The Only Thing I Learned This Weekend

Tar Heels are everywhere!
Because this happened on Saturday nite at a bar in D.C.

If you don't know, that is former Tar Heel basketball player and 2009 National Champion Marcus Ginyard.

So here's what happened. On Saturday nite I went out with my friend who, for the purposes of this blog, I will call Mr. Wit (MW)*. We had considered going to Georgetown but since I hate it there, had just spent the afternoon there, and people were out celebrating St. Patrick's Day there, we decided to hit Adams Morgan instead. This is a very popular part of D.C. that I've never really cared for. I have reasons but they're all pretty lame so I'll just move on.

We had dinner at a small New Orleans restaurant I had visited years ago with my book club. After jambalaya and beignets we set out for a new-ish bar that I'd only been to for brunch and was entirely new to MW.

After sitting at the bar for a little while, this tall man walked in. I took one look at his face, dug my nails into MW's arm, and squealed, "Oh my gosh it's Marcus Ginyard! No, wait, it's not, it can't be. Oh my gosh I think it's him. No." After letting me carry on like this for a minute, MW had me pull his picture up on his phone and he confirmed it was him.

He tried to get me to talk to him but I refused. I didn't want to bother him and I just knew I'd make a fool of myself. Somehow I got distracted, by a drink or the TV or something shiny, and MW took that as his cue to talk to MG. He told me it went something like this:
MW: So, if I went to UNC, would I know you?
MG: I don't know, would you?
MW: Would I?
MG: Maybe.

Then MW pulled me over and said, "Well, I didn't go to UNC, but she did." And then I died.

I couldn't stop smiling and apologizing for bothering him. I asked him what he was doing in town and he asked me what I did in D.C. I asked if he'd seen UNC's atrocious game the day before. (He had not.) He was so polite and nice. I had no reason to think he'd be otherwise, having only ever heard good things about him, but it's always nice to see.

I asked him if he'd hate me if I asked for a picture, and he laughed and said no, so that's what I did. MW left for the bathroom so I'd have a minute alone to talk to him, which was nice but nerve-wracking because I'm such a goober. When he got back, I moved back to my seat and we continued doing our thing. Well, not true, we continued drinking and dancing interspersed with my periodic "Oh my gosh! I'm so happy! Oh my gosh!"

It was just a fun nite anyway and to have that as part of it definitely made it even better. Had I been alone I would have just been happy to see him at the bar, without saying anything, so I'm glad I had MW to break the ice for me.



*There are certain aspects of my life I keep off this blog for various reasons. But sometimes these areas are important and it feels wrong to ignore them. So my solution is Mr. Wit. Which was one of many suggested monikers. As you might expect from someone called Mr. Wit.

Tar Heel For Life

As I briefly mentioned before, the Toronto Raptors recently came to play the Washington Wizards. If you're like me, you may have thought one or all of the following things:

• The NBA is still a thing?
• Why in the hell is DC's team named the Wizards?
• When did Tyler leave that team he was on somewhere in the Midwest?

Those first two questions I ask myself repeatedly. The last question wasn't asked until after tickets were purchased to see the Raptors vs. Wizards, leaving me to assume he had indeed been traded.

Why do I care about the Raptors? Because, of course, one of the greatest players to ever wear the Carolina jersey happens to be on that team. And with a vibrant UNC alumni community in the DC area, and enough of us that bought tickets and committed to form a fan tunnel, we were allowed on the court prior to game time to do just that.

It was really neat to be on the court. (Especially in heeled boots. The coaches at my high school would've died.)

I was with two of my favorite Carolina girls, of course. Plus about 30 other alums, including a few we've met at events in the past.

After just a few minutes on the court, the Raptors (unexpectedly) emerged and ran through our pom pom-waving, Tar Heel-loving, Tyler-cheering tunnel. Well, some did, others avoided it all together and others just mocked our cries of "Go, Tyler!" Tyler himself just look embarrassed. Oh well. Guess you shouldn't be a beloved UNC player, buddy. Tar Heel is a lifetime title.

