7 posts tagged “nova”
I'm sitting here in my gym clothes trying to work my way outside. It's hard because I'm lazy and I had a rather harried hunt for food last night...and I was still eating kabobs at 1:30 this morning. That trip was all thanks to WB.
We left the mall last night and I had the worst craving for salty food. We were in Tyson's, and amazingly, everything starts to close at 10. It being after 9:30, the likelihood of an open kitchen was...unlikely. So we wended our way through Falls Church, Alexandria, Annandale, Arlington...and stopped at a sketchy Ethiopian restaurant (where I almost lost my shit in the parking lot having a passive aggressive war with an SUV) and faced defeat after defeat in the guise of closed restaurants. Some on the hit list: Pollo Campero, Super Pollo, Mark's Duck House, Dehli Dhaba, and more. We were even lost by the Air Force Memorial on the hunt for a kabob place in Crystal City. We went where civilians feared to tread and ran away.
We (I) had given up, and was ready to turn tail west for a Cherry Coke Zero and a Krispy Kreme, when WB said she knew the name of the kabob place (Kabob Palace) and a direction. I know Kabob Palace is well known, and she had even been there. She also swore that I was there, just drunk, but she was wrong, because they dropped me off that night, the night of Fried Twinkies; I was kabob-less that night.
Oh wow, the digression.
Anyhow, I feel like my stomach is still stuffed with kubiedeh, bread, chickpeas and lentils. And I am watching the disastrous second to last season of Alias. I hated this episode, but Mirage, the ep where Sydney has to act out a scene from the past with Jack always makes me tear up a little, because it's Jack Bristow in one of his rare sentimental moments. I love that man. He's definitely part of why I have such a soft spot for older men. So I write poetry for him, inspired by an ongoing email conversation I have conducted through haiku:
jack you sexy beast
you made the show watchable
without you it's shit
i know you can kill
you have a shed of weapons
disturbingly hot
i know you're not real
but i am still your fangirl
i need to get out
Bwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
I've been a good little girl and stayed in for the night to study. It helps that I can't breathe, and I'm inhaling straight from my Vicks vaporizer, but nonetheless. I am Mea. I am Studious. So, while I'm flipping through a case on Volkswagon in Shanghai that I've already read before, my mind keeps on going back to this comment I heard last night at this concert I was at.
This guy in the audience asked for a song that would piss us off. This intrigued me, and I'm sure it intrigued the singer too. The Anonymous Audience Member (AAM) went on to say it would be a song to piss us off, we who were, something to the effect of overpaid, ignorant suburbanites living in a, and I quote, "fascist beehive."
I think I about this, and I get a little bit ticked off. Or if not ticked, then awfully contemplative. Why? I'll make a list. I like lists.
1. Fascism by definition combines the elements of corporatism, authoritarianism, nationalism, militarism, anti-liberalism and anti-communism. You're at a concert with earthy crunchy people, or at least I am, who like to think themselves free-wheeling Democrats. Who's he going to piss off with a song mocking fascists?
2. You're at a venue that's in the middle of the woods surrounded by million dollar homes and you probably drove there in your Mercedes or your Saab. Shut up and don't talk to me. You talk a big game little man, but you're still entitled even if you think George is a dumbass and helped to vote Jim Webb in over Macaque-hating George Allen and brought a semblance of checks and balances back to the government. You still fight to keep the district lines where they are so your kids can go to school in the right county and therefore get into the right university. Fuck off, AAM.
3. There is no place for self-loathing like Northern Virginia.
4. I live beyond the beehive. I'm not cool enough to live inside the Beltway. I commute in to find amusement. Does that make un-fascist? Does that mean I get to be a communist? You know my parents sometimes say that our relatives that moved to France are communists. We came here because we're not. Odd.
5. If you, AAM don't like it, get the hell out. Don't bitch about it and continue to make your overblown salary if you hate the hive so much. People who hate it migrate out.
