D visits my 'hood

My leg will not stop fidgeting. Maybe it is the sugar from the third peanut butter cookie I ate, or maybe I am just anxious. D called me 2 hours ago to remind me to pick him up from the airport. I laughed on the phone. The date had been circled on my calendar for weeks.

As the last speaker ends, I bolt out the door. I do not even wait for the clapping to subside. I could not understand a word he said anyway. I look at the tray of cookies and walk away. I get in my silver Nissan Versa. It was sunny in the morning and now it appears the clouds have moved in. Not to worry. The airport is only a 10 minute drive.

I find a parking spot and wait for D to come through the hallway. Unfortunately, the AirTran terminal is set up so I am staring into the entrance of a Men's restroom. I, unconsciously, meter the time it takes some men. I debate whether the man in the gray windbreaker has a prostate problem or had other reasons to linger. I see a man with his Italian leather hold-all, dark jeans, a military jacket over an orange sweater. It is unmistakably D.

D is the Felix to my Oscar, the AJ to my Rick, the Will to my Grace. After being surrounded in Natty Boh drinking dudes, D is a refreshing bit of Boston snobbery. He has tickets to the Boston ballet, and to the NY Met opera and flew down to Baltimore to see me.

We drive straight to his hotel so we can get all of this check-in nonsense out of the way. Now, for those who know me, know driving is not my strongest ability. As a matter of fact, all of those negative stereotypes of Asian women drivers may have stemmed from me and my family. I give my new iPhone to D and ask him to navigate us to the hotel. Not realizing it would make a difference, he does not type in South as part of the address. I am blindly following directions, only to realize that we are at the JHU medical center. And as if it could be distinguished, we are in the scary part. There are teenagers at one corner and older men drinking out of paper bags on a stoop of a building that is boarded up. Welcome to B'more, D.

Once we get back to the white part of town, D still feels uneasy. He wants to know why every boy he sees is wearing a striped or checked button down shirt that is untucked over a white tee and jeans. Oh and shoes, they all wore ugly shoes. I did not have an answer for him, mainly because I never noticed it before.

Everything is more upbeat once we get dinner. We go to a brew pub and everything comes with bacon. mmmmm bacon. Brunch comes with bacon. Dinner again more swine. D comments he is going to have to take double doses of his cholesterol meds.

Between hours of gorging ourselves, we walk around the town. We go to Federal Hill, walk around the harbor, and we even get to see Ft. McHenry. At Ft. McHenry, we walk the barracks and through the barricades. We see reenacters practicing marching with their bayonets. D like the epaulets on the Colonel's jacket. They are a little gaudy for my taste. I sing the Star Spangled Banner under a flag in the fort. I find myself amusing.

The weekend whizzes by, and by Sunday afternoon he is off to Boston. His departing words, "Make sure if you date one of these Baltimore boys he has good shoes. Or at least buy him some."

I need a vacation

I am horrible at posting things in a timely fashion. The BF and I went on a lovely extended weekend trip to Paris over President's Day weekend. This is Part One of the post, as some interesting things happened before we even got to our destination.

The younger sister of one of my good college friends was staying with me. This is relevant because I had to figure out how to get my keys from her since she would be staying at my place and leaving before BF and I returned from Paris. I had forgotten that my front door should not be set to lock automatically when you shut it -- the reason being that if you are inside the apartment, then you get LOCKED INSIDE and CANNOT GET OUT.

BF and I were heading to the airport straight from work. I only realized that we were locked in before we were about to leave for work. I tried the turning the knob, but the door was stuck. I tried turning and pulling on the knob several more times, I tried using a credit card, then a knife to pry the lock open. Nothing was working. BF was about to try "brute force" but I was afraid that my doorknob would fall off completely. Then I had a MacGuyver moment. Going out the fire escape, re-entering my building and opening the door from the outside was my only option.

I took off my suit jacket and climbed out my kitchen window onto my fire escape. My co-op board recently hit us with a major assessment to "replace the roof and upgrade the fire escapes". I used to resent having to pay an extra $200/month this year, but now I have first-hand knowledge of why they need to upgrade the fire escapes. They are extremely rusty and look like they are about to dislodge from my building's facade. Board, you are more than welcome to my $200/month.

I live on the 3rd floor of my building and had to climb down one level of the fire escape before I got to the ladder which is supposed to slide down so that you don't have to jump 15 feet to hit the ground. It was rusted solid. I tried pushing on it, but then the entire fire escape started creaking and moving so I stopped. BF was encouraging me to jump, but I was afraid that I'd land wrong and that I'd spend the next 4 days hobbling around the streets of Paris.