We were able to stay on the court long enough to see him take a few practice shots.

Then it was up to our nosebleed seats for the first half. Tyler put in some good time in both halves.

For the second half we snuck in to lower level seats. The stadium was less than sold out but it was surprisingly difficult to sneak past the guards. We ended up in a section with the dance moms of the halftime show, so we didn't exactly blend in, but it worked out.

The Raptors won by quite a bit so that was nice to see. It's so weird to me still that a professional basketball team is just a few metro stops away. I guess I could try and go more but I think we all know my heart lies with a certain college basketball down South.

Be nice to the jury

I just finished watching the jury in the Jodi Arias trial deliver their "verdict" of no verdict for the penalty phase. I've mentioned before that I've been obsessed with this case since a month after it started, stalking HLNtv.com every day for their live blog, evidence photos, theories, and overly dramatic commentary.

This jury has been on the case since the first week of January. They deliberated once to determine guilt, deliberated again to determine if she was unduly cruel, and then deliberated yet again to determine the penalty. They've been away from their jobs for nearly 6 months and have been unable to discuss what they've been living and breathing. Now, to many, their lack of resolution makes it all a waste.

Of course, I'm watching the HLN circus of histrionics so maybe that's not the case everywhere. But I feel compelled to write anyway.

I served on a jury that couldn't reach a verdict back in October. I never discussed it because it was truly one of the worst weeks of my life. It was a relatively minor case, no one died, no one was even injured, but it taught me so much about both our justice system and human nature. I am in no way comparing my little experience to the severity of Arias' case, the media coverage, or the repercussions. Just this: Be nice to the jury.

The defendant in my case was charged with possession of a gun that wasn't registered, that he wasn't supposed to have as a violation of parole, and one other charge I can't remember. He was seen running from the cops, trying to pull something out of his pocket, and a gun was found in his path. The trial lasted about 2.5 days and we deliberated for the same.

The last time I sat on a jury in D.C., I was the alternate and didn't have to deliberate. This time, I knew the chances of being alternate were slimmer, and I was terrified the entire trial about deliberating. I'm a reasonable person with great respect for our system of government, but I didn't know if I could convict someone. I also didn't want to let a guilty person go free.

I was leaning the entire trial toward not guilty. There wasn't enough evidence. There was some variation in testimony, though minor in my opinion. I did not like the defense attorney, but I couldn't let that influence my decision. When we took the first vote in the jury room, I knew he was guilty. I had doubts, but they weren't beyond reason. Reason didn't really get much play in our jury room, however.

We had jurors who didn't understand the basics of government and the legislative process. "The police shouldn't have charged him with this." (Police don't bring charges.)

One juror "had problems with D.C. cops going back to the '70s." (Good thing we weren't asked during voir dire if we had bias toward law enforcement and a good thing 4 of them didn't testify during the tiral. Oh wait, both of those things happened!)

We would all agree to ignore the testimony of an untrustworthy witness, only to have someone bring it up to support their vote.

Those who voted guilty argued for non-guilty so we could see it from the other side; the non-guilty voters refused to even pretend.

We had jurors blatantly ignore the juror instructions:

• We were told to only consider evidence presented. Jurors drew elaborate diagrams and concocted alternate theories that even the defense didn't posit.
• We had strict guidelines for the charges, aka the law. "Well, I don't think possession of a gun should be a crime." (Well, guess what, it is!)
• We were told not to consider sentencing in our decision, that would be left to the judge. Jurors would constantly bring up the corrupt prison system in their refusal to convict. 
• We had a clear definition of reasonable doubt. "I just refuse to convict without being 100% sure." (Then you shouldn't be here!)

One witness testified he was the distance from the bench to the courtroom door away from the defendant on the night in question. One juror challenged the measurement given in the courtroom, by the judge. I literally threw my hands up.  Once you start doubting rulers, there's really nothing that can be done.

In the end I believe we were 8 and 4. And worst of all, in my opinion, we were divided by race.