I'm still stuck on hypocrisy. I'm not going to entertain the notion that he's some random guy that came to this place that's so far from his 'hood. During the summer, the concerts are held in an amphitheater. Some of the women show up in sundresses, the men in slacks and a polo. They have picnic baskets full of crudite, breads, olives and cheeses from Whole Foods or Balducci's, wines and mineral water. I refuse to believe this jackass is anything other than a blowhard. Ridiculous. I at least acknowledge I'm frivolous and ridiculous. I'm also sure I have been a hypocrite on multiple occasions, but I'm equally sure I've owned up to it. So I hope he does too. I do what makes me happy, but I also know what poverty is, and know what's right and what's wrong. Some times when I listen to people, I wonder what makes them say what they say, and how much they know about it.
I'm not rich, I don't think my parents are rich, but neither should they feel guilty for whatever they've made, because they make it for a reason. They have relatives to support in another country, does AAM? They've known what hunger is, how many people do? (PS, if I have to listen to the: "You're not thirsty. Do you know what thirst is? Thirst is standing on one side of a lake and knowing you can't drink because on the other side there is a sniper ready to shoot you as soon as you come out of the trees..." story again, I'm going to snipe myself.) So if they want to spend some of their hard-earned money on a nice vacation or some luxury items, then bully for them.
It fucking annoys me when people say that capitalist are the devil and so are private-owned enterprises are as well. Okay, yeah, when abused, sure, they really do stupid shit that deserves recrimination, but don't tell me that money isn't important. And I'm not going into the faults of communism and socialism and government-owned enterprises. I'm pointing a big fucking finger at China and that ticking time bomb, but I'm not going into it. No one needs to be bored. And do we remember Russia? RUSSIA?! Okay, okay, stopping now.
I apologize for the post, but I'm posting it anyway. I like to confine my anger to minutae and fluffy things, but some times things like this irk me. All I ask is that people be educated if they're going to get soapbox-y or sanctimonious. Have the background, the information or the actions to backup your claim, Bitch, or shut up.
So there was a fire today. I'm not sure where it was (except that it was in my building), or from whence it came. I just know that that particular building updated its fire alarm system because now it talks to us: "You done been smote! Someone started a fire. Get out while you can, and for goodness sake read a damn sign and don't try to take the elevator." Okay, not so much...more like: "A fire has been detected. Please locate the nearest stairwell and exit the building. Thank you." Something to that effect. Bland. But amusing nonetheless. Because it cut into half my class time. Huzzah!
It's not that I particularly want to avoid class, because I do like school, but this class gives me the twitches. Not only are half the students fighting to the death to talk, but they're also fighting with the prof to talk. It's a tennis match, but no points, no nets, and no rules against throwing your racquet at your opponent or pegging them in the head with a ball. I don't care, because I spend my time drinking as many beverages as possible because I'm fighting to stay awake. I made an awesome mess of my bubble tea today.
Anyhow, I discovered there were benefits to this fire beyond missing class:
1) I discovered that my new friend is a frequenter of strip clubs, or is an "import/exporter." He denies both, but what other excuse does he have for carrying around a wad of cash with ones and hundreds? He is so Yakuza. And a cheap stripper tipper at that.
2) Judging a book by its cover isn't always wrong. There is this girl who sits two rows in front of me. Upon first impression, you think she's a priss. She has Chanel sunglasses perma-perched in her hair. A purse to match her outfit: a Longchamp tote, an LV Speedy, a Vera Bradley quilted hot mess...Pearls in her ears. A Tiffany bracelet dangling on her wrist. She looks pretty damn high maintenance. Not like I'm not, but I'm high maintenance in terms of amusement and general creature comforts. And I know this isn't always indicative of a person's true self, but damn if she isn't really prissy and a mean bitch to boot.