Instead, I assessed my options. I could try to hang off the fire escape and lessen the jump by about 5 feet. Or, I could try to reach the hopefully open hallway window by shimmying along a ledge. I opted for the latter of the two options. This wasn't that far, maybe 2 or 3 feet, but it felt like a lot more. Thankfully, the window wasn't latched shut. I was able to cling to the window frame with one hand while pushing the window open about 8 or 10 inches with the other. Thanks to lots of yoga and pilates lately, I was able to get one leg up and through the window without losing my balance and cracking my head open on the pavement below. I managed to squeeze through the window (it's an awning window with a hinge on the top that allows the window to swing in towards you if you are opening it) and without ruining my work clothes! I sprinted up the stairs to my apartment, opened the door, was a bit winded, but thrilled that I had figured out a way to get the door open. Then I heard the door slam behind me. And I had to do it all over again. Doh!

On the upside, the second time around took far less time than the first. BF was none to happy when I told him that we were locked in. Again. I told him that he was welcome to climb out the window onto my disintegrating fire escape and squeeze himself through the neighboring window. Then he was quiet.

So, that's the story of the time leading up to my vacation. I'll blog about the actual vacation (with pictures!) separately.

Cat Fight

I am sad that Project Runway will not be airing this season because of lawsuits between Bravo and Lifetime. Make me a supermodel just isn't cutting it, Bravo. At least past contestants are keeping things interesting.

Kickball and Flipcup

Phone conversation from last Sunday.
ET#1 - Isn't it nice to know that after 15 years of not doing something, you can still retain that muscle memory?
ET#2 - Ummm yeah okay. I'm not so sure I ever played that game.
ET#1- Oh I don't think we ever played in college. It was definitely a high school thing. You know that and Hour o' power.
ET#2 - Maybe your high school.
ET#1 - I was going to tell them that I played this game while they were in elementary school, but I decided not to.
ET#2 - That was a good idea. I think you should post about this.
ET#1 - About Flipcup or about kickball?
ET#2 - About all of it. And include a team roster with nicknames. I can imagine it all now....

When I moved to Baltimore, it was extremely lonely. I missed my friends and it getting adjusted to driving and trying to meet people was taxing. I sent a million e-mails whining about it, and called everyone I knew for a little sympathy. But then it was enough. As part of a proactive move to meet people, I joined a kickball team.

On a chilly March morning, I donned some long underwear, sweatpants, and a white t-shirt that said "kickball" on it. White was our team color. (how appropriate) When I got to the field at 9:55am, I found the other white shirts: 11 boys and 2 girls. As soon as I got there, I introduced myself, and a fellow in a headband and yellow sunglasses passed me a red plastic cup. "Drink up, and let's be friends," he said.

Here is the line up:
"the Hulk" - He is a bouncer at a bar. He is large and very Aryan.
"Johnny" - He is the "funny"one. 6' and weighing 150, he wears a terry headband and matching wristbands.
"Captain" - She is tiny and speaks only from the side of her mouth like Joey Potter (Dawson's people!). She made me touch her leg "muskles."
"Mouse" - She is a slighter plumper gal, who likes to chew on her hair.
"Irritating Southerner" - He is the stereotype for a frat boy that went to Duke.
"Americorps" - He is from Kansas, and just wanted to meet some friends. He is geeky and okay with it.
"Band of generic white boys" - the rest of them are friends of Johnny's and kind of are hard to distinguish from each other. Case in point, I introduced myself to one of them 3 times.

We lose the first week, and win the second, but no matter what the morning ends the same way: everyone in the kickball league congregate at a local bar. It is enormous with over two hundred people in colored shirts milling about. And inevitable there are several fold up tables set in rows on the side. On each side of a table is 5-6 people in same colored shirts facing off of people in different colored shirts. This is the real competition: this is flip cup.

For those of you have never played, here are the rules. You drink a shot of beer in a plastic cup and then you try to flip that cup upside down. When you have successfully done this, the next person on your team can do so. First, team to finish wins. Now, there are variations to this game. When I was in high school we used to line the cups up and one person had to go down the line by themselves. So I have a little experience in this game.

Being a woman of Asian descent, it was assumed I did not know how to play. Irritating Southerner kept giving me pointers throughout the afternoon. I got mine on in maximum two flips, he took forever.

At some point during the high fiving and taunting, I looked around. I got a little sad, then a little giddy. Maybe it was the beer but I could not stop laughing at the absurdity of it. I'll be back next week though and the game will go on.