One of the days I sat on the steps outside a downtown hotel, called my mom, and sobbed. I was stressed from missing work, angry at the incompetency and intransigence of my "peers," and disappointed in the system I always believed in. I cried because I know the next time I'm called, I will have a lot to say during voir dire about my thoughts on the criminal justice system, on the jury system, on lawyers, on human beings.

Maybe you think I'm too dramatic, maybe you're rolling your eyes, but that's ok. As realistic-bordering-on-pessimistic as I often am, I still have a fair amount of idealism on certain topics, and it hurts a bit when it gets washed away.

After the trial ended, I looked the defendant up in the court system. He was currently in prison for another crime and has been in and out of prison on a variety of crimes for almost 10 years. He was charged with the exact same set of charges 2 years ago.

Be nice to the jury. It's not an easy job.

When You Believe More

Note: After just 7 years of having this blog, I finally figured out how to reply directly to a comment. So if you leave one, I'll reply. Promise! (How you get those replies, I don't know, you'll have to figure that out.)

Several months ago I saw an ad in a metro station that said "When you believe more, you sleep less."
I couldn't remember what the ad was for, but when googling for this post, I came across this picture:

Apparently it's for Verizon. Since I have so much trouble sleeping, I began pondering this.

I think A LOT. My brain doesn't stop. I believe (see!) I've talked about this before. It's not like I'm thinking of theorems or medical cures, most of the time it's really mundane stuff. Because of the hamster-stuck-on-a-wheel brain of mine, I examine my feelings and thoughts on a variety of subjects a lot. I definitely lose sleep often because of over-thinking things. Or, maybe, I lose sleep because I believe? That's a sad thought. I think I'll take belief over sleep any day.

Now, in no particular order, a few things I believe in:

• God 
• Feminism 
• Hard work 
• Everything happens for a reason 
• Not everyone is meant to be with someone else 
• Marriage equality 
• Racial equality 
• Gender equality 
• Redistribution of wealth 
• Democracy 
• Socialism in theory not practice 
• America isn't the best country in the world just the loudest
• Ross and Rachel were on a break
• Saturday Night Live will never be cancelled
• Baseball should only be 5 innings
• There's no way paper beats rock
• Holding grudges
• Friendship
• Words 
• Imagination
• Creativity 
• Logic 
• Intelligence making you beautiful 
• UNC basketball 
• Heaven will be a lot like Chapel Hill
• That in the end those who are fair and just and dedicated will come out on top

Photo source

Night at the Gallery

I'm thoroughly exhausted after the brother's wonderful wedding weekend. Full recap to come...eventually. In the interim I have a few [long] posts in draft I forgot about.

Two weeks ago, I took Shana with me to the Cocoran Art Gallery for a flash fiction workshop. This was my first experience with flash fiction and first experience since college writing about art.

The workshop was led by a writer who works at the Corcoran, who previously worked at MOMA in New York, and has published works. There were fewer than 10 of us in attendance, which made for a comfortable and open setting. The workshop was based around a current exhibit, Shooting Stars: Publicity Stills from Early Hollywood and Portraits by Andy Warhol. Here is a portion of the description from the website:

Shooting Stars features promotional photographs of early Hollywood film stars alongside Polaroid portraits and black-and-white images by Andy Warhol. Made half a century apart, these two bodies of work illustrate some of the ways photographers have contributed to our understanding of celebrity and fame.

The purpose of the workshop was to view the exhibit and then write about a work in the voice of a celebrity. It could be from the voice of the celebrity in the photo, the voice of a celebrity viewing one of the photos, or really anything. We read same sample works, either written about a celebrity, in the voice of one, or dedicated to one, and then took an hour to view the works and write. Then we re-convened to read our pieces aloud.

It was so surreal and also serene to have the gallery almost to ourselves. (There was one other group touring it.) We got to sit (but not lean against the wall, as I learned) and just write, surrounded by all this art.

I didn't expect it to go so well, to be so inspired by the portraits. I shouldn't have been surprised because I do admire and appreciate art, especially portraiture, but I'm a very slow and meticulous writer and can't usually think and execute so quickly. There were actually several photos that inspired me and had me creating stories in my head.

