A post about burritos? Ok.

This food is comfort food.  It reminds me of my college days, when that trip to Heath, OH was what usually made the night or weekend.

Life cannot be bad when you have a Chipotle burrito in your hands.  Seriously, people.  There is nothing like holding the weight of that 2 pound burrito, knowing that all that weight will soon sit in your stomach.  Corn salsa.  Black beans.  Sour cream.  Guacamole.  Cilantro-lime rice.  I mean ... just ... YUM!  As I sat and ate this mexican goodness all by my lonesome, I was doing the "happy food dance" that my sister has rightfully coined.  The happy food dance was originated around the eating of chocolate, but in rare moments, something else inspires the upper body and arm boogie of charmed taste buds.  I may have looked like a loony tune, but my grins were true and I did not care.

Who knew that a burrito could whip me into a verbal frenzy? (Why yes, that WAS a movie reference).  Guess this girl knows what she likes.  Do I care about the obscene amount of calories I just digested?  Absolutely not.  Life is short, my friends--gobble up the good stuff when you can.

Weeee(k)!

This week's been a rollercoaster:

WIN

Valentine's Day.  I wore my Rachel Berry-esque shirt with hearts all over it, and arrived home to flowers & Godiva chocolates from the far-way BF.  Big smiles :)

FAIL

Unreliable Ride-On Bus.

WIN

Survived a Congressional policy brief on Capitol Hill.

FAIL

Metal detector in the Senate office building for said meeting.  3 times through, three layers of clothes down, until I was in my not-so appropriate sleeveless tank.  Damn blazer buckle.

WIN

Annie's Mac & Cheese on sale for $1/box on my first visit to the local co-op grocery.

WIN
60's and sunny!  Mumblings of 70 for the weekend!

FAIL + FAIL

My terrible sense of direction getting me lost on foot in Bethesda + the policeman that furthered my dilemma by giving me wrong directions.

WIN

DC salsa dancers.

FAIL

Missing the very small sign that announced the closing hours of the parking garage in which I parked my car and then left until past said closing hours.

WIN

Kind cabbie let me pay less than what the meter said.

FAIL

Recurring body-jolting hiccups.

WIN + WIN

Lady Gaga + Cee-Lo & Gwenyth Paltrow

FAIL 

The simultaneous lack of both Nutella & peanut butter in my kitchen.

What do you mean it's only Wednesday?

I don't even like whiskey

Yes, okay?!  Melissa, Lisa, and Nick--you can say 'I told you so' in celebration.  I am on board.   I am hesitant but honest to admit that I caught it.  That bug I have denied and avoided for years. It's bitten me:

The country music bug.

I know, I know.

Let me preface: I am an avid country line dancer.  Since I was 18, I spent pretty much every Thursday night at The Roost, a line dancing club in my hometown.  I lived for my Thursdays.  It's great fun, by the way-- I believe everyone should try it at least once.  Anyway, you, like many people who I tell about my country line dancing ways, may ask, "so you like country music?"  NO.

Why?  I could encompass all country music into 3 words: twang, tractors, whiskey.  I found it annoying to sit and listen to.  Dancing to it, to me, is much different.  Plus, after 4 years of dancing to lots of the same songs, I comfortably grew a like and anticipation for the songs I heard at The Roost.  But after 2am, the country tunes were out of my hearing range as much as possible.  Until, of course, my sister started enjoying it outside of our Thursdays and I lost the fight over radio control.  "Sacrifice your ears for just a few minutes!" she would tell me.  The worst was when she, my older sister, and I took a road trip through the farmlands of a sweltering Kentucky this summer.  The two of them, who were living their country gal fantasies, insisted on opening the windows and blasting the twangiest of country music as we whizzed past cornfields and silos against a setting sun.  I should add that said twangy tunes were pretty much all we could find on the radio out there.  It was that or Jesus music.  I was opting for Jesus (a first in life).

Fast forward.

Symptoms began when I started stopping at the country station programmed in the car, abandoned when my sister moved away, instead of skipping over it completely.
Then I started recognizing songs.

Oh hey, Taylor Swift.  Your sad country ballads are adorable and incredibly catchy.

Then, I moved DC and had to program my local stations as a first order of business. As I scanned the waves, I came across a country station--and programmed it immediately without even thinking about it.    

And today, on my way home from work, I pressed my 2 preset button and found myself singing along: "rain makes corn, corn makes whiskey, whiskey makes my baby feel a little frisky ...".  And I was enjoying myself.  In that moment, I knew that my days of denying country music were over.

