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Friday, September 30, 2005

Sleepiness Begets This...

So much for being "prolific". This is all you're gettin' today...

A middle-aged woman had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital.
While on the operating table, she had a near death experience.
Seeing God, she asked, "Is my time up?"
God said, "No, you have another 43 years, two months and eight days
to
live."
Upon recovery, the woman decided to stay in the hospital and have a
face-lift, liposuction and a tummy tuck. Since she had so much more
time to live, she figured she might as well look nicer.
After her last operation, she was released from the hospital. While
crossing the street on her way home, she was hit and killed by an
ambulance.
Arriving in front of God, she demanded, "I thought you said I had
another 40 years? Why didn't you pull me out of the path of that
ambulance?"
God replied: "GirrLLLLLL..., I didn't even recognize you.

Oh wait, and this...cause babies are cool. And tonight Drinx with some really hot boys. Oh and lots of Bethesda-ness tomorrow...as in Taste of Bethesda and Trader Joe's and maybe Dunkin' Donuts.

Thursday, September 29, 2005

My Butterfly


"Show me a man with a tattoo and I'll show you a man with an interesting past." ~Jack London

For some reason around the age of 12 I was an avid Real World watcher, hell, I still am. And maybe because of my Real World obsession I made a point to a) be on the Real World (got three years and 1 month until the cut off) and b) to get my tongue pierced. Whenever I mentioned either, Peg would give me the disgusted, why the hell would you do that? Look. To this day, I am unable to point to a specific reason for why I would want my tongue pierced, since that was the one I knew would be more easily attainable. I’m one determined chick, so please don’t try to stop me.

Upon my acceptance into American, I was placed (forced is the word I use though) into a program for minority students, so that they could become more easily adjusted to a new environment. What-the fuck-ever. I sulked and moved to DC the day after graduation, at the tender age of 17. My first foray into adult life. I had new friends and my New York State ID, which I ‘chalked’ with red, white, and black colored pencil. I was the only one in my summer program able to drink at clubs. I was a freaking rock star!

So I’m 17 with an ID that says that I’m 20 (almost 21) and I’m away from my parents. One day my roommate Denise decides that she wants a tattoo. At the same time, my friend Kenya decides that she wants her tongue pierced. Perfect timing, I’m getting’ my tongue pierced (I also had $200 burning a hole in my pocket). One weekend, we head to Adam’s Morgan, I’ve got my ID, although it had been smudging a little and Denise was ready to get her tattoo. We go in, I’m in the chair, I stick out my tongue, put my tongue to the roof of my mouth….Wouldn’t you know, I have a honking huge bright blue vein in the middle of my tongue. My piercer (is that a word?) tells me that if he nicks the vein, I will bleed to death, no if ands or buts about it. He knew a guy though, who could attempt it. Ummm Fuck no. I went home teary eyed and pissed. Now what?

Two weeks later, five of us head to Georgetown, I’ve found my “now what?”; a tattoo. Not sure what yet, I don’t think it really mattered, I just wanted someway to deface my body. I told you, I’m determined. I pace the parlor looking at the different designs. The tattoo artist accompanies me, to tell me how feasible the stuff I want is. Because I’m black, a lot of colors won’t show up very well. Ok fine. So what do I chose? A butterfly. A fucking butterfly. On the inside of my right ankle (so that no one in my future can see it. Also so that my parents can’t kill me right away). Bad ass. I know.

The next week, with my new and awesome tattoo (which wasn’t painful at all, except when the needle neared my shin bone), I phoned Peg.
“I have something to tell you and you won’t be happy”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just something”
“Are you sick? Are you pregnant?”
"Yeah mom, I'm pregnant. It's immaculate conception"
"Then what is it??"
"I got a tattoo"
“Oh My God! Don’t scare me like that”

For a woman that said she’d be disappointed if I got a tattoo she didn’t sound too upset. Just happy that I hadn’t gotten pregnant. For months I was pretty freaking proud of that thing, I could hide it then flash it when I wanted to.

It’s been a little over four years since I got my butterfly. 1) Who gets a freaking butterfly? 2) Who gets a freaking butterfly on their ankle, when they refuse to wear stockings, like ever?
3) What kind of mother permits her child to get a tattoo and then not put the fear of Jesus in her child, to prevent her from doing stupid things like getting tattoos?

Eh, at least she’s not disappointed in me. Let’s just keep her from finding out that I’ve done much worse. Wouldn’t you like to know.

Awake

"I have a "carpe diem" mug and, truthfully, at six in the morning the words do not make me want to seize the day. They make me want to slap a dead poet." ~Joanne Sherman

*It’s morning (10 AM to be exact) and as of late, they haven’t been my best times. I’ve done my routine, have my Awake tea in front of me. But fuck, as of late, no time has been my best time, but I put on my happy face and act like everything is wonderful. How’s work? Great! How’s the living situation? Great! How have you been? Fucking fantastic!

Lies, all lies.

In all honesty, everything is fine really. Nothing is actually wrong, nothing bad has happened. It’s all normal same shit different day. Day in and day out. I had my weekend high, which was fabulous, but still, I’m stuck in a rut. It blows and leaves me feeling so incredibly uncreative and having a most difficult time getting up in the morning. You’d be shocked to learn though that I’ve been awaking at 6:15 AM to run and I’ve been on the “program” (which means that French fries, except for the five I had yesterday, have not been a part of my diet. Great, I know. But still, I’m just so blah.

Part of me finds that it has something to do with every other year, for the past 17 years, September comes and a new year starts with new shit happening everyday. That was the beauty of it all, so much happened in one day, that you can’t keep your head straight. There were vacations and midterms and finals and parties to look forward to. Shit, even the thought of my birthday was more exciting in years past than it has been this year. Every other year I’ve been that much closer to driving, or being able to vote or drinking, and now there’s not a damn thing to look forward to, oh wait, I can rent a car in a year. Woo Hoo!

I guess I could say ‘no pasa nada’ to it all and let it roll off my back. This too shall pass. But seriously a change needs to come, and soon. Like say if I were to meet everyone on Wisteria Lane, I’d be one happy happy girl.

*Addendum: Then coworkers crack my shit up (seriously I need a video camera) and all is right with the world. Same shit, but I should be thankful it's a nice calm same shit I feel.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Ellen

"The trouble with unemployment is that the minute you wake up in the morning you're on the job. " ~Slappy White

Between returning from Spain/Graduation and finding an actual job, I had six neurotic – anxiety ridden weeks. Sans cable, I might add. But that was just fine, I had company in Kimber and my day time TV. friends. I also developed an affinity for baking cookies and muffins and the inevitable babysitting. Friends were worried about the baking and I was worried that I would never find a job.