The one that grabbed me the most was one of the early publicity stills. The subject was a Richard Barthelmess, circa 1927. I had never heard of him, but just now looked him up and he was a silent film star. This is the exhibit photo:

 
He reminded me so much of George Clooney that I decided to write in the voice of George Clooney viewing the portrait. And this is what I wrote:

Look at him. Look at me. Same eyebrows, same hair -- or same hair 20 years ago -- same eyes. He's a dashing guy. He's a good looking son of a bitch. Thank, god. That's all that matters here, right?

He has the right look, the right car, the right address. Maybe he even has the right pedigree, not too focused on either collar, blue or white. He did his time in the chorus line, so to speak, before jumping in to the lead role. He probably even has a shiny award or two, or at least he's been nominated. It is, of course, just an honor to be nominated.

But let's get to the good stuff. He's got the girl. He always has the girl. Or a string of girls. Women, actually. He's not Errol Flynn. No one should ever be Errol Flynn. So what if he rotates them every 2 years. Doesn't mean he's gay or asexual. It means he's bored or choosey or a dedicated bachelor. It's a thing. People magazine said so.

He doesn't have a stint in rehab, but give him time; his next film will be a flop.

But let's go back to his look. that perfectly tailored coat with its artfully popped collar.

The cigarette, so close to slipping out of his fingers, but so clearly a vital part of who he is, before the surgeon general has a say.

I could do without the pinky ring, but to each his own.

But that stare, wow. What is he looking at? Do I look like that? Could I look like that?

I want to know what he's thinking. I think I know.

He wants them to stop talking about his love life. To stop referring to his looks in the past tense. He wants to write and direct more. He wants to be asked in interviews about writing and directing instead of why he isn't married.

I think he wants a drink, a large drink to fill his brain with fuzzy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Because they aren't always there. He isn't always happy. Money, fame, awards, isn't always enough. He wants a break, a drink. He doesn't know what he wants.



Image source

Things I Learned This Weekend

Sometimes you just need a Friday to yourself.
I woke up Friday morning very late, with a headache, as it poured outside. So I made the executive decision to work from home. It cleared up as the day went on and I took a long lunch to just be out and run some errands. It was perfect.

Having a craft store accessible by metro is going to change my life.
A variety store re-opened in Bethesda about a block from where one of my close friends lives. I checked it out for us on Friday and OH MY WORD it's got a huge craft section. I didn't have my full list of ongoing craft needs but I did buy fabric, bobbins, embroidery floss, and other things. I'm probably going to be here once a week.

A clean home is a happy home. Unfortunately.
I hate cleaning. Hate hate hate it. But sometimes you just have to. So I picked up a bunch of things on Friday night, made a mess again on Saturday, and then re-cleaned with broom and vacuum and swiffer and spray all over again on Sunday. It sucks but it is nice to come home to.

My first writer's conference was awesome.
On Saturday I attended my first writer's conference. It was held at a Johns Hopkins building in Dupont Circle and was created by Barrelhouse literary magazine. It was an all-day conference with a keynote speaker and three breakout sessions. I learned so much and got a lot of inspiration for my own work. It was very reasonably priced and so close to home that I couldn't not go, and I'm glad that was the case.

Working out and crafting are great ways to end a busy Saturday.
I was very tired on Saturday after a 9-5 day of conferencing, but I still made myself exercise and do things. After a brief nap, of course.

There's just no good way to spray paint indoors.
In this week's installment of Bonnie Attempts Spray Painting In Her Apartment, this is what I tried:

I saw on Pinterest where someone created a sort of spray tent using a cheap hanging garment bag. I attempted the same thing only I didn't want to pay for a bigger one so I got this smaller one. Which, as you imagine, didn't quite work since there wasn't exactly a lot of room to spray. I also didn't take into account how I would hang it. Thank goodness for (UNC) duck tape and bungee cords. On the upside, I haven't been able to spray paint in awhile but I got to use my sprayer and tarp and mask. Yay!

