“Can you imagine being pregnant…? With the Lord’s child…?” — Sarah Z., while watching a “Mary” special on the History Channel
Reading by the fire
Hope everyone has been having a lovely holiday so far; if you’re home and bored, you can check out an essay posted on ShinyGun, on getting my wisdom teeth yanked and leaving D.C. I’m excited to see it up there. But I had to be careful when showing it to my sister Christina. She’s having her wisdom teeth out on Monday, and she said the only thing keeping her going was that she’d heard I’d had an easy time. Oops.
Well, there you have it. It’s almost Christmas. And I am still lacking in a number of presents, have sent 0 of my 20 cards (although I did give one to Bob and John at the deli, for which I received a free lunch in return!) and am not even remotely packed to go home for a week tomorrow morning at the arse-crack of dawn. How did this happen? I am not sure.
I will send updates from Buffalo. Perhaps the family will be entertaining and update-worthy.
Safe travels and happy holidays to all…
Man at the bus stop: You really should get some gloves. Seriously.
I shot him a dirty look.
Fortunately, Kirk has lent me his gloves, since I can’t find mine.
“Lindsay, this is Alana from the kitchen…your challah is ready to be picked up at the security desk.” — phone message I got today
My organization has challah bread trucked in every Friday from a bakery in Evanston… you can order it for $1.75, which is deducted from your paycheck. I’m making french toast.
Kate: we have pizza here and it’s all i can do not to eat a piece.
Me: why do you get pizza?
Three minutes later…
Kate: it’s kosher. the worst pizza i have ever had. i took one bite and put it in my desk drawer.
Click, clack, move
The highlights of moving weekend:
1) Falling over backwards whilst carrying a queen-sized mattress up the back stairs.
2) Breaking Eliina’s cookie jar.
3) Spilling coffee on Amanda’s important documents.
4) Watching Charlie carry an inordinately heavy green armchair up three flights of stairs, by balancing it on his head.
5) Hanging pages of the Reader over my extraordinarily large windows with Amanda. (My mother has suggested, every time I move, that I newspaper the windows until I get blinds. Every time, I’ve told her: “They gave me blinds.” This time, they didn’t. And so when she called and told me to put newspaper over the windows, I cracked up.
6) Going to Target with Eliina and spending hundreds of dollars on things like sponges and a bathmat.
7) Going to Ikea with Becca and spending hundreds more on things like mirrors and pot hooks.
8) Praising the lord for the patience, positive attitude and assistance of everyone, including my Chicago-dwelling friend Sarah.
9) Finding out that Amanda, as we carted many boxes up and down many steps, kept repeating an internal refrain of “Click clack moo, click clack moo, clickety clack moo…” which is from one of my favorite children’s books.
10) Falling asleep in a big bed in a warm, echoey room.
Functional post-punk non-sleeves
Bought arm warmers at Depart-ment last weekend. (Where Eliina bought her cool bracelet.) They’re beige with red lining. Basically, they look like someone cut the sleeves off a sweater and then cut a slit for your thumb into the disembodied sleeves. Or they look like elbow-length, fingerless gloves. Becca keeps making fun of me for them. I think they make me look punk. Or post-punk. I don’t really know the difference. I am also well aware of their limited utility and questionable fashionability. However — as we speak, my office is reaching subzero temperatures. Who’s the only one able to type normally and keep her extremeties toasty? Thank you. Thank you very much.
I’m beginning to think that there’s a certain point, after any major life switch, when your old life starts to look pretty damn good. For me, it seems to happen after two months into a new endeavor. I remember freshman year of college, around mid-November, when I started recalling details about high school that I missed so much — the exact taste of the cheese pizza that we ordered on late nights at the high school paper, the feeling of the cinder block wall against my back as I proofread on a dying Mac, the sound of my dog’s feet on the stairs when I came home.
Something similar, though perhaps less intense, is happening now about life in D.C. I have conveniently crystallized my memories into a distinct package, fuzzy around the edges, full of only the good stuff: The metallic taste of the office-brewed coffee, loaded with real sugar and fake creamer; the smell of the inside of the company car — a little like sour milk; the smooth, cool surface of my desktop,where I would lay my head after a stressful moment… Ok, so those things don’t sound as great in the abstract as they feel in my head. But I swear. I guess it’s simply that those things are familiar, and right now, things are most definitely new.
It’s the time between the super-fun-wow-I’m-here and the feeling-settled-and-comfortable. That’s what this is.
About that novel…
National Novel Writing Month was a bit of a bust for me; I sort of just let it go. I realized that I had lots of getting-your-life-in-order tasks to do instead. Nevertheless, here’s the inevitably reflective follow-up.
Just not what you wanna hear at 8:30 a.m.
“Attention passengers, there is falling ice at Washington & Wells. For your own protection, please stay under the canopy.” — monotone-voiced El driver Thursday morning
Dispatches from work
I have 35 important contracts piled on my desk. I am eating lunch on my desk. Hmmm.
“It’s like Little Mexico over there.” — jaded female co-worker, pointing to the water fountain, which I’d been drinking out of for the last month. She kindly directed me to the water cooler in Accounting.
“She told me she didn’t know how to have fun anymore. Well, ma. YOU DON’T EVEN WANNA LEARN.” Co-worker Priscilla, describing in her New Jersey accent how her 82 year-old mother refused to enjoy an expensive dinner out
On being thrifty:
-I don’t take a cab downtown unless it’s freezing or I’m late.
-Oh yeah? That’s really admirable of you.
-But I take a cab home every day. You know, we all have our little…