9 AM Regis & Kelly
10 AM Gym time
11 AM Ellen
12 AM Starting Over
1 PM Days of Our Lives
2 PM Bullshit around with Kimber/Subway
3 PM Babysit Peter
6 PM Babysit Sammy

Riveting, I know, but that was my day. Everyday. For six fucking weeks. By June 1st, I was contemplating my suicide. June 27th, I started working. I think that six weeks may have been the longest lapse between graduation and starting a job (dripping in sarcasm). I was so neurotic and upset about how I wasn’t going to find a job that I stopped talking to friends and to Peg, who had become exasperated by my worry.

My extreme neurosis is a factor in everything that I do. Sad, but true. If I hadn’t had a set schedule and Ellen to look forward to everyday, and my dear Kimber, I would have made myself even crazier. I didn’t want or need, people telling me to stop worrying and that I would find a job, I needed someone or ‘people’ around to make me happy and let me indulge a little in my unemployment. To be truthful, I was a little sad during my last day of stay at home mom-dom.

Now with the discovery of TV on my computer, I’ve taken to adding Ellen to my day again. Her dancing is a little something to have in the background at the mid morning hour, to make lunch get here faster and to cure whatever stupid shit is annoying me at the time, now that my worried-neurotic-annoyed-passive aggressive behavior has a new source.

It just makes me happy. And as we know, it’s the little things that do it for me.

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

CBC Weekend


“Let our rejoicing rise, high as the listening skies,
Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.”- James W. Johnson

I think the weekend took “see and be seen” to a whole ‘nother level. Like an ‘I hate crowds, kinda want to shoot myself’ kind of level. I wrote a briefing in which I wasn’t sure to italicize “the” and capitalize everyone, as in; this is the event. EVERYONE will be there.

It’s a yearly event, every September that the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation has its Annual Legislative Caucus. Last year’s was big, because it was a Presidential election year. This year was actually scaled back due to Hurricane Katrina, and it’s affects on the African American community in New Orleans. I will admit, it’s one of those events that I’ve always wanted to go to, (seeing and being seen isn’t necessarily a bad thing) kind of like convention. But people kept telling me, that going once will be more than enough. I’m starting to believe that.

Ladies and Gentleman, my weekend synopsis:

Friday Night


Is where this post came from. I’m thinking I should elaborate on it a bit. Let’s go back to this conversation prior to an event at work:

HB: “I think I want some real food, not just M & Ms and oreos”
Coworker: “Why don’t you go downstairs and have food?
HB: “Ooh food and alcohol. Good idea”
Coworker: “Yes, you like both. But necessarily in that order”
HB: “OK you’re right, I like alcohol and then food”
Coworker: “Glad we’re on the same page on this”

Everywhere as part of the CBCF ALC weekend, the CBC spouses put on a fashion show which is equated to hot people wearing hot clothes-Hot. But prior to the start of the fashion show, I mixed and mingled and started on the free wine on our tables. Decided to go chat with a work colleague and there sitting next to her was Ms. Alfre Woodard. The picture above does her no justice.

I was introduced to her to which she replied “Look how cute you are, you don’t look old enough to be working anywhere” (heh, I’m cute in my pearls and pink cashmere. Word)
“I’m 21”
“Exactly not old enough” Alrighty then.

I then diverted all attention to why she and her very cute “son” have moved onto Wisteria Lane. I think my exact words were “So what’s going to happen Sunday?”. Who cares about the four Emmy’s and Miss Ever’s Boys? I want to know about why she has a man locked up in her basement. Priorities people.

Also seated at the table was Omarosa (the [inseart your own adjective here] woman from the Apprentice who cost Kwame the win. Also star of the Surreal Life). Ok, moving on now, because seated at my table, was Kwame. I told him that I wish had won, that was the extent of the conversation.

Like I said HOT people in the fashion show. Like Kim Porter whose freaking BOYFRIEND, whom we all know and love showed up. Diddy, man, Diddy. I think I may have peed on myself. And also the lovely Vivica Fox.

(Ok the end with Friday night because everyone else went to Love and I went home and made pizzas on pita bread. You would have thought I discovered uranium.)

Saturday Night:

Mmmmm mani and a pedi. Love it. Must look hot, because someone who has been lucky in the love department seems to think that I will find the love of my life this weekend. For the record, I didn’t.

CBC Gala/Awards dinner. The Cast of Characters: Omarosa, James Avery (Uncle Phil from Fresh Prince), Alfre Woodard, Wyclef Jean, Minister Farrakhan, John Kerry, Howard Dean, Reverend Sharpton and Jackson, Lynne Whitfield, 43 Members of Congress-including the Senator from Illinois and everyone and their freaking brother. Say it with me now, Crowd Control. There’s nothing like being pushed out of the way so that people could get their picture taken with my boss. I’ve also realized that I’m claustrophobic, and was thisclose to freaking out. Oh but I couldn’t, because I was in public with every upper echelon member of the black community. It was a test of wills and silently saying to myself “Holy shit, don’t freak out”. It was great.

After dinner it was “try to get an invite to the best parties”. Apparently getting invites to Zanzibar and to Love for the New York party make you cool or something. Again, see and be seen. I got invites, so I suppose I’m cool. Whatever. Although I was VIP at Zanzibar it was crowded and a lot of the 40+ crowd, but hey! Open Bar. Also Wyclef was there as was Lynne Whitfield sipping on the vino. Afterwards went to Love (well damn, looks just like Dream, what a change-but we won’t go there) where I got to be with my favorites. I love being with people and seeing people that I haven’t hung out with since last fall. It makes me kind of nostalgic. I want last fall back, minus the devastating loss. Again, won’t go there.

Oh and note to self: just because vodka tonics taste like water, doesn’t mean that you can drink them like water. Which is how I go through about five in a sitting then end up drunk and passing out.

Sunday

Holy hangover batman. I actually went to a babysitting interview looking a lot like hell (thankfully the mom reads my blog, Hey Kelly!).
Then dropped $150 at GAP (there’s a sale. Run, don’t walk). Noticed my chubbiness and went to potbelly. Yum. Walked around Farragut with my 18 bags and I kind of resembled a bag lady. Albeit a bag lady with a fresh mani and pedi that shops at gap and carries a Coach Bag.

Fast forward to Sunday night where roommate and I freaked the fuck out during Desperate Housewives every time Alfre Woodard came on screen. There were screams of “OH MY GOD, I CAN’T BELIEVE I JUST MET HER!”

Conclusion:
Tiring, yet successful weekend. There’s really nothing like being surrounded by beautiful black people all weekend long. There’s also nothing like hearing ‘Lift Every Voice and Sing’ and not being the only person to know the words (if you didn’t know we have our own national anthem as well). Thank God it’s only once a year though as I doubt I could handle more.

Monday, September 26, 2005

Blogger

Dear Blogger,

Stop sucking. And let me post my Wisteria Lane picture and talk about how much of a Congressional dork I am and discuss my obsession with the CBC, cause you know, I will be one of them...someday. Maybe.

