Chilly Beans
In DC, however, we are far too hip to call it the subway. We call it 'the Metro.' We think we are very trendy and very cool and even though there are innumerable amounts of other cities who also call their transist system 'the Metro' we feel we ares special. I don't know what Metro stands for. I assumed 'Metropolitan' but that doesn't really make too much sense. Anyway, if you are especially hip you will live within walking distance to a Metro stop, even if it is out in Ghettoville, Maryland. Surprisingly, the Metro goes all the way out to Ghettoville, Maryland; as I unhappily discovered while apartment shopping. If you are not hip, you may take any of the Metrobuses from the Metro to your exceedingly non-hip location.
The Metro is the great equalizer because there is no class of people too rich to take it (with the exception of Presidents; Senators). Rich or poor everyone hates sitting in traffic (except for me, ironically). The people who do utilize it for their commute homogonize into a big blob of bland; similar looking people wearing a lanyard with the name of their place of employment and an ID card with a very harassed looking photo. When I wait for the bus in the afternoon I delight in reading lanyards: State Department, Qwest, Naval Operations, etc. They are brands of the employed and the grown and someday I too hope to have one.
The Metrobus is the great equalizer of the poor and the immigrants. While you might have a Craigslist Missed Connection on the Metro (TM), it will not happen on the Metrobus. The bus is for those with lots of time and very little money (me). The thing about the bus is not only does it take much longer to get to where you're going, but taking the bus is all about waiting. Waiting for it to arrive, waiting for it to depart. Waiting at redlights, waiting for passangers. Wait wait wait. The bus comes nowhere near operating on Kipp time; the Metro, however, tries a little bit better to accomodate it. This accomodation comes with a price, and while it takes only 25 minutes from card swipe on my Orange line stop to plopping down in my chair in The Office, it is $2.90 one way. The bus is $1.25, or free if the driver doesn't notice you are reusing a tranfer from two months ago (me). It also takes two hours door to door. I take the bus in the evenings, when that two hours has no effect on the aggregate time my head spends on a pillow.
The big trend in my life right now is that I feel like I have infiltrated the adult world but remain an ignorant child. I feel like I am still the same sophomore in high school who makes Mac and Cheese after school with Eileen and dances around to the Cure and gossips about boys except things have been mixed up a titch. Now I pay rent, now I commute, now I buy groceries, now people 'count on me' and 'need my help'. Now I do my own laundry. I still dress like a child/raggamuffin (I hate shopping) but I feel like Jane Goodall, steathily taking notes about these grown up people and their grown up feelings without ever actually assimilating myself.
On that note, yesterday was my softball game. A little known fact about me is that I belong to a co-ed softball league that plays for 2 hours on Sunday. An even lesser known fact is that my roommate is the manager, and that all my athletic notions were dashed once I realized I didn't have the appropriate clothes, I look stupid in a hat, I don't have much of a competative spirit, and I'm fat and hate being out in the sun for long periods of time. While I had enthusiasm starting out, after the first game I remained embittered even through the niceties of my team. John (the roommate in question) said that now that they are counting on me. I didn't play in the second game because I was sick, and this week there were extra players and I got there late so I was excused to cheer and watch John's dog until my friends and I got sick of it and decided to go to Applebee's. But either way, as another week ticks by around rolls another Sunday where I might be needed in the softball department and John refuses to let me off the hook. He is 'counting on me.' I wish someone could count on me to lay in bed all day, or to eat grapes and watch 'Passions.' Instead they count on me to attend meetings or come up with project plans or try not to get hit in the face with a bat while I act as catcher.
Later that evening Mormon and her sister Slighty More Annoying Mormon lent their mini-van talents to me and we drove up to Rockville, Maryland to pick up a bed I found on Craigslist and made arrangements to purchase. It is a contemporary take on a sleigh bed in a blonde wood, queen sized. We ended up arranging all the furniture in my room not only to accomodate the new piece but also to give the room more of a flow. The major (and anticipated, tho still annoying) problem is the bed is not a platform. My air mattress still sits on the floor, but now it is surrounded by a very cool bed-shell. Now that I have a bed, I am on the quest for a cheap box spring and really, I would go for a mattress too. I know the dangers and disgusting stories about used mattresses, but I am not terribly picky. If you are in the Washington DC metro area (or knows anyone who is!) and are getting rid of a box spring, please call me. I am poor so do not expect a lot of money. I have already found a few on Craigslist but I feel like eventually my luck with run out with CL.
I really really really want a hamster. I really really really want to put it in a hamster ball. I really really really really want to name it Meemo. I really really really want to buy it a super classy cage with lots of tubes and toys. I really really really really want a rodent friend. Even though I am 20 years old, my mother thinks a hamster is too much responsibility for me. I think she is genuinely concerned about the welfare of the animal in my care. Am I that retarded that I could not care for a hamster? I love animals but I have never owned a small animal nor known anyone who has. If you're not giving me a boxspring, please provide hamster care info. Thank you.
Anyway, that's all for the time being. Life is moving at the speed of slow.