We'd gotten the okay to leave since there was no way the fire alarm situation was going to be resolved -- four fire trucks had arrived, there was a ladder being raised to the roof, and policemen directing traffic away. So we went with the knowledge that we'd pick up discussion next week. My friend and I return to the building an hour and a half later for another class, and the girl's sitting outside. She knows my friend and proceeds to chastize her for not returning to class. I would normally take this as a jest, since the professor told us to leave, and she was being mean about it. Amongst the civilized (or people I know), we're mean sarcastically because really, we don't mean anything by it. No, hooker drug it out and argued with us over the fact that the prof told us we could go. It was clearly our fault that we didn't mind read that he was going to conduct class afterall, since about five people stuck around after the incident. Seriously? Even if we missed class, isn't that really our problem, not hers? Why would she take it upon herself to lecture me? Are we not peers? Wait -- I don't even know her. I was just standing next to a person that did! Not a fan of hers. Not a fan. If she had gone off for any longer I would have degenerated into suggesting she get a hot oil treatment, because her hair is effed up.
And she doesn't get to be mean and bitchy and humorless. No. You get one or two, but not all three! Bitchy people get to pull off bitchy because they're probably funny, or approach things with a sense of humor. If you're not a bitch, then I don't know why I'm friends with you...but you're also an amusing bitch, or I wouldn't keep you around. Although, if you ask my friend, she would say that we were engineered to be so, a product of our environment. Go NoVA! Nonetheless. You can't get away with being all three. Pick two. I'll give you that.
So those were my lessons learned. On another note, I love my laptop. It did not die on me after I dropped it today. I heart my laptop. It hearts me.
...I can't escape Starbucks. Four classes in the last three semesters of school have me studying their case. A girl can only discuss corporate social responsibility for so longer before she wants to take a plane to whatever developing country is growing coffee beans and smack them senseless to stop deforestation. Seriously. Do you want to be Haiti?
...Rainy days are the perfect excuse for hot baths, candles and a big mug of peppermint tea. Also good for reading that stack of catalogues you just got in the mail full of gorgeous things you can't afford.
...I understand that I live in NoVa, and by virtue of this, must contend with ridiculous drivers who can't react properly to inclement weather, but I don't have to play nice or give up my right to gesticulate rudely and scream from inside my car. I know you think I'm an aggressive driver because I'm mean about traffic (which to an extent I am), but I'm also just being sensible when I want you to drive close to the speed limit when the other cars in the middle and right lane are going ten over. It is your responsibility to go the speed of traffic. It is your responsibility to get out of my fucking left lane if you can't drive. It is your responsibility to stop the Mini Cooper behind me from riding my ass because they can't see you Sunday driving in front of me. I will cut you. And stop glaring at me because I'm yelling at you. You know what you've done is wrong.
...The rain tried to eat my umbrella again. I like my umbrella whole.
...President Festus Mogae is coming to town, and I get to go see him! I wonder if there will be Bushmen protesting outside? I would kind of feel bad about walking past protestors. I'd also hurt if they threw something at me. But I want to listen to them talk about conflict diamonds. I'm doing research, damn it!
...I changed the summer clothes out of my closet for the fall/winter ones today. A twenty degree drop in temperature over two days will do that to a person. I missed my wool sweaters, my mufflers, my comfy cardigans. I celebrate the cold weather.
Do you know what the chicken bowtie soup special is? It's Campbell's...or some other canned soup. It's not bowtie! It barely resembled pasta. I adored it because it reminded me of fourth grade and processed lunches your mom would send you to school with, but it wasn't quite right. We enjoyed it at a table, where the centerpiece was Velcro-ed to the glasstop. On account of the wind. Take a moment.
In the twenty minutes it took to eat, the sky opened up and went manic all over us. I assume it beat the crap out of the rest of the tri-state area as well, so boy was it a sight. I opened up my puny, and I mean puny...see!...