D.C. is confusing, maps suck, and spray paint might hurt your brain.
I was meeting Brandie for brunch and a movie on Sunday and got so turned around and kept going in the wrong direction in roundabout ways. She blamed my spray painting from the previous night. I blamed maps and D.C. and the fact that I move so much faster than the little blue dot on my map app.

All restaurants should be housed in former fire stations.
Whilst hunting for brunch options, I came across Sixth Engine, a restaurant near Chinatown that is housed in a former fire station. 

It had such cool ambiance and decor, not to mention delicious mimosas and chocolate chip flapjacks. (And they were flapjacks, not pancakes, as the waitress corrected Brandie.)

Ryan Gosling is attractive even with tattoos, bad hair, and bad clothes.
But it can't make up for the depressing, heavy handed, and long winded "A Place Beyond the Pines." B and I had to see it, of course, as we do all Ryan's movies, but this was not a good one.

Don't get angry at Barnes and Noble when you can't find the book you're looking for. When it hasn't been released yet.
I have a B&N gift card that I keep forgetting about and thought on Sunday I'd use it to buy the new Audrey book written by her second son. Well, after fruitlessly searching the store for it and about to haughtily ask for it and mention that Amazon had it in stock, I realized it wasn't out yet. Oops. At least I realized it before huffing and puffing.

When you find yourself hand painting the horns on two ram figures Carolina blue, step away from the crafting.
They look adorable though and are going to make awesome bookends eventually. I have no regrets.  

Detour

On Thursday morning I had a meeting downtown. On the way back to my apartment to work from home for the afternoon, I decided to take a detour and swing by the Mall to look at the cherry blossoms. I made the trek the first few years I lived here, but haven't done it the last few; the crowds are just too tortuous and I get too frustrated.

It's no secret the Mall is spread out and requires a lot of walking. Let me say this, when it's 85 degrees and you're wearing black dress pants and carrying a laptop, the distance seems to multiply. And since I really didn't have more than 30 minutes to spare, I decided to snap a few photos of the blossoms near the Hirshorn and call it a day. I mean, it's the same tree, same blossoms as those on the tidal basin, so technically I succeeded.

On the walk to the metro I saw that one of my all time favorite D.C. sights, the fountain at the National Gallery Sculpture Garden, was on. Yay! My first few summers in the city I used to attempt to satiate my need for water by heading to the fountain on the weekends. Since moving to an apartment complex with a pool, I don't go to the fountain as much. While I felt a little silly hiking up my dress pants and setting my laptop bag beside me, I still dipped my weary feet for a few minutes.

What Not To Say To Women

This is a long post with lots of words and no pictures. It's very important to me so I hope you'll read it anyway.

There’s something important everyone should know about D.C.: Despite it being a town built by, for, and around politics, its inhabitants don’t like to talk about politics. There are exceptions to this, of course, perhaps if you are a devout employee of the Hill or K Street, but even then, for those who have their working hours consumed by partisan maneuvering, many want to think about anything else during their remaining hours.

Several weeks ago, Karey and I were on the metro going back in to the city after watching the UNC v. Villanova game at a bar in Alexandria with some friends. Three men, probably a few years younger than us, boarded and began loudly discussing taxes.

Another important thing everyone should know about D.C.: We don’t talk on the metro. If you’re talking to a friend at a respectful decibel level that’s fine, but we don’t engage strangers in conversation. There’s no need. We all spend a scary amount of our lives commuting on this thing and prefer to use this time to read, sleep, respond to email, or just sit.

As these three men loudly discussed politics on the metro, Karey and I had our own quiet conversation. Until the Cutie turned to us for our opinion. (For the purposes of this retelling, I will name them Ugly Teeth, Angry One, and Cutie because he had a cute face but also because he was petite.) He was trying to seem polite and reluctant with his “so sorry to interrupt your evening” and “if you don’t mind at all” when of course he was interrupting our evening, of course we minded, and of course he knew this.