Love,
Heather B.

Saturday, September 24, 2005

My First Drunk Post

  • I got my picture taken with someone who lives on mother fucking WISTERIA LANE! (If you don't know where that is, then whoa!)
  • I was thisclose to Diddy
  • I had about 150 mini quesadillas
  • I had about 10 glasses of wine
  • I have to be up at 7 AM tomorrow-Saturday!
  • someone stole my camera and got his picture taken with Vivica A. Fox. But I won't hate.
  • Did I mention WISTERIA LANE. And how I asked the person who lives there what's going to happen on Sunday night, because I'm mildly obsessed with Desperate Housewives...?
  • NIGHT!

Thursday, September 22, 2005

So That's Where My $140,000 Went To

"Your families are extremely proud of you. You can't imagine the sense of relief they are experiencing. This would be a most opportune time to ask for money." ~Gary Bolding

Dearest Board of Trustees of American University:

Almost five months have passed since my graduation as a member of the class of 2005, this means that there is only one month until the six month grace period on student loans is up and loans need to be paid off. Thankfully I only owe $2,000 in loans. Unfortunately enough though, this is because my parents-according to your finance department’s calculations- made enough to send me to school at a whopping (damn near close to including room and board) $35,000 a year.

My parents never complained, at least not really, because AU was my first choice school to attend. But now, almost six months after the fact, my parents still gently remind where all of their money went, and why now out of college they aren’t all too thrilled at supplementing my income, but still they don’t complain.

You see, my parents didn’t complain because on a whole, they knew I enjoyed my time there. Yes, it was very very expensive, but I was involved and doing what I wanted to do. There were no complaints until they read this in the Washington Post. I want my damn money back.

In four years, I encountered Benjamin Ladner all of three times, and this was three times more than the average student, and only because I was a member of the Student Confederation. I enjoyed the lovely chef, and the backyard parties with the waterfalls and koi. All held in a house that cost well over $1 Million. But it was ok. Because here I was hoping that Ben Ladner was out doing something important for the school. Well as it turns out, he wasn’t. He was frolicking around having fancy-shmancy dinners and sending his chef to Paris for lessons, getting first class tickets on overseas trips, and using a chauffer to get his dry cleaning.

For the record, the students eat at TDR for $9 a shitty meal, no fancy lessons, just the guy who manages not to burn the grilled cheese; AU abroad doesn’t provide tickets and sure as hell not first class flights anywhere (and for the record, paying tuition in addition to a several thousand dollar program fee is a trifle ridiculous) and students use the AU SHUTTLE to get their dry cleaning. Tell Mr. Ladner that he should have learned to do the same. Also mention to Mr. Ladner that while many of his students parent's may have some kind of money, I'm pretty sure that, that money was to be used for their students, not him and his pan-seared foie gras, loving ass.

I repeat, I want my damn money back. Sorry, my mom wants her money back and she wants it back now. And while you're at it, supplement my income, since Mr. Ladner can afford to live in DC off my parent's money, I should too.

All the best and good luck with the law suits that are sure to follow,

Heather B.

P.S. I'm sorry that this is so harsh, it's just what happens when $500,000 of student's money is not used on scholarships but on alcohol.
P.P.S. Have I emphasized the students enough for you?

Wednesday, September 21, 2005

Carb It

"It is a hard matter, my fellow citizens, to argue with the belly, since it has no ears." ~Plutarch

I will readily admit that I went through an ephedrine phase, by way of Xenadrine. After the FDA decided that ephedra is terrible on the system and Xenadrine did away with it, they tried to claim that the new stuff was the same as the old stuff. It so wasn’t.

(side note: I also went through other poor dieting phases, that my mother would die if she knew about. And it’s not me not being honest, because if you were to ask me I’d be like “hell yes”, but for right now, use your imagination as to exactly what ‘other poor dieting phases’ are. I’m sure your imagination will lead you to the proper conclusions)

Ok, it’s not like I had nor have serious weight problems or anything like that. And it takes months for it to be noticeable that I’ve gained or lost weight, because I’m tall enough and in proportion, but yes I did go the ‘drug’ route to lose weight. And holy hell I lost a lot of it. At the same time, Peg had jumped on the Atkins bandwagon. For years with her working and Garrett and I have multiple activities, dinners consisted of Burger King and McDonalds. I was eating Big Macs at the tender age of 5 (but I was such an adorable chubby little girl).

Growing up it’s not like I was inactive and just sat around watching TV all day. I did ballet, tap, jazz, cheerleading, soccer, threw shot put and discus and some running. When I came to AU instead of gaining 15-20lbs, I lost 15. Awesome. I was the girl that was at the gym every day at 6:30 AM. The next fall, around Thanksgiving of my Sophomore year, I started taking Xenadrine. That shit made me so ill that I didn’t want to eat. And when I did eat, my meals consisted of a veggie burger and cantaloupe and an excessive amount of OJ (the calcium fortified kind, thank you very much).

The whole take Xenadrine, feel like shit, plan worked out nicely; with a lovely 60lbs weight loss, after which I was told that I look anorexic. Even Peg was a little shocked that I had lost more weight than she had even though we started at the same time (ahem, that’s what getting up at 6 AM for the gym gets you). Oh wait, see that weight loss high, I was just on? Yup, gone. I think that I’ve managed to gain well over half of it back.

But let’s face it, I stopped paying attention. Nicole Ritchie can pull off the anorexic look, I can’t. Nicole Ritchie has also never worked on a campaign, in which all you do is eat, worry, work, then eat some more. Then four months in Spain, although I did lose 10lbs there, I gained it all right back upon setting foot in Dulles (I’ve been deprived of Chipotle for four months, I deserve to have it twice a week for a month. Asshole.)

There was a time, when I actually cared and worried. I go to the gym, I do yoga, I’m not just sitting around doing nothing. And hell yes, I’m going to eat. I will have potatoes for breakfast, maybe even a breakfast sandwich on a biscuit; hell, throw in pizza with eggplant parmagiana and linguine with pesto ON TOP of pizza crust. I don’t care.

Just remind me to wake up and go for that run in the morning. Damn.

Gosh!

Vivian Jaffe: Passive Aggressive?
Brad Stand: Shut up!
Bernard Jaffe: Aggressive Aggressive-I Heart Huckabees


Writing out of anger and hostility is a bit of a catch-22. One the one hand, you get out all of your anger and drama and damn, it makes for good reading. On the other hand, you will inevitably write about something that you will regret saying later.
So you instead sit and do breathing exercises with your eyes closed, thinking of things to come in 20 years and fighting off the urge to cry and/or run.

I want to complain and bitch right now like it’s nobody’s business, and I would if I could, but I can’t. Because this is the internet and people have google.

So let me be passive aggressive and cry later. Because, ladies and gentlemen, that’s what this wonderful life of mine is all about.