15.00 Herbal steam and wrap. So good. So so so good. First of all, I love this place. We thought it was a clapboard house, but we realized it was aluminum siding. There is a sarong hanging in the window. And this could have been an artful curtain, but dude, I know ghetto Asians (as I kinda was one, and my relatives are), and that's just a good old lazy cover for something shady! Like an illegal gambling ring....But! I got my locker. I got my super big and soft robe. I got my little thongs to wear. So I was ushered into my steam room. For the next half hour I laid in this tiled room that spit herbal steam out of what amounted to a mini pagoda. It was like inhaling a Ricola in a sweet, hot cloud! I love Ricola! I remember the television commercials from my childhood! Lederhosen, horns, mountains and all! I closed my eyes for the first ten minutes, and I swear, when I opened them, everything was neon green...or at the very least, a spring green. I had hoped it was the actual color of the steam, but I suppose that's not right. Anyhow, good times. It was followed by another half hour in a thermal cocoon and a scalp massage. Nothing better for being soaked to the bone.
It continued to rain like a mofo, but we forged valiantly into the storm. My puny (see above) umbrella collapsed. It inverted itself. So we ran into a store. Stationary. Um, hello, Achilles heel. I buy stationary like a fiend. I love the idea of snail mail. I buy piles of cards and stationary every year in the hopes of sending out maybe five correspondences in that time. Like, I hate Kate Spade on principle. I won't mention the unfortunate Boxey incident of 2002 -- everyone should get to take back one moment of retail shame -- but that was wool, and I hate her microfiber. Anyhow, so, purses, hate. Stationary, LUUUURRVVVE. I make a killing when Crane Paper has sales. Anthropologie goes half off on their cards? I'm there. So it was no surprise that I bought three items in the fifteen minutes we were there. And then the clerk lured me to the soap. Fucking almond scented soap. Like heaven. I'm an olifactory junkie to begin with. So I'm sniffing these bars of soap like a nut job. Of course I have to buy them! Well played, Written Word.
19.30 Starvation sets in. Dinner at the same cafe is the choice, because they have a jam session, apparently. Um, I'm glad we didn't sit too close, because that music was a wreck. Luckily we sat on the side with mellow chick music reminiscent of my music playlist circa 1998-9. Eva Cassidy. Sheryl Crow. Joni Mitchell. Madonna. Sarah Vaughan. Jann Arden. Ella Fitzgerald. Odd mix, not so odd mix. Comforting background music for me to gorge myself on crab bisque, crab fondue, sunflower bread, oyster napoleon, grit cakes and kale. I also had a nice glass of Shiraz. Yeah, okay, you drink whites with seafood, but I wanted a red. I was out in the rain! Then we thought to share a dessert later since we'd probably spew if we tried to eat now.
21.30 Dessert. What's a girl to do with a chocolate cake without a fork if she has to share? She whips out the letter opener she keeps in her tote bag of course, and splits the cake down the middle, of course....without disrupting the ganache, besides. Decadent, delightful.
22.00 (I assume) Dead to the world in bed. Have decided during this time that vacation has been a success. In spite of freaky dead town, am pleased with overall relaxation.
Day Three
7.00 Wake up half way. Am having dream about being denied access into Djibouti. Am secretly thinking, who the hell is Djibouti to deny me entry into their country?! I think my friend is trying to talk to me from her bed, but can't tell. Maybe she's just a part of my dream? I have issues distinguishing reality. This is not new.
7.30 Wake up for real. Dream continued to me being denied access out of a country this time. I think it was Greece. While the prospect of spending a lifetime in a Mediterranean country is usually a good one, I was thinking no. I wanted out, and they weren't going to deny me! Such a weird dream.
My friend informs me that I wimper in my sleep. Well, that, and snore. Which adds to the talking, the muttering, and the other random noises. I hope I don't divulge anything important. As if there's anything important, but still.
We had breakfast, left quickly, tried to beat traffic so we could go apple picking!
