Barb’s Burblings

An author I like is working on a project in which he’s writing about what happened on one day–December 28, 1986. I got an invite on Facebook and figured that since I’m home, I may as well see if I have anything specific to that day.

I was in third grade at Coles Elementary in Scotch Plains, New Jersey. We would move to Ridgefield, Connecticut, the next August, but I don’t know that I knew that at the time. I think not; I feel like Dad moved up to Connecticut in March or so. I dug through my school records and found my third grade papers, including a report I did on the town of Scotch Plains. I remember doing that all too vividly. We took a field trip and rode around town and learned stuff and took pictures. We were supposed to write up entries on a certain number of places and make a nice little booklet (that included the instructions for the assignment).

So I went on the bus trip. And took some pictures. And then…did nothing. For a long time. Until the night before the assignment was due.

At which point I threw something together. It fit the assignment. I had a couple pictures on the cover and enough write-ups for the requirement.

And I got a check. My teacher noted that it was good…but I didn’t include pictures of everywhere I wrote about. Even though that wasn’t in the requirement list. That I included with the assignment. So no check plus for me.

And yes. I am still upset.

I wasn’t going to go to the inauguration this year. I went in 2009. I’ve been fighting a cold and barely made it through the Orioles FanFest on Saturday. (I was rejuvenated by the sight of My Boyfriend Brian Roberts.) But a coworker said she had tickets for the swearing-in, and…well, it was supposed to be warmer and less crowded than 4 years ago.

Having a ticket was key. As was a great Metro driver, who alerted us that Judiciary Square was overcrowded. So I got off at Union Station and made my way to the Orange Gate…and then back up to the Blue Gate, because I guess the Orange Gate was packed. The Metro was WAY less crowded than in 2009, and the crowds waiting to get through security weren’t bad. I planted myself on the edge of First Street and got to the know the group around me (including a group of women who at one point did an awesome “Ain’t Nobody Got Time for That” rendition). Unlike 2009, I could actually SEE not only the Capitol, but the steps where the ceremony actually happened! OK, could kind of see it. I mostly watched a JumboTron. It was a good time, even if the atmosphere wasn’t as electric as it was before.

I admit it–I hightailed it out of there as soon as Obama finished his speech. As Kelly Clarkson sang, I hustled back to Union Station and immediately hopped on a half-full train. I was home by 1. And hearing about the chaos that followed–Metro stations closing, that kind of thing–I know I made the right choices. I was happy I went. And I was happy to be home early. Being a part of history is a good way to spend the day.

I was actually in a decent mood this morning. I got a lot of sleep over the weekend, so Monday morning wasn’t too bad.

But before I move forward, I have to explain about my parking situation. The parking garage next to my office is owned by the county, and parking prices went up from $0.75/hour to $1/hour on January 1. So when I parked there on January 2, instead of being $6 or $6.75 like before…it was $9. Hell to the no. Some coworkers and I had noticed a nearby garage that was only $6. So we decided to park there. The people there are really nice. The only thing is that it’s a little garage. Not many spaces on each floor and a lot of pillars. And tight spaces.

So naturally, I scraped up the side of my car pulling into a spot. Any money that I was saving by parking there…gone in an instant.

Cut to me leaving work. Nothing particularly good had happened, so I was still in a crappy mood. I get to the parking garage and get into the elevator to go to the fifth floor, where my car was waiting for me. I was looking forward to an evening snuggled on the couch, not thinking. (Particularly after having spent the weekend doing work.) I enter the elevator. I hit G5. The elevator goes up. I can hear it ding to indicate my arrival. And the door…does not open. I hit “Door Open.” Nothing. I hit “L” to try and flee. Nothing. The elevator drops. The light indicates that I’m now on the 15th floor. Despite having gone down. The light abruptly changes to L. The door does not open. I hit “Door Open.” Nothing. The elevator goes back up. I arrive back at G5. The elevator beeps. And continues to beep. The elevator drops. It again indicates 15, then the door (HALLELUJAH!) opens. On G1. Good enough! I bolt out the door. Thankfully another elevator came and brought me to the right floor with no further drama.

I was so scared on the ride home. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I was frightened. And now I’m kind of scared of that entire garage. I feel like there must be another option near my office.

But for the moment, I just kind of want to keep hiding under a blanket on my couch.

So at 33, I’ve hit the part of life that most girls reach at 13–I’ve started to care a bit more about how I look. Like, not a ton, but I’m probably a bit more aware of it than in the past. And this summer, I had a wedding to attend. It’s been 2 years since I’ve been to a wedding, and that was a small, informal affair (and happy anniversary, Brent and Katie!). So I figured that I should get a new dress for it. It’s a bright, colorful maxi dress.