P.S. I'm in such a shitty mood I don't even mind the possibility of being dooced.
P.P.S. I retract the previous statement. I do mind.

Found Him!

Life is an endless struggle full of frustrations and challenges, but eventually you find a hair stylist you like. ~Author Unknown

I am in love.
I have found the perfect man.
Some one who makes me happy, listens to me, and compliments me.
I’ve been served fresh baked pastries and all the orange juice in the world.

I met my new man in the Washingtonian. I read about what he could do for black women and I wanted in. But at the time I was too nervous and broke. The next time I spotted this man, it was during Apartment Search 2005, he was just next door. That’s when I found out about the home made chocolate chip cookies.
This man has been a long time coming. For four years I’ve struggled, finding both men and women, but no one that I really liked. I had to go all the way to Albany to be satisfied, but still no luck. But this man, he’s a keeper. He won’t burn me or hurt me; he’ll just let me go natural and be. I love that in a man.

His name: Bill Lawrence. His salon: Bill Lawrence Salon. My hair: so this isn’t complete crap at the top of my head, something can actually be done to it-like this very lovely two strand twist I've got going on.

Rewind to last fall, when I decided that I wanted to go to the Peace Corps. I knew that the process would take about six months, just enough time for me to grow out my relaxer (a chemical straightening process that many black women use. If it stays on too long, it can burn your scalp, but then again pain is beauty) that ruined the crap out of my hair and go natural. I braided for awhile, but I’m not Beyonce and spending $200 a month on my hair wasn’t ideal. I kept growing my hair without getting a relaxer and decided that the peace corps wasn’t for me just yet, but Spain was. In January, I made the big chop. For the subsequent months, my hair grew and grew and I just got used to it being short. It’s this afro-like mass, but rarely in afro form, because I’m too lazy. My friends thought it was cool, I thought it was easy (my mother for the record hated it and said that it wasn't interview hair, she made me get it braided which left me with a scar/permanent part; anyway, I had my hair out for my final interview and got hired. So ha! Down with societal demands.) And my hair just grew.

I found Bill Lawrence’s salon (Matthew specifically), just in time, because el pelo was out of control. It’s nice, classy, small and intimate. It gives off this homey feel. And did I mention the pastries, oh and the coffee that comes in actual mugs that are green and match the decor of the salon. I was complimented about my hair (which I’ve slowly learned to just love and live with) and no suggestions were made to straighten it. There wasn’t excessive product used. Oh, they were just so freaking nice. My only caveat was the price ($85 for a cut and style), but that’s just because my dumbass didn’t budget to get my hair done.

It’s so nice to finally find someone you really just love and trust. My if I feel this way about a good salon, imagine how I’ll feel about an actual real life man. Just YAY.

Saturday, September 17, 2005

The Fifth Anniversary

"A woman's place is in the house...and the Senate"-Bella Abzug

I may have mentioned my love for politics; ooooh about 45 times already. But seriously, I love it. I have a thing for strong political discourse and a democracy where all can participate. My passion for politics is what led me to American University instead of lovely Ithaca, NY. I participated in American University’s Student Confederation (student government) for three years, did internships and all of that fun stuff. American is a place where everyone knows their member of congress and about 85% of the students have worked for their member. While drunk, American students have been known to have (heated) discussions on the state of the world and the US political process. Seriously, God forbid you’re a republican, because you would be just a tad bit out numbered.

After being one of the few students of Guilderland High School who cared about politics, it was nice to attend a University where everyone cared. It was that important to me. My friends at AU, were also passionate, including best friend Liz (who from now on will be known as BFL). BFL and I are not only passionate about politics, but about women’s involvement in politics (although, I’m quite interested in African American women in politics). Thankfully at my alma mater, there is an institute, major and coursework devoted to the participation of women in politics.

Wednesday was the fifth anniversary celebration of the Women and Politics Institute, headed by Dr. Karen O’Connor, a professor at AU and a former professor of mine as well. BFL has all but physically dragged me to all things WPI, including a weekend course last fall, their Young Women’s Leadership Board (I am a HUGE dork and totally excited for it), and their fifth anniversary party. It was like a women in politics lovefest. Susan Wood (who recently resigned from the FDA because of the Plan B pill), Elenor Clift, Senator Kay Bailey Hutchison, Kim Gandy, Ellie Smeal and everyone and their mother.

I didn’t just attend the event for the (free!) alcohol and the (very) powerful women, but also it was one of my first events since starting work (and guess who didn’t have business cards! IDIOT.) Most importantly all of my conversations went something like:

“Where do you work?”
“I work at XYX”
“Oh wow what do you do there?”
“I work for Mr. R”
“Oh wow how do you like it?”
“It’s great!”
“Here’s my card. Let me talk to about Mr. R and what he should do about JKL”

Interesting, because last I checked I'm not all that high on the totem pole and yes I'll pass that message a long right away, because I have clout (yeah right). But I will admit that it's (umm) 'different' that people want to talk to me after I tell them where I work-and let's not get into my lack of speaking ability, so really I just look like a bumbling idiot. Ok moving on now...

The rest of the evening is kind of a blur (meeting one of my new favorite people, hanging out with this very awesome guy, lots of red wine and then my lovely hangover). But this isn't about me, so who cares, it's about celebrating the wonderful fifth anniversary of an organization devoted to getting women involved in politics and realizing how far women have come in politics, and me being thankful that I have the opportunity to get involved and do what I really want to do.

So Happy Fifth Anniversary WPI. And Thanks.

Friday, September 16, 2005

Registration Conundrum

I feel like I am diagonally parked in a parallel universe. ~Author Unknown

I have a car here in DC that was quite useful when I lived down the street from Maryland and a mile away from the metro. I used it for groceries, babysitting and for trips to Georgetown. Since I was in college the whole car thing-insurance, registration, inspections, accidents, random transmission leakage-was all covered by my parents. Then there was that event May 8th that we will not speak of, in which immediately after, I became obsolete to any insurance company I had up until that point. Including the wonderful car insurance people. I also had a car that needed to be driven to Albany that needed to be inspected.

BS BS BS…fast forward to now.

At my former apartment building, there was an outdoor parking lot with not enough spaces for every car in the building. So the times that I showed up late and didn’t get a parking spot at the building I had to park on the street. The thing about street parking is that you can only park on a certain side of the street during certain times of the day. Like if I were to park on the right side of Mass avenue headed downtown, I would have to move my car by 7AM. Twice I have forgotten to move my car by 7AM and then my car goes missing only to be found later with a lovely $100 ticket under the windshield wipers. (Side note, my car once got towed when I parked in the fire lane of my building. It was towed to South East DC, I lived in Upper NW. This is very very far. The people who towed it charged me $150 for storage fees. I never asked them to store it!)