Why am I still ashamed?  Not sure.  But I promise from this day on to no longer grimace when somebody tells me how much they like country music.  I guess, by all means, I am one of them now.  Just don't ask me to join you at a Rascal Flatts, etc. concert.  Yet.

Love.

I love the people in my life like this polar bear loves his tube.  Happy Valentine's Day!

One Saturday Morning

I got my first piece of mail at my new address!  I love it because in addition to the fact that it's from my loverly friend Brittany who I haven't seen for ages, it's a letter.  A what, you say?  Yes, an old-fashioned, hand-written letter with a pretty little stamp.  After years and years of email, it is so nice to actually hold some tangible communication in my hand.  There is definitely something about it that I will to continue to appreciate, especially as the anticipation of receiving contact from people decreases as our instant gratification increases with smart phones and the like. Oh, and the letter is written in scribbly cursive.    How cute is she?

Last night, I had the chance to see my friends who live in the city and check out the downtown nightlife.  This was lamely the first weekend that I actually turned off the Discovery Channel, stood up my lazy butt, and got out like a normal 20-something since I moved here.  It was fun to squeeze 5 people into a cab, discuss crocodiles and midgets with our cabbie, and walk past strips of trendy bars.  Despite the hot, sweaty, smelliness of the crowded club we chose and the $5 beer ("welcome to DC" was the response to my dismay of my debit card receipt), we were able to boogie to some old school tunes.  It was a refreshing change from the generally bad quality pop music usually heard in clubs.  A segment of our sing-along soundtrack went something like:
"my anaconda don't want none unless you got buns hun!" --> "I don't wanna lose your love toniight!" --> "I traveled the world and the seven seas, everybody's looking for somethin"--> "I can call you betty and betty when you call me you can callll meee allllll" -->"bum, bedaboomdop! don't stop til' you get enough!"
... Yeah, I have no idea what those MJ lyrics are.  Does anybody, really?

As my sister would say, noyce.

The evening ended with a very nervous taxi ride.  For those of you who grew up in the 'burbs, you know what I mean.  Riding in a car with a stranger at 2am is bad enough--the fact that I had no idea where I was in terms of orientation to my apartment made me revert to referencing the hours of SVU I watched in my first week here.  This guy could have driven me to Georgia and I wouldn't have known.  I thought I was in the clear until he started asking me where he should turn.  Eek.  After a couple U-turns, we magically came about a street I recognized and was somehow able to navigate him.  But dear lawd, nerves were a-jumping.

Happy Weekend!

Benny

This sneaks up on me every year.  It is a solemn day that marks the anniversary of the most heartbreaking event of my life.  Five years ago today—February 7^th---my loving, smart, discotek-throwing friend Ben took his own life.  Every day since then, I ask myself a million questions.  Why didn’t I see it coming?  Why didn’t any one else?  Why did he make a coffee date with me for the next week?  How did he do it?  Why didn’t he want to be saved?

I’m a writer.  Writing is what I do. When something happens that moves me, I write.  But today, I was numb and sorely out of words.  He is missed by so many people, it’s amazing how one person can move so many people.  To think, to write, to share their love.  So, after reading some messages from his friends and family, I am just going to start.  As hard as this is, this is for Benny and for anyone else who knew him.

When I think about him, I smile. I re-live every single moment we had together.  Spending time with Benny was different than spending time with anyone else.  There was always intelligent conversation and a grasp on reality that shone through his maturity.  Thinking that 5 years have gone by, and what he would be like today, I am sure that he would be very much the same person.  The rest of us have just been catching up to where he was.  Now, as I grow older and further away from that 17-year-old Benny, I don’t know what I am going to do.  Except to remember these things.

Every morning of senior year of high school, I would walk through the front doors at 7:20am and there he was, sitting in the same spot in front of the art room.  He waved to me with his pinky, and then got up and give me a huge hug like he hadn’t seen me in weeks.  He gave the absolute best hugs in the world.  He would wrap his arms and shoulders around me, and despite how skinny he was, it was like being hugged by an 800-pound teddy bear.  And no hug ever wavered.  He gave me three bear hugs the last time I saw him, but three was not enough.  I want a million more to save up for the rest of my life.

A couple months before he died, he and I were walking in the hallway together.  All of a sudden he said, “You’ll be getting a surprise soon!”  I was clueless but a few days later, there it was in the mail: an envelope addressed to me.    I will never forget the front of that envelope.  In the corner he drew a little picture of a stick figure on a mountain with a speech bubble saying, “woot!”.  It made me laugh.  He always made me laugh.  The note inside was scribbled in pencil on a piece of lined paper, and it said how much he missed having class together and how he wanted to catch up sometime.  I remember being so overwhelmed with appreciation when I got that letter.  I thought, “who else would do that?” No one, that’s who.  But it was no big deal to him.  It was just what he did.  That is what made Benny Benny.

