Underestimation

I underestimate things.

This fact was called to my attention the other night at Gadsby's Tavern. I had just sat down to dinner with my Mom, Grandmother, Aunt and Aunt's friend Judy. After looking over the menu, I reached for the bread. I correctly estimated the distance between my hand and the bread, and was able to get a piece without a hitch. However, apparently my depth perception abilities decrease when objects are moving towards me rather than away. When I brought back my hand to put the bread on my plate, I underestimated the distance. With a resounding clank, my elbow hit my pewter plate and made a gigantic crashing noise.

Yes, patrons, you have me to thank for ruining your quiet night.

Today I continued underestimating:

• The space between the pantry and the kitchen door. I have one stubbed toe to prove it.
• The height of the shelf in my bathroom. I have one bump on my head to prove it.
• The slippery-ness (is that a word) of a washed vegetable. I have one bruised avacado to prove it.
• How much nail polish remover can fit in the cap of the bottle without it's overflowing. I have one very potent-smelling room to prove it. (Or maybe that's overestimating?)
• The amount of food I can consume in one weeks time. I have the muffin-tops to prove it.

I also underestimated the amount of time it would take me to write this post. I have one overly-cooked pot of pasta to prove it.

Things I've seen.

Things that I've seen lately:

A. Gigantic cheese (please see above). I have never been so happy, nor surprised in my life to see an enormous brie cheese wheel in Safeway. Thank you Maryland, you're right, my Virginia Safeway doesn't have such a wide selection.

B. On the way home from church today with Destiny and Rachel we sat acoss the metro from a fifty-something year old man and his slightly younger (ok, significantly younger) girlfriend. He groped her the whole time. In front of us. For five stops. I was shocked and awed (Thank you George W.) Is there no peace in the public sphere these days?

C. The look on people's faces when I pulled out a handfull of string cheese from my purse during sunday school. What can I say, sometimes I just need snacks (Valerie, if you're reading this, you taught me everything I need to know about snacks).

D. A freaky waiter (I call him Jafar) at Casablanca. He had the most terrifying eyes I've ever seen, was way too excited to see us, and kept asking "it good? it still good? want another coke??"

E. The largest blister I've ever had. Two inches of flesh pulled away from my right heel. That's what I get for buying Coach shoes.

F. A flock of segways. Yes, a flock. I call them a flock because that sounds better than a fleet. Don't you think?

G. The inside of my office. Not that that's new or anything, and not that that's exciting, but it's what I've seen a lot of.

A date by any other name.

Blind dates are usually against my policy. I can get guys to ask me out on my own, thank you very much.

More importantly, I always end up making a fool of myself on blind dates. Actually, I make a fool of myself on dates in general. It's a wonder I ever make it to the second date.

This week I went out on a blind date with a friend of a friend. When my friend had asked me if she could give this guy my number, she never told me his name, so when he called, I was fully convinced that he had introduced himself as "Robby." I was fully convinced of this throughout dinner as well. I was fully convinced right up until the point where he corrected me, saying "you know that my name's actually 'Bobby', right?" Yep, that is definitely the point where I became much less convinced. Flat out the opposite of convinced ("un-convinced"? "unvinced"?...). Flat out mortified.

I spent the rest of the date feeling sheepish and apologizing profusely. There is nothing worse than being called the wrong name. I mean, I guess it could have been worse. I could have called him "Steve" the entire night or something. At least "Robby" is relatively similar to "Bobby," right? For all he know I'm just dislexic...

In all of my awkward glory, I began to reminise to myself about past dates. There have been some doozies. Don't steal this stuff. It's true, and give credit where credit is due. When it shows up in my memoirs someday, I don't want to be accused of plagarism because one of ya'll out there in cyberspace stole anecdotes from my deliciously awkward life.

Prom. I was 17. I had braces. I was sunburned from being in the sun all day attempting to play golf with guys who grew up on the country club (I'm more of a McDonald's girl myself...no country club for me). I went with a guy that I hadn't really spoken with since the 6th grade. In fact, in our Provo-style all-day-long date, I think that I talked to him more than I previously had in my whole life combined.

We went to Tepanyaki for dinner (picture Beni Hana, but "Happy-Valley" style). The chef was Asian (duh, Rach, what'd you expect?). And, as I've recently experienced again, didn't speak much English --wow, I really should learn Japanese. I told the man that I didn't want any shrimp. I don't think he understood. Correction, I KNOW he didn't understand, because he still launched the shrimp in my direction.