My new apartment is located downtown where there is plenty of street parking. The problem is that to park on the street requires a permit. I can’t get a permit until I move my insurance to under my name. Also getting a permit requires a DC license and inspection and a whole bunch of other stuff I don’t want to deal with. I also have a minor problem where I’ve managed to ‘misplace’ my birth certificate and social security card.

Here’s the conundrum part: I don’t want to get a license in DC. If I do this, that means that I lose my NY license/identity/ability to vote in a real election for people who actually vote in congress. I don’t want to be a registered DC voter. Repeat: I WANT A VOTING MEMBER OF CONGRESS. While this may not be important to most normal 21 year olds, it is terribly important to me. I like having two real life Senators who actually VOTE. And a Governor. I like governors, and state legislatures and all that good stuff. I also don't want to be a permanent resident of anywhere yet. And if I stop voting in NY then go back to run for office I'll be labeled a carpet bagger, and that's not fun for anyone.

So now I have a car parked 10 metro stops away from where I live and that I can only use during the weekends. And this arrangement will only work until mid-February when my parking permit at the former apartment building finally runs out. Then I am shit out of luck. But thankfully I can get a temporary permit for 6 months, but I’ll have to find my social security card and birth certificate.

All of this hell just so I can keep voting in NY. Because I like to vote. Yay democracy and voting rights.

Next up: watch me pay $150-$200 a month for a parking space near my apartment because I really don’t want to register in DC.

Thursday, September 15, 2005

A Spanish Thought

It's never safe to be nostalgic about something until you're absolutely certain there's no chance of its coming back. ~Bill Vaughn

Y en la distancia te puedo ver
Cuando tus fotos me siento a ver
Y en las estrellas tus ojos ver
Cuando tus fotos me siento a ver
Cada vez que te busco te vas
Y cada vez que te llamo no estás
Es por eso que debo decir que tú sólo en mis fotos estás

Juanes has been in my head for the past several days. The way I sang Fotografias to myself while drunk, from my apartment in Ventas to Barajas. I cried the entire time, about something that for months I never wanted and yet all too soon it was over. Only those who have been abroad, know that you really can’t talk to anyone about it other than the obligatory “It was good. I learned a lot. Yes I’m fluent” bullshit. You can’t really express everything that happened there and how beautiful Sevilla (not Seville, say Seville and I’ll drop kick your ass) is. There’s no way to express Cantabria or walking drunk between Noviciado and Serrano at 3am. God help me if I have to explain Sprint, tortilla, Alhambra, Los Reyes Catolicos, the importance of 1492, or the existence of Euskadi.

One day soon-at least I can hope-I’ll be able to sort out the whole Madrid thing. The crying when I got there, my threats to leave by February, my drunken debauchery, punching people, drunken debauchery, and crying when I left (and yes I meant to put drunken debauchery in there twice because I was drunk a lot). I want to write about Spain when I stop getting that funny feeling in my tummy because I miss it so much and when I can write a coherent sentence about the randomness of España. Because right now I can tell you, all of my Spain thoughts are just swimming around. Waiting to be written down and talked about and divulged. They are waiting to be wanted, offered and shared.

Yup I get teary eyed about Spain, and I have no qualms about it. There are days when a smell or a sight reminds me of it then all of the memories just come tumbling back.

One day soon, I will write about Spain. And I hope that you-dear reader-will love it as much as I did.

In Which I Say Nothing

"Oh fool, fool fool"-Othello

  • If you're lucky, you might get a post later
  • I'm too hungover to write a coherent sentence
  • This guy is awesome.
  • I'm watching Napoleon Dynamite at work.
  • Yes people at work know this.
  • I love dear friend Julie. From now on she is dfj.
  • I contemplated writing about dear friend Pam and how much it sucks when after graduation everyone goes away. Maybe I still will.
  • I still hate Bank of America.
  • I love me some Women in Politics.
  • I forgot to add in 104 that my hands are larger than the hands of most men, this includes my father.
  • I met another female with hands my size last night.
  • Oh I love Women in Politics thanks in large part to Liz.
  • Damn I need to write.
  • In 11th grade Honors English, we read Othello. Except I forgot to read it. And when our teacher asked us to pick out a line to read and give it's significance, I picked "Oh fool, fool, fool"
  • I'm contemplating writing a song about my coworkers. It would be called "Everyday Feels Like Friday".
  • The End.

Wednesday, September 14, 2005

I Cannot Write to Save My Life


I like the word "indolence." It makes my laziness seem classy. ~Bern Williams

1. I have several writing projects to work on, yet I like the whitness of word, so I figured I’d just leave it that way
2. Last night I returned a $200 dress to Banana Republic then spent that money at Gap.
I need to go back and get the dress from BR because next weekend is CBC weekend and I need to look pretty
3. Next weekend is CBC weekend; translation lots of work and lots of hot black men.
4. I’m going golfing this weekend again to see hot black men also because I fear that my drive has gone to shit
5. Speaking of shit, my Aunt and Uncle think that I swear too much. Yes I do. And Yes your sister knows. And yes it makes her crazy.
6. I need to write a post about something other than what I’m thinking in the middle of the day.
7. I went to the dry cleaners this morning in my pajamas. On the way home from the dry cleaner I walked three blocks past my apartment. Keep in mind that my apartment is on the corner and you can see into my fucking living room from the street, but I manage to walk completely pass it.
8. one of my coworkers is leaving. I’m actually going to miss her. HA! She’ll be back in an hour
9. I’ve spent a good portion of my morning pissed off at Gap and Bank of America. I hate them.
10. Last night I had Johnny Rockets for dinner. The Biggest Loser came on while I was enjoying my Johnny Rockets. I changed the channel to House.
11. I want to have Hugh Laurie’s babies.
12. Someone just told me that I look like I’ve lost weight. HA! I didn’t point out that I had Johnny Rockets including the ½ onion rings ½ fries. I ate it all by myself.
13. I check site meter probably more than I should. Someone should stop me.
14. Since I know that at least six people read this (shout out to Sitemeter) GIVE ME SOMETHING TO WRITE ABOUT!
15. I heart those six people who read me.
16. Laguna Beach is on
17. There has been no witty banter by coworkers today. I know they read this. I need to be amused!
18. My jaw hurts like hell. But I'm eating ice.

Tuesday, September 13, 2005

The Other Side of the Hill

A man is not idle because he is absorbed in thought. There is a visible labor and there is an invisible labor ~Victor Hugo

A little mid day thought for you all….

A chocolate fountain is needed ASAP, but this is a daily thought.

I’m tempted to go to the Hart SOB because Fred Thompson is there. I’m not concerned with the fact that he’s a Republican, but he’s on FREAKING LAW AND ORDER! Holy shit, Law and Order people. John Roberts who??? Fred Thompson, he knows Dick Wolf-this means that Fred Thompson knows a genius.