He asked us for our thoughts on tax brackets. We both told him and the others our opinions and I added that it was kind of pointless to talk to me about this because I’m “borderline Socialist,” thinking this would deter them. But of course it didn’t.

Ugly Teeth moved closer to us and began asking us about politics in general, including who we voted for in the last election. Which you should never ask in D.C. or anywhere. I was just not in the mood and threw Karey under the bus a little when I told them what her political persuasion used to be, thinking they would engage her more than me. Which they did.

Then they had the audacity to ask us why we believe what we believe, why we vote the way we vote. Here’s the thing: I’m not in politics but I love politics and under the right circumstances I will gladly discuss and debate them with you. The right circumstances are not likely to be found at 10 on a Friday night on the D.C. metro with three strange men who clearly aren’t from here and clearly are a little drunk. (Full disclosure: I’d had two glasses of wine so while I wasn’t drunk, I was definitely at a point where my mouth acts faster than my brain.)

It becomes glaringly obvious to me early in political discussions if it’s a discussion for the purposes of edification or a discussion for the purposes of changing someone’s mind. Since I’ve always believed what I believe and always voted the way I vote, I have no interest or patience in engaging those with such divergent views out to change yours. It was clear to me that the instigators fell in this category.

As Karey began explaining how being a woman has informed her current political choices, and they questioned this, I jumped in. Gender equality and believing in, supporting, and advancing Feminism is probably my most passionate belief. So perhaps you’ll understand why this next statement, from Ugly Teeth, caused to me begin yelling and nearly leap from my seat: “Feminism hasn’t been relevant since 1993.”

In just the past month we’ve seen a slew of state legislation aiming to shutter abortion clinics. We’ve seen a high-profile rape trial that victimized the perpetrators and attacked the victim. We’ve seen various institutions try to restrict access to birth control. We’ve seen politicians believe in the existence of “legitimate rape.” We’ve seen updated statistics that women are still paid only 77 cents for every $1 a man earns. But Feminism hasn’t been relevant in 20 years? Feminism is more relevant, and needs to be even more relevant, now more than ever.

In far less eloquent words than I feel I’ve captured above, I said this to the metro instigators. It was the pay statistic that they latched on to. Ugly Teeth said that wasn’t true. Angry One stood by the door, violently shaking his head and declaring, “That’s not true. You’re wrong. You’re wrong. You’re wrong.” Never providing a reason as to why I was wrong, however.

When Ugly Teeth questioned my source – Sheryl Sandburg’s new book – because “you can’t believe a book” and then sneered that I “probably got it from Wikipedia,” I was done. I yelled that they were not respecting me or listening to me and that they could leave now. We were done. Ugly Teeth backed away, not believing how quickly it got out of hand, and began conferring with Angry One. Cutie tried to apologize. Karey had her arm out ready to block me if I tried to jump at them. I just stewed and tried to shoot daggers out of my eyes.

They exited at the next metro stop, leaving us and our metro car to breathe a sigh of relief. (I was too occupied by the verbal battle to notice, but Karey said everyone in our car was listening and the women seemed particularly engaged.)

I was angry then and I’m angry now. But I’m also proud that I defended my beliefs and stood up for Feminism, even if I didn’t do it as eloquently as I wanted. (That would be the wine in me making my mouth work faster than my brain.)

Now too, of course, I really do have to laugh a little. I mean, these guys were probably just trying to hit on us (or so a few friends of mine think) and they happened upon two well-educated, politically-minded, pro-equality women who love speaking their minds. I nearly feel sorry for them.

What this incident has showed me is that these people really do exist, out in the world, on the metro. I’m not naïve, I know they’re out there, I see them on TV, I hear stories from friends, I’ve just never run in to any this serious before. And it makes me angry. How dare men try to tell women that what they believe about being a woman is wrong? How dare they exclaim that Feminism is no longer relevant, i.e., that it’s no longer necessary?

We’ve not seen a woman president. We’ve not seen more than a handful of women at a time in the House or Senate. We’ve only just seen women admitted into Augusta. We’ve only just seen women become more educated than men.