As I reached my hand out to catch the shrimp in mid-air (I really didn't want to eat it...I hate the texture of shrimp), the neck of my dress also came forward. I missed the shrimp, but it didn't miss me. It went straight down my dress.

The shrimp was hot. The shrimp smelled, well, shrimpy...and I didn't like it one bit. I quickly excused myself from the table--amid stares from the 11 teenagers surrounding me--and ran to the bathroom. It was practically a surgical procedure to remove said shrimp. My dress was quite tight, so I had to completely unzip to get it out.

I returned to the table, slightly burned, slightly embarassed, and slight hint of shrimp emanating from my dress.

I have grown older since high school, but that doesn't mean that my dates have gotten any less awkward. I live for this stuff.

Refuting my previous point.

Warning: I am not feeling at all creative this evening so this has the potential to be quite the boring post. My sincerest apologies.

I would first like to start by refuting a previous post of mine. Namely the one about Asian tourists. I take it back. I take it all back. American tourists are far worse. Here are several reasons why:

1. On saturday on my way into town I got onto the metro and sat down. I was listening to music and was oblivious to everyone around me until I sat down and pulled out my book. Ugh, what is that disgusting smell? I can't possibly read under these conditions. I looked up and realized that I was surrounded by boy scouts. All shapes and sizes of them. Every shape and every size, though, appeared to have the same non-existent hygiene practices. Take a shower once in a while, troupe 9 from Virgina Beach!

2. I had forgotten what it's like downtown DC during the summer months. I had forgotten what it was like to be in high school (and was happy about that). I had forgotten what it was like to have to decline dates to 16 year-olds. Today at lunch I had a cold slap of reality and was forced to remember. Carolyn and I went out to lunch at Au Bon Pain (hereafter "ABP"), which is one of our favorites...

Small digression: while I was ladeling (is that a word?) my soup, a rather pompous-looking woman attorney bumped my arm. The rather violent jerk that ensued caused me to spill scalding soup all over my hand, blackberry and wallet. It burned. Really. I have the red-tinged hand to prove it. She looked at me, then looked away. No "I'm sorry, did that broccoli cheddar soup singe your hand," no "can I help you remove the broccoli clumps from between the keys on your blackberry?" Nothing. Rudest attorney I've ever bumped into. Believe me I've bumped into my fair share, you can't walk 10 feet without bumping into an attorney in DC.


Alright, back to the loud, obnoxious American teenagers. Remind me to stay away from the food court at National Place. There are, invariably, hoards of teen tour groups (young ambassadors, trust fund kids etc. who think they're entitled) sprawling themselves out on the sidewalk. Besides providing entertainment (was I really that awkward as a teenager? --you're all thinking "um, YES") as I watch them when I eat, they're extremely inconvenient to my lunch schedule. Carolyn and I were trying to get back to the office after a quick window shopping outing, when we were suddenly surrounded. I looked around to see what could have been attracting them. Trinkets. AHHH, yes, the ever popular "I love DC" t-shirts and "FBI" hats. As every high schooler knows, you're automatically way more popular if you wear the DC or NYC t-shirt to school after spring break. Where was I going with this?


Oh, well, the surrounded us and we had to absolutely weave our way through the crowd (picture Steve Young trying to sprint through the defensive line-up of the opposing team, and you got it).


In the time it took us to get back to the office I had decided one thing: No, I was personally never ever that annoying as a teenager. Seriously people.


3. Not only is everything IN Texas bigger, but everything FROM Texas is also bigger. Texan tourists? Enough said.

4. No single nationality is louder than Americans. I want my city back!

5. This is, I believe, why Americans have a bad name.

Thanks to the cherry blossom festival. You can all see why the unmanageable gaggles of people that have descended on the city:

"Happy Birthday, I got you a terrorist!"

I usually don't blog at work, but I have a little extra time on my hands right now, so I figured I'd give you all the play-by-play.

Why do I have so much extra time on my hands, you ask?

My office is currently under lockdown. In fact, the entire block surrounding my office is surrounded by police and taped off. The police have advised us to "stay away from outward walls and all windows" as a precautionary measure. It seems a little counterproductive to me, to keep everyone inside a building that may or may not blow up in the next hour. Shouldn't they want us all to evacuate?

When I got to metro center this morning, no, I didn't run into Mr. 400-pound-metro-launcher again. I was told that my exit was closed and to turn around. You've got to be kidding me. Then, the station manager was yelling at a conductor and told us all (there were probably 100 of us waiting to get back through the station at this point) to wait while he finished his heated conversation. Again, you've got to be kidding me. By the time I found my way to another exit and made it out to the street level, the police were taping off F-street. I made it into my office, took off my tennis shoes, put on my heels, and noticed that I was almost 45 minutes late for work.