The season has started. I love apple picking. See my picture with the sunglasses and the apple picking basket hoisted proudly in the air? That was last year. I go a couple times a season. I live for MacIntoshes, I adore Grimes and Jonathan, Stayman, Braeburn and Crispin. I stomp happily through the dew-soaked grass, climb madly up into the branches. I like the orderly lines of trees in the orchard, and last year even drove down them like a pro. Although, there was also the fateful of incident of my car getting stuck in the mud, and the yellow cable-knit sweater wearing young man trying to impress his fiancee (?) and future in-laws (?), and ended up getting covered in said mud. It was awesome, hilarious and endearing. Thanking him was simply not enough, but I did earn him bonus points with his girl, I think.
Anyhow. Apples. I'm a baker. I bake pies. I rock the pie. My crust, is magnificent. So I bake like a dozen pies a season. I wanted to start early this year. I also embrace apples as decoration in centerpieces. I was kind of saddened. The apples looked picked over, were kind of rough (even though I knew beneath the mottled skin they were crisp and lovely), and we smallish. My friend, the superficial fruit eater decided against them because they weren't pretty enough. I pushed on. I bought a heavy bag full. I will bake, so help me!
One note to add on the apple picking experience. Who picks apples on a Friday?! We weren't alone! There were others! There were even school buses FULL of children. A field trip. I shudder. And what school was it? Mind you, I'm about an hour away from home. And the school, is a school that is a mile away from home (my old home anyway) for me. Inescapable NOVA. They even do bucolic in packs. They train 'em early.
Anyhow. Thus ends my mini-holiday narrative. I'm ending this post just so I can wax angrily about grocery stores in my next post. :) I'm full of petty ire.
I am home. Thank goodness. Not that I didn't enjoy the spa-ing, because lord knows I love me some pampering, but wow. Wow. I am bucolicked out. Half the love of the trip was the food. 30% was spa-love. 15% hotel kitsch love. 5% town love. I'll tell you why.
Wednesday started off with much optimism, much hope. I was bitch-slapped but hard and quick when it took me over an hour to grab my friend from her house, and then we were two hours behind schedule by the time we beat it through traffic. Damn Northern Virginia traffic! Not that a lifetime of this hasn't inured me to it, but I like to shout it out occasionally anyway. But in the grand scheme of things, we were pretty happy to arrive late, because that town was rough. My favorite sight/site on the way in: Adult World. Open 24 hours. Backs up into a motel with blacked out windows. You use your imagination. Our discussion led to if strippers were considered the JV team and prostitutes were Varsity in terms of whoredom. Thoughts?
NEXT! Our hotel makes a pretty picture on the outside. Kind of antebelum. Red brick, white columns, lanterns, white rocking chairs on the portico. Sweet. Inside: quiet, abandoned, old inn. Nice foyer, mildly offensive gift shop with preserves, "antique" lace and Vera Bradley bags. Stab me with a letter opener, why don't you? Cute little garden room with red walls and framed depictions of the frolicking French countryside. It's like the French toile wallpaper's been earmarked for next year's budget, but they're dipping their toes in the water now. No matter. They have a chess table. I approve.
Our room. I'm crossing myself mentally, because the moment makes me twitch a little. Picture it. We decided on one of the best suites in the joint. Mind you, this is arguably the best hotel in town. Oh! PS, the hallways remind me of West Virginia's take on New Orlean's take on tasteful 18th century boudoir. Back to the room...The door opened up to our sitting room. Immediately I am assaulted by the wallpaper. Hydrangeas? Posies? No matter, they're clusters of blue flowers on white. Beneath the chair rail? Blue and white stripes. In the pass-through to the bedroom? The same. In the bedroom? The same. The canopies were bastardized blue and white gingham. This repeated on the curtains. It also repeated on the bedskirt, and the wallpaper repeated on the comforters. Did I forget the BIBLE COZIE? Also the same gingham-esque fabric! Attention to detail, we said. Crazy, I thought inside. I cracked up a little and began to laugh hysterically at this point. Sum total: Family Dollar's take on Laura Ashley.
