Pursuit of Happiness II

26 July 2009

1.
On a whim, I bought fake nails from CVS. They were "Real Life! Petits"-- not too ostentatious, but simple and feminine and the kind you glue on with a little tube of superglue. Cheap but not too tacky. I think someday in the distant future I will be horrified that I superglued little plastic nails onto my own fingertips, but today I love them! I love looking down to see the tan of my hands highlighted by my glossy nails, and I love handing things to people, palm down, fingers obvious, my french tips glowing with femininity.

2.
We stopped at Five Guys for dinner on Friday. I was hungry and the group was obliging. Of course I ordered a Bacon Cheeseburger. And also a large fries to keep my friends from just sitting and watching me eat. 'Eat' is really too tame a word to describe the thrilling experience of smelling and tasting and chewing the best Bacon Cheeseburger I have ever had. The fries were sub par, but the burger-- c'était incroyable!

Personal hygiene

12 July 2009

Shopping for deodorant is a metaphor for my life.

First off, I'm out, and though I believe I could live quite happily and independently without deodorant, I feel the social pressure to get some of my very own. Also, it's comforting to know you smell good.

So I went to the store yesterday to look around, scope out my options, weigh the opportunity costs.

Eight rows of sticks and sticks of antiperspirant: roll-on, gel-on, 24/7, night time, black-safe, unscented, tropical spice-- there seem to be an inordinate number of choices, but they all break down into three types:

There's the friendly kind, the kind you always get, the one that smells neutral and doesn't make a mess, and because you always get it, you know you can confidently expect it to work 50% of the time. Not a high percentage, but it's the confidence here that's key.

Then there's the expensive new brand, that exotic, mysterious smelling New Formula with a sparkly package and marketing promises that may in fact change the course of your whole thus-far-lack-luster life.

And then there's the very safe and very reliable, unscented brand that is plain and boring and one of a kind (because only one brand was crazy enough to try to market a deodorant that doesn't smell Powder Fresh and doesn't have a catchy slogan, and doesn't wear a packaged like an ice cream bar)

And of course I had to smell them all. I nixed the fruit scented ones right off (I'd rather not develop a Pavlovian connection with the smell of my sweat and watermelon), and the baby-powder ones we're too old-ladyish for me. Turns out the "Rosepetal" smelled more like toilet bowl cleaner, and I just couldn't imagine putting "Sexy Intrigue" in my arm pits.

I finally just grabbed one of my 4 or 5 tried-and-half-true regulars-- they smelled and looked just the same as always, safe- and half- reliable, but as I turned to go, I couldn't pull myself away from the All NEW! sparkle of something different and more exciting.

The safe unscented sat bland and undisturbed on the edge of the shelf.

And I stood, weighing my options, confused, and a little frustrated. Did I want to pay that much for the new, alluring, untried brand? Did I really want to stick with the same-old-same-old that I knew wasn't really what I wanted? Maybe I really was better off al natural.

I pulled the unscented, reliable stick off the shelf, grabbed a chocolate bar, and check out.

I tired it this morning, with low expectations. Turns out this one actually scented, a sweet and refreshing smell like the clean outdoors or early morning dew. That was a pleasant surprise. I think I may have found a new favorite.

Bikes on Shoulder

03 July 2009

This title conjures up images of conquering bikers, hoisting their rides in many triumph-- an REI poster. I say manly because actually having that two wheeled hunk of pipes over your head would be a manly feat regardless of the gender of the hoister.

This title however, refers to the traffic signs posted along Maryland 4 warning drivers to share the road with bikers... like me.

I think the trip was Jason's idea, and from the start I wanted in. Of course with a couple of college kids running the show, things were a bit haphazardly thrown together, and we had a bit of a rocky start but at 7:30 we corralled our bikes behind the Barlow Center, said a prayer and headed out. Jason, Andrew, Maria and I-- a nice little chain of wheels pedaling through Downtown traffic. In the rain. Did I mention it was pouring? A veritable deluge right down on our parade. But this is normal riding for me, and I couldn't keep myself from laughing out loud as we ducked and tried to avoided the cars, trucks buses and over-sized puddles: the perfect start to our adventure.