There were so many reasons why I loved him.  The hugs.  The letters.  The Thin Mints he put in my locker.  The way he called our little crew his ‘familie’.  The layers of pants—the average was three.  My favorites were the smiley face ones!  His Sharpie fetish.  The little dance he did when something excited him.  His artistic knowledge.  His quirky sense of humor.  He was the most original person I knew, and I hate that I didn’t embrace that fully when he was still here.

But Ben changed me forever.  He showed me with grace and truth that I could be whoever I want to.  I could do whatever I want and never, ever be ashamed of who I was, what I said, and how I felt because he never, ever did.  He taught me that I can clash my clothes and wear paper clips in my ears and I would still be a wonderful person.  He was a fierce friend and I know that he cared about me deeply.  I hope he knows that I still love him and that I hate that he was hurting so much that he needed to leave us.  But I also hope that he is happy wherever he is and that he knows I can feel his radiant smile shining on me right now.  I don’t know if I believe in God, but I do know Benny can see me.

This is my favorite picture of him:

What a smile, huh?

"Food Blog"

This photo entry is dedicated to my mother.  When we found out I was moving away to my very own apartment, she, with a look of slight lack of faith, frequently reminded me that I was going to have to cook for myself.  Well, mom, with one week down, I hope I did you proud:

Pasta & Pesto chicken.

Patty melt.

Wegmans Super Pasta.  Okay, this doesn't really count, but I actually tried it voluntarily, so points for that.
However, I don't think it still counts as "super" since it's smothered in mozzerella cheese ...

I'm a big girl now

Things I did in the past 24 hours that I am proud of:

- killed an ENORME daddy-long-legs.  it was terrifying and disgusting and I will spare you the details.  let's just say it died in more pieces than Rupert & Wanda, and it was not fun going at it alone.
- took the bus to work, and arrived early.
- got hooked up to a 2-monitor computer.  schmancy!
- didn't have to double check the metro map to find out which route I was taking.  I knew.
- took the metro.
- changed my shoes on the metro.
- went to a college alumni event, wore a name tag with my year on it, networked, collected business cards. So adult.
- bought a SmarTrip card that can get me on the metro and busses with an easy swipe.
- used said SmarTrip card.
- in the dark, got off the right stop from the bus without having to ask the bus driver.  though he did look kind.
- ordered my own business cards.

woot.

It starts.

I keep trying to start this entry but I am so distracted by the renewed presence of cable TV in my life,  I have had this "new post" page up for 45 minutes.  It's the third episode in a row of SVU... thank you USA! 

Okay, let's go! (2 hours later) ...

Welp, this is it. The starting of the next pod of life.  Up the hill I go.  I packed up my life into boxes, said goodbye to the home in which grew up, and drove my car to new city to start an internship at an organization I know very little about.  The adventure began right at the start.  After a drudge-like drive on a snowy route 15, we arrived at my new address.  And there was no light to be seen. Yep, there was no power in the house due to the snowstorm.  So, we carried my boxes, bin of shoes, bags of clothes, and more bags of clothes into an apartment that I still hadn't seen.  That was a little unsettling, but it seemed nice in the dark.  With the possibility of a cold night ahead of us, we took a drive around the neighborhood and wound up driving down Capitol Avenue, with the Capitol building right in front of us.  Pretty cool.  Then the Washington and Jefferson monuments showed up.  This is when I realized that I really was living in Washington DC.  It was a pretty crazy feeling (spending the next day walking down Pennsylvania Avenue, taking the bus and metro, and perusing dinosaur fossils at the Smithsonian helped too).  And when we arrived back from our drive, the power was back!  The warmth and lights returned and I was able to take a real look at the place, and it is beyond adorable.

And now here I sit, in a cozy, colorful, and well-decorated basement apartment that is the perfect little perch for a girl like me.  And ironically, like my last apartment, the walls in each room are painted a different bold color--my bathroom is purple, bedroom is yellow, and my kitchen is a lovely, smokey blue.  I even have fancy wood coat hangers, foldable closet-style doors to my bathroom, a lap table for TV dinners, and a red teapot.  Totes adorbs:

My entranceway.

Fancy hangers, paper lamp, coats, & boots.

Kitchen.

Tea & dinner tray.  I'm a grandma.

Cash Cab is on!