Holy crow. It went over AWESOME. I actually got to the wedding slightly late, and I walked in with a couple. As we rushed through the lobby, the woman was all, “I love your dress!” Compliments at the wedding. I had to run back to my car to grab something. Someone driving by actually stopped, the passenger rolled down her window and was all, “Great dress!” It was CRAZY. And then, when I gave tours of my house during my housewarming, someone saw it in my closet and complimented me on it. It’s probably not right that my initial reaction is always, “…Are they serious, or are they kidding around?”

But I guess it means I’m going in the right direction.

So I bought a house. It’s kind of crazy. My dad keeps telling me that he’s proud of me, which seems kind of silly, because my parents helped with the down payment. I guess my credit helped, but it seems odd to be proud of.

I do love my house. It’s a cute townhouse, 3 bedrooms, 1.5 baths. Pem and Colin like the extra space and running up and down the stairs. I can use the microwave for multiple minutes without having to worry about tripping a circuit. I have a huge bedroom with a closet the size of a…um…a small bedroom? Sure. It’s fun putting my stamp on this place, putting down flooring, painting, installing ceiling fans. (Or, you know, paying people to do those things.)

In some ways, it’s empowering. I can look at the shelves I put up and be all, “I did that.” But at the same time, going through all of this, making these decisions makes me wish I were doing this with someone. Sure, I wouldn’t be able to look around and see a reflection of myself–someone else would have input. But when the toilet exploded, I’d have someone to freak out with. And putting shelves by yourself is hard. Two hands to hold the shelf and one for the level. See how that doesn’t work?

I think everything is just exacerbated by trying to deal with getting the house set up, combined with a few crises very early in my tenure here. I feel kind of bad, because people will ask how the house is and I can’t be as enthusiastic as I should be. I think I’m just tired. But I’m almost done.

And actually, when I look around, I am proud.

At work, we’re considering some new processes and ways of doing business. I found myself in a meeting this afternoon with a few others, discussing a meeting we had had this morning with a potential vendor. We sat there, discussing next steps, questions we needed to have answered, benefits, potential, etc. It was a good meeting. And at some point, I realized that I was the oldest person in the room.

It was a completely surreal moment. We weren’t making any final decisions by any stretch of the imagination, but we were laying the groundwork for a decision that will have large financial ramifications for the company. And everyone was making good points, and sounding smart. It’s just weird sometimes to realize that you DO know what you’re doing. And the same person who spent lunch describing the great Coke glass he recently got at the dollar store obviously earned that MBA, as evidenced by the implications he brings up about the process. And the woman you’ve had in-depth discussions about toenail polish with describes the budgetary considerations. And the coworker with whom you’ve debated cupcake merits highlights the need for including the perspective of the customer in everything.

There’s nothing surprising about this. I like my coworkers because they’re funny and interesting and smart. We’ve all spent years in our jobs, learning and absorbing. But for the first time in a LONG time, there are young people in my department. It’s a fun experience, but it’s also just totally bizarre. You mean people are letting US decide important things?

My cat Colin and I have been going through some issues lately. It turns out the poor little bear had a urinary tract infection, which manifested through him peeing everywhere. (You know what’s pleasant in every way? Cat urine!) I got to take him to the vet for numerous tests. Part of the problem is that he gets stressed when he realizes he’s going to the vet, so he pees. Which means that the vet can’t get urine from his bladder, which is necessary to determine whether he has a UTI. He wound up staying overnight, actually–which he ALSO finds very stressful.

Anyway. He got an antibiotic and he’s peeing in the litter box again, which is great. However, he needs to go back to the vet to do another test to make sure that everything has cleared up. I got a voicemail from the vet’s office today reminding me of his appointment, and telling me that I need to prevent him from urinating for 1-2 hours before the appointment.

“Prevent him from urinating.” How…how am I supposed to do that? I can’t just tell him not to pee. I can’t call him at 3 on Thursday and be all, “Hey, Colin, could you hold it for the next couple of hours so the vet can test you?” Maybe I should make him think I’m taking him to the vet 2 hours before I actually have to take him.

Hmmm.

(This is possibly not the best advertisement for cat ownership. It IS an advertisement for Bissell’s cat stain remover solution.)

OK, not to make this all about how I dislike the Nationals. But I can’t help it.