And what an adventure it was: I learned to patch a flat and sleep on wet grass, I loitered in a gas station and then a casino, where I was carded for only the 2nd time in my life. We planed to sleep on the Chesapeake beach, but when we rolled into Chesapeake Beach City at 11 p.m., we just parked our bikes on the first bit of grass we found-- the Chesapeake Beach Veterans Memorial Park. Behind some privet bushes we found a nice place to sleep-- until the sprinklers came on at 4 a.m. That's when the loitering began.

We finally settled on the rocky shoreline of our Memorial Park to watch the sun rise over the bay. I remember seeing the brightness eating away at the horizon's darkness before I nodded off, hunched on a rock, hugging my knees under my fleece jacket.

Biking home on five hours of sleep was not as difficult as I thought it would be, and I was less sore than I expected, thank goodness. Along the way, we stopped for pictures beside a pastoral field and in front of the White House. Eighty miles after the start, we pulled into the Barlow center parking lot. I for one was sweaty, grimy and ready for a nap.

And so in love with biking.

Disappointed love

01 July 2009

My very first love had a deep voice. Deep and mellow, a rich croon that was sophisticated and gentle, and no doubt a shock of wavy dark hair, slacks and a loose tie for that confidently casual look.

Tall, dark and handsome he paced the stage of my minds eye, his stories, his bluegrass band, his live audiences' laughter became the soundtrack to you young life. And as I grew, he claimed the gift of perpetual agelessness, joining me every Saturday night, just as he had always been, broadcasting live from the shores of Lake Wobegon--he was NPR's Garrison Keillor, the same steady, warm voice I had always swooned over.

Today I turned on the TV while fixing some re-heated dinner and suddenly I heard his voice. It was like smelling the cologne of your high school sweetheart, and I looked up to see my Garrison Keillor,

"I grew up in a quiet town..."

But I was confused by the man talking on screen-- he was portly with wild gray hair and a plain face with piggy eyes behind unflattering round glasses. There was nothing exceptional about his appearance other than, perhaps, a drab coat which fit him exceptionally ill, and red sneakers exceptionally obvious beneath too-short pants. He could be described as nothing short of dull, but his thin lips moved and out came that voice, that music, that memorizing murmur-- could this really be that man? Could this really be my Garrison Keillor in the flesh?

I closed my eyes and listened for a while, imagining again the handsome stranger that ought to belong to that voice. Then I shut off the TV and finished my dinner in silence.

Eine kleine nachtmusik

I woke up late this morning, or more correctly, I slept in.

And then I remembered I was having lunch with the president, so I had to get up and iron something presentable. I just grabbed an apple for breakfast, but I was already too late to get a good parking spot, and walking to the metro, I missed the light at every intersection (there were 5 between my parking spot and the East Falls Church Metro). My metro card wouldn't got through (as usual), and as I finally ran up the escalator, I saw my train pull away. The next one (7 minutes later) was overcrowded and had some trouble between Rosslyn and Foggy Bottom. We all waited, squashed together, I hung on to the overhead hand-rail awkwardly, my armpit in some woman's face, someone's briefcase in my back. At each stop we'd all shuffle about to let a few people off, and squeeze together as a twice as many people tried to squeeze on. My stop came, and I had 3 minutes to walk the 3 blocks from Farragut North to the 5th floor of the AEI building, and running up the metro's escalator (in my semi-ironed blouse, pencil skirt and sneakers) I almost missed the music.

An old man, grey curly hair and a great toothy grin, was sitting on a stool, case open, playing Mozart on the violin. His tone was professional, intonation impeccable-- he had no music, but filled the metro and the surrounding block with improvisation on the theme. Cheery, delightful, beautiful.

I caught his eye and grinned. He grinned back and continued to play with gusto.
As I crossed the street at the end of the block, I could still hear: Mozart's Night Music in the DC metro.

Post Script: I ran into the building with another late employee, he looked young enough to be an intern as well. He jabbed the elevator "Up" but just then the doors opened and someone stepped out. We jumped in, and as the doors closed I realized this elevator was going down. I pushed the "5". Nothing happened. He tried the 12th floor. The numbered lights clicked on then went out. The elevator didn't move. We looked at each other and grinned.

"Well, this makes for an interesting start to the day, doesn't it?"