, working woman life to move out to the country, buy an apple tree farm, and raise my adopted kid. But I doubt that I will shed many tears when it comes time to leave this area. I'd love to come back for day trips or to bring my hypothetical children up to see some of the wonderful things listed about (not the list with the insane homeless men). But this isn't a place where I'd be comfortable starting a life. You can make fun of and curse the suburbs all you like, Internet, but I think there's something to be said for it.