I’m tempted to do the Peace Corps and/or Teach for America, but not until 2009, so I have time. But if you’ve done either, drop me a line.

Ted Kennedy is awesome.

I’m still thinking about the connections that Fred Thompson has, which includes Jesse L. Martin (even though they’re not on the same Law and Order, I’m sure they know each other).

I love a little mid day writing, it keeps my mind working. Seriously I think one day it may stop.

I’ve just discovered Amalah. Holy shit, what have I been missing.

Fred Thompson…Fred freaking Thompson.

I've decided that once a month I'm treating myself to a nice meal at a nice restaurant that's not Chipotle or Potbelly. This month it's IndeBleu, next month brunch for my birthday at Georgia Brown's.

George Bush's approval rating is at an all time low. I'm smiling.

My coworker got an ipod nano. It's the coolest thing ever. Or at least the coolest thing today.

Monday, September 12, 2005

The Real World Blues

“A mistake which is commonly made about neurotics is to suppose that they are interesting. It is not interesting to be always unhappy, engrossing with oneself, malignant and ungrateful, and never quite in touch with reality”.- Cyril Connolly

The worst feeling in the world, besides grief I suppose, is being made to feel inferior or even stupid and idiotic. Like you are quite possibly the most incompetent person one could ever lay eyes on. At least this is how I feel today.

Incompetent and like my sole purpose in life is to be shit on by other people who believe themselves to be infallible. And yes, I’m pissed. And I don’t want to be told that having others make me feel this way is either a) part of the territory; b) normal; or c) something that I just need to “get over”.

I’m thisclose to just saying fuck it to everything. To being thrown into the lion’s den of being adult and to people assuming that I have ESP. It’s like people-parents, friends, whomever-feels that they can just snap their fingers and suddenly this will happen. That’s not how the world works and why should I be treated that way?

Maybe I should get over it (my God I am contradictory) as it will not be changing anytime soon. And people get frustrated and feel the need to play the blame game when it is something that is out of their control. That’s what it is, right now I’m still in pergatory and I feel like everything is out of my control. I doubt those around me walk around saying “hmmm, how can we make Heather feel inept today?” Thankfully the people I surround myself with, will genuinely worry and feel badly about me feeling badly. It will all be forgotten by tomorrow, but I’ll replay it over and over again, wondering what I did wrong and how I can do better. My jaw will bear the brunt of this.

Elenor Roosevelt once said “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent”; that’s it; I’m giving people my consent to make me feel like crap, and I just need to stop.

Resume Builder 101

"Who doesn't want a shortcut to greatness?"- The Contender

Step 1: Pick an over arching goal of what you really would like to accomplish when all is said and done. Make sure you have no way of accomplishing that goal until 2036.

Step 2: Spend the first two years of high school failing classes.

Step 3: Spend the last two years of high school taking AP/University courses. Get upwards of a full year of college worth of credit. And prove all your teachers from the first two years wrong.

Step 4: Pick an overpriced private university to attend, in place of the Ivy league school you got into for free. Pick this overpriced private university because of the various internship opportunities.

Step 5: Skip at least two class meetings of each class per semester. Cry at your professor when your "printer stops working" and you can't print out a paper, when in reality, you just didn't do it.

Step 6: Have your first internship be at a parent's company. If neither of your parents work at a company in your field of interest, find a family member or family friend.

Step 7: Get a 'C' or two (actually four) in your major courses.

Step 8: Have your second internship be with a very famous person in your chosen field. You may become bored to tears, but keep plugging away.

Step 9: Make sure your third internship is personable. Become BFF with your internship coordinator.

Step 10: Have a screaming match with one of your bosses. Make sure said person, kisses your ass everytime he/she sees you after the screaming incident.

Step 11: Do one more internship for good measure. Stay there and refuse to leave even when your time is up.

Step 12: Be bored sometimes, but learn a lot. Don't worry, you will get noticed.

Step 13: Give up on interning. Especially when you have no luck finding a subsequent internship.

Step 14: Recall "being noticed" as part of step 12. Find someone that noticed you. He/She will find you the job of your dreams, which you will get sans interview.

Step 15: Continue to get 'C's. But manage to get A's in any course that has to do with your internships.

Step 16: Make interning your life.

Step 17: The job from Step 14, should be one in which you work tirelessly for 50 hours a week.

Step 18: While working 50 hours a week, Seven days a week, take 13 credits, even though you really only need 6 to graduate.

Step 19: Inhale caffeine like it's your second job.

Step 20: Have your first 'real job' end horribly, due to circumstances out of your control (it's actually a little over half of the population to blame).

Step 21: Become a lady who lunches (you know golfing, Oprah, and lunches at panera).

Step 22: leave the country.

Step 23: Blame step 21 and step 22 on working so much during college and that you need a serious break.

Step 24: Be drunk in a foreign country every night for four months.

Step 25: At the end of those four months abroad, realize that the credit bureaus are going to start calling and that maybe you should get a job.

Step 26: Run out of money. Utterly and completely out of money

Step 27: Graduate while being jet lagged. It's a lot more fun that way.

Step 28: Spend six weeks watching Ellen, Oprah, and Days of Our Lives and golfing. While simultaneously freaking out about finding a job.

Step 29: Recall that person in step 12 who noticed you. That person will keep noticing you and become your mentor.

Step 30: Keep spending your parents money. Don't worry, they won't mind

Step 31: GET A JOB!

Step 32: Make sure said job is at your first choice place to work.

Step 33: Thank your mentor profusely and purchase said person gifts from faraway lands.

Step 34: Be thankful that you've found a job with wonderful and fun people.

Step 35: Make sure your boss(es) share your ideals and is someone that you can look up to.

Step 36: Become incredibly cheesy when talking about work, because you love your job that much. But don't let the people you work with know.

Step 37: Write/blog about your first year out of college so that others that will be graduating after you realize that even when things feel completely shitty, it will get better.

Thursday, September 08, 2005

To the Class of 2005

It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are. ~E.E. Cummings

Class of 2005:

It has been four months since that fateful day of graduation and in the immortal words of Monica Gellar; “Welcome to the real world. You’re going to hate it”.

To those of you lucky enough to have found some sort of employment after your graduation. I applaud you. You now realize why your parents were always in a shitty mood when they got home from work and that try as you might, it’s impossible to live off of anything less than $60,000. But you’ll try like hell damn it; to learn how to budget and go without that fourth vodka tonic. Instead you’ll go with the $1 beers. And to those of you, who have yet to find gainful employment, let the good times roll. You may be bored and sick of asking mommy and daddy to revive your depleted bank account, but you know and they know that they can’t say “no”. I’m sure by now for all of you, the boredom has set in, but don’t feel too bad, because the grass isn’t always greener on the other side.