I went to the Orioles-Nationals game last night. The O’s lost, unfortunately–though they managed to take 4 of the 6 games this season. Anyway. There were quite a few Nats fans there, and it really just illustrated part of my problem. As I hung out during batting practice, a tween girl decked out in Nats gear came up next to me to watch the Nats pitchers warm up (Strasburg had his socks up!). She was not only wearing a Bryce Harper jersey, but had on Harper earrings. EARRINGS. BRYCE HARPER EARRINGS.

As I wandered around the stadium, I noticed a LOT of Harper gear. Like, a LOT. The guy’s first game was April 28, less than two months ago. I understand it, to an extent. There were certainly people out there in Wieters gear early in his tenure as an Oriole; I still occasionally still people wearing Wieters shirts and jerseys with #15 on them, which was the number he wore only in 2009, the year he was called up. But of the Nats gear that I saw that was player-specific, probably 90% of it had Harper on it. (I’d estimate 5% Strasburg, 2% Zimmerman, 3% other, which kudos to the guy wearing the Wilkerson jersey.)

Admittedly, it’s not really fair to compare that to the Orioles fans. There was a lot of Wieters, Jones, Markakis, some Roberts, and a healthy smattering of various other players, probably thanks in large part to the Orioles spending the past few years giving away t-shirts at games. (And that was such a great idea, because you do see a LOT of orange at O’s games these days, and a lot of the shirts are the free shirts people got at games.) The Orioles fans also have almost 60 years of history to choose from–you go to games and you see Ripken gear, of course, but also Robinson (Brooks and Frank), Palmer, even some Powell and other miscellaneous players. What I’m saying is that you can definitely see who the popular current players are, but there isn’t one player who’s overwhelmingly represented.

Not the case with the Nats fans I saw. And it just SCREAMED “bandwagon.” Here’s a team that’s in first who just called up an exciting player. So to show their loyalty, people run out and get shirts with Harper pasted all over it. Honestly, it didn’t tell me particularly good things about Nationals fans.

I was excited when DC got a baseball team. I grew up with American League baseball, so I was looking forward to getting to know the National League. But over the years, I went from excited, to vaguely rooting for them, to apathetic, to annoyed by the Nationals. And I couldn’t figure out why I couldn’t get behind the team.

Part of it is that despite the team being located in DC, whether it was at RFK or the new (totally generic) Nats Park, it’s just as easy for me to get to and from Camden Yards as it is to take multiple Metro trains to get to the stadium. (After the game, in particular, it’s much faster coming home from Baltimore.)

Part of it, as Dave pointed out, is the people MASN has hired to broadcast the Nats games. I’m an Orioles fan, but I’m also a baseball fan, so if the O’s aren’t playing, I’ll turn to whatever game is on. (And the beauty of baseball is that there’s almost always a game on in the evening.) It would make sense to turn to the Nats games. But…I just cannot handle their tv guys. When the Nats play the O’s, the two broadcast teams share duties, and much as I dislike Jim Hunter’s commentary, he’s practically Vin Scully compared to these guy. (Or, at least, Joe Angel.) They’re just incredible homers, which is something I cannot deal with.

And that leads into my main problem, which is the same reason I hate the Redskins: the hype. (DC is, though, sadly still completely obsessed with football, which is why I passionately hate the Redskins, but am only mildly annoyed by the Nationals.) I have a tendency to be contrary. Like, I’ll read a story on Etiquette Hell and immediately take the side of whoever made the faux pas. So as soon as the hype machine starts around the Nationals—about whom I’m already not particularly fond–I just get more and more annoyed. I understand why people got so excited about Stephen Strasburg, but with every article about him in the Washington Post (and there was one pretty much EVERY SINGLE DAY–DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHY I HAVE A PROBLEM?) and story on the MLB Network, the more annoyed I got by his mere existence.

But at least Strasburg had the decency to keep a low profile. The same cannot be said for Bryce Harper. Again, I get that he’s an incredibly exciting player. But he’s also an incredible douchebag. And paying attention to baseball around here, it’s all HarperStrasburgHarperStrasburgHarperHarperStrasburgZimmermanHarper.

And then I got my newspaper today, with the Sunday insert. In which I found this:

Just shoot me now.

I’m currently in the middle of an epic quest to find a house to buy. In addition to trolling Redfin, I watch a lot of HGTV and pretend that I can buy a super nice house. I can’t. But part of my fantasy revolves around a feature on the site It’s Lovely, I’ll Take It–the daily bookcase. Holy crow. Some people dream of open floorplans and stainless steel appliances and granite countertops. My ideal house would involve a space like this or this. I want to buy a place JUST to do something like that. LOVE.

For the moment, though, I think I’ll focus on finding a place that isn’t at the top of my range that still requires another $15,000 to make decent.