We, women, just have so much still to do. And we’re going to do it. Because you can attack our beliefs, you can ignore our arguments, you can disrespect our stances, but we aren’t going anywhere. Good luck out there, metro instigators, your kind can’t last forever.

29...let's go, DC!

I really do love my birthday. So much so that I celebrate my entire birthday month, where I do little things for myself throughout the month just because.

However, I've had a problem for awhile of "making" non-family members celebrate with me. As in, I felt like if I invited people to hang out or do something, it would be like forcing them to celebrate me. I have absolutely no reason for thinking this, no friend who has ever cursed me for making him or her drink and eat cake.

So this year I sucked it up and invited a bunch of DC friends to have dessert and drinks at a small restaurant in my neighborhood for my "29 for the first time" birthday thing. And friends came -- a lot, like, I was a little worried why they didn't have better things to do -- and we all had fun. I was a bit nervous combining so many of my worlds -- best friends, book club friends, and work friends -- but it worked out.

 
The restaurant was very accommodating and we had the bar to ourselves. (The most people at any point in the restaurant aside from us was 4). They put the Packers v. Vikings playoff game on the TVs for my friends. They had "super sized" wine servings. (Which I would come to regret hours later.) And at one point they even asked me what music I wanted to hear. (The answer? Rhianna, of course, as my friend Shana had just gifted me concert tickets for her in the spring!)

 
I put my friend Becky on picture duty and she did a wonderful job. I feel weird posting pictures of those who don't read the blog, so I'll cram those together in a collage.

At some point, after watching the game, two of the guys decided to have a footrace in front of the restaurant. It was amazing and also a little sad.

When I went to order dessert and asked for chocolate cake, of course, I was told they were out of chocolate. Yes, out of chocolate! I ordered other things instead -- no idea what -- and then Shana had them bring out a tart with a candle. It wasn't chocolate, but it was sweet.

If you'll indulge my vanity for a second: my outfit. I never need an excuse for a new outfit, but I managed to put the night's ensemble together with a dress and accessories I already had, with the exception of the newly purchased back seam tights. The inspiration was this lovely lady in a photo posted on Pinterest.

 
Vanity over, now to a little mushiness.

It was really was exactly what I wanted and I'm just beyond grateful for the wonderful friends that I have here. So grateful just thinking about them all over again that I may cry so I'm just going to stop.

I don't deserve any of them but I love them all.

And that is the last of my holiday posts, hooray!

5 Years

Today marks 5 years at my job. I can hardly believe it.

Here is the post from the day I got the job and the post from my first day where I also got an AARP card in the mail.

I can't say it's been a smooth, stress-free 5 years. Because it hasn't. (And I probably would've been miserably bored had it been.) But I am thankful every day that I found the job posting on Craig's List and got this job. It tests my intelligence and patience every day but I love the challenge. This job is so much more than a job, which is what I've always wanted, and has led to great memories, experiences, and friendships.

In 5 years I have learned and grown so much, become so much more confident and capable, that I probably wouldn't recognize the old me.

Except for the wine-drinking part of old me.

2008: Celebrating accepting the job

Operation Christmas Cheer: Botanic Garden

This was my first trip to the United States Botanic Garden located on the Mall, a mere stone's throw from the Capitol. When I used to live on the Hill and would take evening walks around it, I'd see the pretty glass building from afar, but never entered.

I'd heard about their amazing Christmas display and had meant to go the first weekend of December to capture some pretty photos for my Christmas card. Alas, I went out to celebrate a certain friend's certain engagement and didn't quite feel up to it the next day. (So if you see one of these pictures on my card next year, pretend to be surprised.)

I planned on being there right when it opened at 10, but didn't end up getting there until 10:30. Not a big deal, right? Nope, wrong. Every family in D.C. must have had the same idea and the line was way out the door to get into their famous train section. As much as I love trains is also how much I hate long lines, so I skipped the trains and headed straight for the Conservatory instead.