In the meantime, quarters anyone?

Inapropriate or not?

When I was in an university, I used lament that some of the male postdocs would openly look at porn on their laptops. I felt like that was inappropriate. If I could I would have blocked their habit, but alas I could not. However, now I have changed my mind.

I would gladly run into a porn fiend, in exchange for Facebook and Fantasy Sports access. Repeatedly, I get the message seen above.

My argument, besides that free speech 1st amendment crap, is this: I would be a BETTER worker if I had full internet connection, because in my job longer hours correlates into more work product. Unlike television and shows like CSI, real biological assays take several hours. While waiting for these assays to finish I sometime will partake in a little internet frivolity. However, without full internet access, I want to go home and postpone what I have to do another day.

A strange meating

Sunday is cleaning day. Or better known as pretend to clean and at the very least throw-out-all-the-old-food-from-the-fridge-day. Inevitably, I am left with a dilemma, "Do I throw this plastic container of food out? Or do I dare open it and throw away its contents to use for another day?"

In effort to be environmentally friendly, I decide to wash the containers. My reward, the garbage disposal freaks out and I am left with a sink full of water and tofu stir fry. This combination is possible the most barf inducing site, so I speedily go into action.

I grab my keys and go to the drug store. Walgreens is 7 blocks away from my house: 6 going east and one going north. I decide to drive, the 5 minute walk would be grueling.

In the parking lot, I see a mob of people. They all seem to know each other. I think to myself how strange it is to see a sea of flannel. Did I time warp to 1992? Inside I find Draino and Liquid Plumber. I can't decide so I buy both. I will use the Draino first. It is 40 cents more expensive, and it is called "max gel." I think it must be better.

The lady working the front desk, rings up my items. "Here you go ma'am," she says as she hands me my change and two drain cleaners. I thank her. It drives me a little nuts that everyone in Baltimore always use miss and ma'am, but after a month and a half, it is getting better.

Outside the crowd has thinned out. I can finally see what everyone was gathered around to see. A black and brown van that read "Capitol meats" in white letters surrounds by flames. A man in blue and white trucker hat is sitting on the edge of the van. When he sees me he opens the back door to his van. Gulp. I see steam coming out of it. It is the cold air from a refrigerator that is hitting the wet air.

"Hello, there," he says. "I have some nice porter houses still left. And I'll give you a discount since it is the end of the day."

"Oh no thank you." I reply. "I just came for the Draino."

"I see ma'am. Well, I am here every Sunday and if you have anything special in mind I can put it aside for you next week," he says.

"Ummmm. great. I'll be sure to keep that in mind," I reply. "Have a good day."

"You too ma'am," he says.

Summary: there is a man that sells meat out of a van in the Walgreens parking lot by my house. Baltimore, you are living up to all my stereotypes.

Feelin' a little crabby

Baltimore, crabs ... get it? Truth be told, even puns are not making me giggle anymore. The transition to a new city has been a little harder than expected. Things like I had to buy a car, and I cannot walk anywhere really irks me.

And this negative attitude seems to have permeated to other aspects of my life. For instance, right now my chinese office mate is smacking some kind of chinese candy. She does this every afternoon, and it drives me crazy. I want to buy her something crunchy or something quiet so I do not have to hear her slurp and smack her lips constantly.

Filling the hours outside of work can be difficult. To amuse myself I like to go to Ikea, which is only 8 miles away. My favorite part of the store is the food stuffs, Anna's ginger cookies and Wasa crackers. But last week, I was just irritated as I was mobbed by a million couples. Normally, I would never begrudge a couple their coupleness, but I was feeling a little bitter that at least if I had a significant other I would have someone to talk to everyday.

Being crabby, can also translate into being bitchy. For instance, I went to an all Ivy mixer in DC. I brought along a friend of a friend who wants to go out more. I have never met her before. We met at the bar. She was friendly, and genuinely nice. We had a pretty good time considering we were the only people at the event under the age of 40. Let me reword that, we were the only people at the event who looked like they were under 40. However, even though I should have been happy to have this night out, I was put off by the friend of a friend's comment. She said, "Oh this was fun. But next time I am going to help you get ready. I am really good with makeovers." Hrrumph. In my mind, I replied "Listen, bitch. I am wearing jeans and a cashmere t because in my line of work that is considered dressed up. I rather that then wear your nasty polyester black pants and your dowdy ass cardigan set." In reality, I said, "Oh that's a thought."

Hopefully, now that the weather is getting better and the real Maryland blue crabs are coming into season, I will be less of a crab. We'll see.