I called Sally immediately to discuss. Not work, mind you, but rather the more important matter at hand: terrorists? We both agreed that apparently we get to take a hit for the team all because we were trying to get to work on time. If I had just been a little later, they wouldn't have let me into the building and I could have gone to the bookstore instead.

Metisse and I also discussed the potential consequences of the "suspicious package": death? A day off work? Free lunch at Chez? So many possiblities. Anyhow, it's Joanna's birthday today. Metisse generously told her, "Happy Birthday!!! I got you your very own terrorist!" Just what each of us always wanted.

More updates to follow (hopefully). I just hope it doesn't prevent me from getting to go out to dinner tonight.

And once again, my post ends revolving around food. Even under terrorist pressures, is that all I can think about?

April foolings

Several amusing things happened to me today. Actually, several amusing things happened from me today between the hours of 6:00 and 7:00 pm. It was a very eventful hour.

I got onto the metro. I usually travel during rush hour, so I'm used to it. However, today was more crowded than usual (even for Metro Center). I got on the metro and found the perfect spot: leaning up against the glass divider. This is my preferred spot to stand because I can have both hands free (and not have on holding onto a pole) to read, change the song on my ipod, and other such important things. I have a very strict metro itinerary for myself: in the mornings I read the paper, and on the way home I read my book (currently "A Brief History of Time" by Stephen Hawking...it's a keeper, by the way).

Anyhow, just as I was about to pull out my book, I saw out of the corner of my eye, a rather large man approaching my door. He stepped into the train just as the doors were closing. DC metro doors wait for no man (believe me, I've seen people lose shoes and handbags to the doors). I hadn't realized that the "rather large" man was, in reality, enormous: I would guess close to 400 pounds. The doors started to close on him, so he made what appeared to be a split-second decision and launched himself through the closing doors onto the train...specifically, onto me.

I'm quite a small person. Consequently, when a 400 pound object launches itself/himself at me, the result isn't pretty. Picture me, absolutely smashed up against the glass divider with no room to move my arms or legs. Look of dismay/disgust/annoyance on my face (which happens to be plastered up against the glass). I think my hand was on the stiff looking business man's rear for the next three stops while I stood there unable to move from the uncomfortable predicament. It was not only uncomfortable due to the placement of my hand, nor my being smashed, but also because Mr. 400-pound-metro-launcher was hott and sweaty, and there was nothing I could do to get away from it.

I have never been so glad to get off the metro in my entire life. Lucky for me Rosslyn is only 4 stops from Metro Center. There may not have been much of me left if I had had to wait until Vienna to get off.

Come to think of it, there were lots of sweaty people on the metro today. I'm guessing it's because the temperature jumped about 20 degrees today so it was 70 degrees and rather humid outside. Alas, this is terrible public transportation weather. For recreation, thank goodness, it is perfect weather. I took a long jog ("yog" as Tom has told me) through Rosslyn, around the Iwo Jima Memorial a couple times, and then a long cool down through Arlington Cemetary. The view from the Iwo Jima Memorial is my absolute favorite view of the city. I have definitely fallen in love with DC.

Before I wax cheesey...

Back to my main point: Asians.

I live in a very touristy neighborhood since I live so close to Georgetown, the Iwo Jima Memorial and Arlington Cemetary. This provides me with an endless supply of gorgeous jogging options, but also provides an endless supply of gigantic tour busses filled with endless amounts of bustling tourists. I had to run through a gaggle of them this evening. I made the mistake of running down Wilson boulevard on the south side rather than the north. The south side (represent) is where the tour busses generally park.

There were three groups of tourist-mode Asians and a cross-walke between me and my apartment, but I was determined to get home as soon as possible because lunch was a long time ago and I was craving pasta roni (is there beginning to be a theme to my posts??). So, I dodged my way through the crowds, nearly hitting more than one tourist more than one time. AND, I don't think they even noticed anyone was trying to get by. Maybe I'd have had better luck if I spoke Japanese: "hello, runner here, on your right...hungry...MOVE." I made it home to my pasta roni though, so even though I was ready to pelt the tourists congregating in front of my apartment with spitballs when I got home, after I ate I felt more benevolent and decided to watch American Idol instead.

Almost too much excitement for one hour, don't you think? And on a Tuesday, too.