The main draw are the re-creations of famous D.C. landmarks and buildings made out of natural items like gourds and sticks. They were simply stunning.

Clockwise: Lincoln Memorial, Jefferson Memorial,
White House, Washington Monument

Capitol, Capitol Dome, Supreme Court

The Botanic Garden, Smithsonian Castle, and Library of
Congress, Jefferson Building (I think that's its name.)

I took photos of some of the pretty plants and the colors that really caught my eye.

 

There are lots of different sections and gardens that I was able to walk around, despite the hoards of people. There was also what they call the "jungle," which is several stories high, full of flora, and very warm. You can even go up a flight of stairs and walk around the "canopy." You can see the jungle in the background behind the lone train they had in the Conservatory.

I didn't really get photos of this section but I did take photos of one of the displays. I'm calling this "Reindeer Games" and I just love it.

Close-ups of some of my favorites. The one in the middle, clearly vogueing,
is my favorite.

I've lived in the city for 5 years and it's so nice to find something new -- and free -- to do. I'm definitely adding this to my Christmas traditions list and will also visit during the other seasons as well.

Operation Christmas Cheer: Capitol Tree, National Tree, and Willard Hotel

This week's goal is to get almost all of my Christmas posts done. We'll see how this goes.

I love the holidays every year, but this year I was especially determined to enjoy them. Sometimes I can get so caught up in the shopping and doing that I get too stressed to enjoy everything. So this year I started my shopping much earlier, and let myself be ok if I didn't get to do everything I normally do.

The result? I had an entire day before leaving for home – I'd even already half-packed for home – in which to do whatever I wanted. Thus I embarked on what I called Operation: Christmas Cheer. Which consisted of me doing my usual National Christmas Tree and Willard Hotel viewing, plus the addition of the Capitol Christmas Tree and the National Botanic Garden. Though my first stop of the day was the Botanic Garden, I'll start with the last three since I have so many beautiful pictures to sort through.

I've never made it to the Capitol Tree before, I'm not sure why. I expected it to be smaller but it was really quite large and majestic. I expected the Capitol to dwarf it but they really complemented each other.

The tree's ornaments came from people in Colorado and I took a few photos of my favorites. It wasn't too cold of a day and as you can see, the sun was shining and the sky was blazing Carolina blue, so I just took a few minutes to stand and stare.

After that, it was off to catch a bus to take me closer to the White House. (Figuring out even just one bus route along the mall is going to change my life.) Last year's tree was quite puny as it has just been replaced after the previous one was damaged during a storm. The replacement tree ended up dying and they replaced it with this much more grand one.

 
The state trees have different ornaments every year, with handmade creations encased in clear plastic cases. But this year some of them had decorated the outside of the case, like New York and Florida, or completely eschewed the cases like Idaho, who had gourds. Either there were new regulations this year or there have never been regulations and some states finally got creative, but they were much more impressive this year. My favorite was Florida, with their gorgeous orange blossoms that looked like glass.

 
This is Connecticut's tree. This was the day after the Sandy Hook tragedy and a little memorial was forming.

My last stop was to look at the outside and inside decorations at the Willard.

I used to only do the outside but I also love to go inside. Their main tree is full of all the past White House ornaments. They also had a pretty amazing gingerbread house.

Celebrate Good Times

Way back in November one of my best friends got engaged! So then way back in December we went out to hang out and celebrate, of course.

This is B with a glass of Prosecco and the engagement card I got her.

She liked that the card matched our drinks. I like that she let me try on her ring. So shiny!

Perhaps because we were celebrating such an important occasion. Perhaps because we hadn't hung out for a month. (Gasp!) Perhaps because we just tend to get a little silly when we go out. But whatever the reason, the night took us from a restaurant to a hotel to a bar, plotting and laughing and chatting (and drinking) all the way.

We ended up at Hotel Monaco, which for some reason we gravitate toward.

Where we like to take silly pictures in the bathroom mirror and anywhere else that strikes our fancy. (Like this chair.)

We were both hating life a bit the next day, but you only get engaged once, hopefully, so I think it was worth it.