For almost 17 years you waited to graduate from college. Not just to be out from under your parent’s wing (and my, wouldn’t it be great to be back under there), but also to not be forced to go to class. Those of you from the Northeast know what I’m talking about. Waiting and praying for just a few snow days every year between November and April. Hoping the fluffy white stuff would come down and that the roads would be closed. Sigh- those are the days. There were also the numerous breaks-thanksgivings, Christmas, winter, spring-that kept you going throughout the year, knowing that soon, there would be a vacation. Now, sadly, you realize that there will be no more breaks. Sick days have to be calculated to the hour, so instead of getting that hacking cough checked out, you’ll suffer until you’ve accumulated the necessary nine hours to take a full day off of work.

There are moments when many of you will sit and think to yourself “this is hell” and “I didn’t go to college for this”, but remember that it will get worse, before it gets better. Hang in there and know this: karma is a bitch.

Good luck to you all; those with jobs and those without. For the latter group, you’ll find gainful employment and the joys of health insurance. For the former group, you better learn to enjoy it, because with the steady decline of social security, you will be working for the next 45 years.

Love,
Heather B.

Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Random Ruminations

“Your mom goes to college”-Kip

I’ve just discovered television on my computer. I love my job. Now I can watch all the C-SPAN and CNN I want, also throw in some Laguna and My Super Sweet 16 for good measure. Oh wait, there’s also Law and Order, my true love.

In Madrid I had no problem with walking from Ventas to Sol-roughly 45 minutes each way. This in addition to walking from Ventas to my school near Avenida de Americas. But here, in the good ole US of A, I seriously contemplate walking from one side of Capitol Hill to the other. Like of course getting on at union station and changing lines to get to Capitol South, really makes sense. To those not from DC, check out a metro map-it’s the dumbest thought ever.

It’s almost September 8th. That means the premiere of The OC. That means more of hot Peter Gallagher.

Oh and one more time: I love My Super Sweet 16. On Sunday I flipped between that and the E! True Hollywood Story on Jessica and Ashlee Simpson. While on Martha’s Vineyard where it was a perfect day, thank you very much.

Last week Wombat (or Midwest-they’re both awesome so who cares) noted that I want to be a politician and suggested that I plant some intentionally juicy gossip to later deny. Fucking brilliant. But I suppose now that I’ve publicly admitted it, people will read it and think that it’s bullshit. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t.

Earlier we were listening to some Napoleon Dynamite quotes. I’m just mildly obsessed with that movie. I like movies with skills and large talons. If I really like you, I’ll catch you a delicious bass.

I discovered a new blog today: The Heart Tribute Super Fan Page. I kinda heart it.

I’ve been craving some serious chocolate today. Like for instance those chocolate covered macadamia nuts I inhaled. Today’s a good day for a chocolate fountain. Note to self, if I get married, get a chocolate fountain.

Now back to your regularly scheduled blogging and/or blog reading.

Tuesday, September 06, 2005

Inkwell

There are no facts, only interpretations. ~Friedrich Nietzsche

There is something mildly disturbing about vacationing in Martha’s Vineyard, while hundreds of thousands of people are suffering. People who have just lost all of their worldly possessions and their homes, while I’m trolloping around my mother’s summer home and she has yet to find out what happened to the house we have in Alabama, just two hours from New Orleans. It’s also disturbing that I can’t think of the words I need to convey my frustration and how distraught I’ve been about this entire mess. But this always happens when I’m extremely angry or frustrated. I can’t find my words and I end up in tears or with that all too familiar lump in my throat.

Helpless isn’t even the word for right now. I spent the entire time in the airport Friday, rehashing what exactly went wrong and why no one could help the people that were there. I know I’m sounding naïve and trite, but right now I can’t help it. I also realize that all of what I want to say has been said, by people who can write about these situations much better than I. Personally I would like to point out the brilliant Jack Shafer (here and here) who I’ve been obsessed with for awhile now; as well as Krugman and Maureen Dowd. There you have it-I’m showing off the liberal in me.

There are many things that I can be eloquent about when I put some sort of thought into it then there are times like these, where I am so flabbergasted and fucking livid that I don’t know what to say. I just sit around quietly with the lump in my throat. Come to think of it, this is how I’ve felt for the past five years. Sine the beginning of this administration. Always feeling like something bad were about to happen. Never completely safe Waiting for more to happen and now it feels like we’re beating the proverbial dead horse.

Well look here. I seem to have written something somewhat coherent. It’s not perfect of course or the most eloquent thing in the world, but it’s just me feeling shitty (which is nothing new), but this time about something that I have no control over. But please by all means, go read something better than this pedestrian shit here.

Thursday, September 01, 2005

104

*So I wrote an earlier post. It was semi-thoughtful but rushed. Now I'm posting something different, because I couldn't articulate very well, all that I wanted to say earlier.