We decided that we ought to explore the town next. Guess what? That's four blocks of town! We saw everything in fifteen minutes. We also managed to schedule all our spa treatments and I we had lunch at a delightful cafe. Crab croquettes and portabello pesto. Good passion fruit iced tea too. Also aiding our speedy tour? Half the town is closed down! What kind of store only opens on Friday and Saturdays? Geeeuuhhhh.
But we did get our first taste of spa town joy: sketchy steam, bath and shower. The natural warm springs are lovely, and each spa here offers them. This is because it runs through the plumbing! But we did it at the state park...which is four acres large...and my goodness. I thought I could keep my towel on when I sat in the steamer. But no. She told me to strip and sit inside. So I did. And she stole my towel again when I went into the curtained stall for my tub. And again! when I took my shower. She was a grabby attendant. All in all, not bad. All that was left to accomplish for the day? Dinner. And oh, was it a dinner.
The best dinner I've had in at least two months. Nice restaurant nestled at the top of a mofo mountain. We had reservations for 7.15, and got in immediately. Started off with two appetizers: toasted gnocchi and fois gras with greens and a peach chutney. We shared the pork and duck entrees, and capped it with a homemade ginger ice cream. I also determined that peppermint tea was my friend. It helped my poor, stretched out stomach. So dinner was a lovely two hour interlude.
We wandered down to our hotel where we collapsed and I caught up with about two chapters of
before nodding off to sleep with my glasses on. So nice.
I'm too beat go on now. Must shower. Decided not to shower this morning, since I was going apple picking anyway, which meant dew and leaves and dirt and grass and apparently, children (!). So no way. Plus? That town has no water pressure, unless it's coming out of the sink and soaking my effing shirt. Plus? I missed my bathroom! The inn was so tiny I didn't even feel right stealing the toiletries that they offered! The toiletries that are my due!
My bathroom is joy! I came home and spiritually hugged it. I love you B&B thickening shampoo! I love you Kiehl's facial scrub. I love you C.O. Bigalow clementine shower gel. I love you jonquille towel. I love you loofah! I love you fluffy white bath mat. I love you shower pressure! I may be obsessed and in love with my bathroom, but it loves me back!
So, tomorrow? After I've read for my class tomorrow, after I go to class tomorrow, after I stuff my face full of rice and noodles, I'll type out day two: the herbal steam, the back facial, the sarong-draped window, the massaged limbs, the walk in bath, the Campbell's soup can lunch, the Raisin Bran quandary, the Oyster Napoleon, the chocolate cake and the storm that tried to eat my umbrella. And..."sack up ho and get off the lard pony or your man's gonna get a piece of strange." Ah, what gofugyourself has given to the world.
Cheers!
I went to the mall because I wanted to buy a new suit. Or I thought I did. I'm going to go see an important person talk, so I figured, most of the bastards there will be in suits, so maybe I should be too. But really, they only expect me to be as well dressed as a normal student. So, I opted against a suit, and decided on business casual, which for me means shameful drooling over sweater vests, crepe wool slacks and crisp shirts. I even found a silk scarf that made me positively giddy. And my dearest Wish Bear, your favorite Banana sweaters were on sale for 16 dollars. I couldn't find any on sale in your size, otherwise I would have purchased whatever there was for you. ^_^
So I was happy when I left the mall parking lot. Happy. I even bought an oatmeal cookie to celebrate my purchases. Which is why I had an above average good disposition when I hit the road, er, the mall road. And that's when the rage built. Because no one today seemed to understand the use of a stop sign. Or, for that matter, the sign that says 'Proceed Without Stopping Into the Mall.' I don't normally have a problem taking advantage of the illiteracy or the stupidity of people coming into the mall, but I was trying not to be a bitch. So go when I let you go! I had just bought nice clothing, and a delightful smelling lemon sugar scrub. All that goodwill destroyed with four two-way stops. TWO-WAY STOPS. NOT THREE! Three way stops do not exist in mall parking lots around my area! (Well, with the exception of one in Tyson's---which is kind of ill-conceived to begin with.)
Guh.