"You want Romantic? Where's my clarinet?"-Jeffery Euginedes, Middlesex

1. My name-Heather-is a type of purple Scottish flower. It’s number 12 on the list of top 20 whitest girl’s names.
2. I am 21.
3. Hillary Clinton and I share the same birthday.
4. My second internship was with Hillary Clinton. I’ve met her three times and have met her husband once.
5. I want Hillary Clinton’s seat in the US Senate.
6. I can name at least one Senator from every state.
7. My parents are divorced.
8. I’m closer to my mom than my dad.
9.I call my mom by her first name-Peg. My friends do as well. My brother calls her babe, so Peg isn’t that bad.
10. My father is from Birmingham and my mother is from West Virginia. But their children are from upstate NY.
11. I’ve never not lived in a capital city: Albany, Washington, DC, Madrid.
12. My current boss ran for President-and that’s about all I’ll mention about him.
13. I’m a HUGE Democrat. And it’s really important to me.
14. I love my job and I am lucky that I got a job at my first choice place.
15. I have three brothers. Two are older and one is younger. 16. I once stuck a pool stick in the spokes of my brother’s bike and he ran into a wall. My mother then used the pool stick on me.
17. When my mother was pregnant with my brother I tried to feed him French fries through her belly button.
18. I’ve gotten stitches twice (not from the pool stick incident), but no broken bones.
19. I can only wear 14 Karat gold or above and platinum or something hypoallergenic. I’m allergic to silver.
20. I have multiple best friends to fit my multiple personalities. I am nothing like any of them.
21. I went to Girl Scout camp for 13 years.
22. My camp name is Mushu after the dragon in Mulan.
23. I’ll answer to Heather, Heather B., HB, Heath Bar, Heath, Heath Bar Crunch, H to the B Xzibit, Mushu, and Moose Poop in a Shoe.
24. Between 7th grade and 10th grade I failed one class per academic quarter.
25. My 9th grade social studies teacher failed me and then threatened to do so again. I had him for AP European History the next year and I got a 4 on the AP test. He still talks about me to his students.
26. My all time favorite teacher’s name is Mr. Nelligan. He taught AP Public Policy. I got a 4 on that AP test as well.
27. I entered college with 28 college credits, but it still took me 4 years to finish college. Mostly because I took 12 credits per semester.
28. I majored in Communications, Law, Economics and Government (CLEG)
29. I wanted to be a Neonatologist, but I failed biology.
30. I got a tatoo on my ankle because I couldn't get my tounge pierced. I also have my tragus pierced.
31. "You want romantic? Where's my clarinet?" Is my favorite quote from a book
32. I once wanted to have a baby daughter named Savannah. Now I don’t want any children.
33. I’m double jointed in my fingers and sometimes my elbow comes out of its socket.
34. I’m a quarter Irish and I'm black.
35. I once used Nair in my hair to get rid of a widow’s peak. I fucked up and had to cut myself bangs.
36. I cut off all of my hair this past January and I refuse to ever get another relaxer or get my hair braided.
37. I used to be a smoker, even though my grandfather died from lung cancer.
38. I can play the clarinet, bassoon, and bass clarinet. I’m very good at the clarinet.
39. In 8th grade I wrote a note to a friend stating that my Social Studies teacher was really fat and had a huge stomach. The teacher found out. I got detention and I couldn’t go to the Moving Up Day dance.
40. I once lost 50lbs. I gained 30 of it back.
41. In 7th grade a kid that used to be a very good friend of mine got everyone to start calling me Butter. I still cringe when I hear that word. The kid who started it died this past March.
42. I want to go to graduate school to study Education Policy but prior to that I want to do Teach for America.
43. Everything I want to do when I ‘grow up’ will never make me very much money. But I don’t do it for the money I do it for the cause.
44. I’m terrible with money, but with Suze Orman I’m learning.
45. I learned to read when I was three. I used to read in the bathroom and in the shower. The first story I learned to read was the story of Cain and Abel.
46. When I was 8 years old, Edgar Allen Poe was my favorite author. I made my mom read “The Tale Tell Heart” to me before bed.
47. I’ve read every Little House on the Prairie book.
48. I’ve never had braces therefore my teeth are naturally very straight.
49. I won’t eat anything smaller than fettuccini. Anything smaller makes me think of worms going down my throat.
50. My favorite candy bar is a Take 5 bar.
51. I want a chocolate fountain in my bedroom. If I could choose only two things to dip into the fountain it would be pretzels and bananas. This is a daily work conversation.
52. I worked on a presidential campaign fulltime while taking 13 credits worth of classes. It was my best semester in three years.
53. Campaign work is the most challenging and tiring job, but I want to do at least two more before I settle down.
54. I want to have a town house in Georgetown and a jaguar or Porsche Cayenne Turbo. Although I doubt it will ever happen.
55. I drive a mercury sable. It’s about as cool as a ford 500, but it at least has a sunroof. I used to drive a mini van, up until last year.
56. I shop way above my means, which is probably why I never have any money.
57. I drink and talk about diet code red mountain dew, more than any other person I know.
58. I believe strongly in organized labor, therefore I don’t shop at Walmart.
59. I’ve been to Spain, Italy, Canada, Mexico, The Netherlands, Morocco, and Portugal
60. I would like to go to France, Iceland, Australia, Southern Africa, Egypt, Dubai, Thaliand and Fiji.
61. For awhile I wanted to go to the Peace Corps, which is the original reason for why I started growing out my hair to go natural.
62. I went to Madrid for my final semester at school, because George Bush won again.
63. Lisbon, Portugal is my favorite city in the world.
64. I went to American University.
65. I got into Cornell and was going to major in Industrial and Labor Relations. But then I realized that Ithaca is too fucking cold.
66. I won’t cry in public.
67. Many first impressions of me are that I am a heartless bitch. It’s not true. But I can be slightly bitchy.
68. My favorite restaurant is Linda Jean’s in Oak Bluffs, Massachusetts.
69. I drink excessive amounts of Shiraz and I’m just mildly obsessed with it.
70. My favorite phrases are “mildly obsessed” and “love it”
71. I’m deathly afraid of Clowns
72. I’m also afraid of Chucky the doll from Child’s Play. Once it was an advertisement on my AIM so I couldn’t look at my buddy list for the entire day.
73. My favorite movie is the Contender. It’s about a woman Senator who is tapped to become Vice President.
74. My favorite book is East of Eden by John Steinbeck.
75. I’ve read everything by JD Salinger.
76. I own the BAP (Black American Princess) Handbook. It’s scary how much I can relate to it.
77. I love to golf, kayak, and do yoga
78. I’ve never been in love.
79. I’m single by choice.
80. I loved living alone, but I now have a roommate who is like my brother.
81. Listening to golf, the Chicago Bears or Star Trek puts me to sleep.
82. When I was a baby, my parents used to drive me around in the car to put me to sleep. I can’t be in a car or moving vehicle without falling asleep now. This includes planes.
83. I’ve received one speeding ticket. It was for doing 75 in a 45 trying to get back to my High School to turn in a scholarship application.
84. I’ve been towed three times. Once to Anacostia (a neighborhood in DC) and since then I’ve learned to read parking signs.
85. I’ve seen every episode of The OC (all 50 of them) and cry when an advertisement for it comes on.
86. I’m extremely neurotic.
87. What turns me off most from people, is when they act like I’m annoying or bothering them.
88. Until 8th grade I was labeled the annoying girl and spent many an afternoon crying in the bathroom.
89. In 8th grade twins Tia and Topaz came to my school and I turned into a huge bitch. Now I’m at a happy medium.
90. I had a therapist for a year and half. She was great.
91. I am a pescitarian. I used to be a vegetarian.
92. My father doesn’t understand why I am a pescitarian or why I went to school in DC. I refuse to budge on either.
93. I neither want to be married or have children. But that might change.
94. If I were to get married it would be on Martha’s Vineyard and I would walk down the aisle to Pachabel’s Canon. But you know, I haven’t thought about it at all.
95. My favorite scent is Hana Muri.
96. My Aunt Rachel is one of my favorite people in the world, but we used to fight on a regular basis.
97. I once called my cousin Lydia a bitch in the middle of the mall. She hated me and my brother. Now we talk on a regular basis.
98. Listening to gospel makes me tear up. I think it’s the southern in me.
99. I believe in God.
100.I wear pearls everyday.
101. I’ve had the same Christmas Eve/Day tradition for about 17 years. Movies and lunch with my dad on Christmas Eve. My dad comes over at 8:30am on Christmas Day. My brother and I are 21 and 19 respectively, I doubt it will ever change.
102. I was afraid of dogs until I had to dog sit for my boss. I now want two. Atticus and Phoebe. 103. I want to write one great novel like Harper Lee.
104. I am mildly obsessed with Oprah. For my 16th birthday, my mother, aunts and I went to Chicago for the weekend and we went to her show.
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