runnin' through the ghetto

Today is the National Marathon. I didn't know it until I woke up this morning and it was all over the news, and all of the sudden, I saw my neighborhood on t.v. Turns out that as part of the H Street Revitalization Movement, the last two miles of the marathon are through my hood.
Being the novice runner that I am, I felt compelled to get dressed and go outside and cheer them on, especially when the newscaster was like "It's the spectators that are on H Street that are really helping these runners get through the last two miles." So I went outside at 9 a.m. on a Saturday morning, and screamed and clapped at each runner who went by. It was fun. I yelled things like "Go 'head girl!" and "Welcome to H Street!" and "Lookin' good! You're almost there!" and "22 miles down! Wooooo!"

There were hundreds of H Street residents on the sidewalks acting as spectators. You could tell which ones were the newer residents and which ones have lived here for decades. The new ones, like me, were cheering. The long-time residents, those who lived in this area and saw it under siege during the riots of '68 and called it home despite the violent reputation it maintained for years, stood there baffled. I caught a piece of a conversation between two long-time residents that I think summed up their sentiment: "They got these people runnin' through the ghetto."

Ghetto or no ghetto, this is my neighborhood now too, and I never knew it before this morning, but I'm growing kind of fond of it. "Welcome to H Street," I told the runners. And I meant what I was saying. I was truly welcoming them to my neighborhood.

crazy

This is how my day went yesterday:

10:00 a.m. – Go downstairs to the retail center in my office building. Buy coffee. Step outside for some fresh air (read – cigarette). Encounter crazy homeless woman who sometimes hangs out around the building. Crazy homeless woman sits down next to me and starts talking about her kids. Ask her if she has kids in the system because I have heard her talking about how they've been taken away. Confirm suspicions that she is severely schizophrenic when she responds that her children have been kidnapped, raped, and beaten by women lawyers who have taken over men's positions whilst wearing witch outfits and have gotten too power hungry since they have taken over the men's positions. Politely excuse myself and retreat to my office.

4:00 p.m. – Leave the office and stop by CVS on my way home. Encounter little old lady in the shower gel aisle. Little old lady comments on the great sales that CVS is having. Politely agree. Little old lady relates story about how she was in the Mac-Donald's earlier and witnessed a crazy homeless woman attempt to rob it. Story takes ten minutes. Little old lady tells me she's actually a CIA agent, and the crazy homeless woman is lucky she didn't have her gun or she would have shot her. Politely agree. Attempt to get away from little old lady, but little old lady follows me down the aisle, imploring me to "listen, miss." Little old lady warns me to stay away from the Mac-Donald's by the courthouse because this is the location of the attempted robbery. Little old lady shares with me that she works at the courthouse as a clerk, a judge, and a lawyer. Finally get away from little old lady. Three minutes later, hear her from the makeup aisle telling somebody else the story.

4:15 p.m. – Get on the bus to go home. Walk towards back of bus looking for a seat. Drunk old man gets up and offers me his seat. Politely thank him and accept the seat. Drunk old man sits in empty seat across aisle from me. Put my nose in my book. Five minutes later, feel somebody rubbing my left arm. Turn around to find drunk old man leaning back into his seat. Resolve to say something if it happens again, but to brush it off this time.

4:17 p.m. – Bus stops at Union Station and I get up to let other drunk old man who is sitting next to me get off the bus. CVS bags remain on the floor, and I see other drunk old man is struggling to get past them. Apologize and attempt to move CVS bags, but other drunk old man says it's fine and that actually, he wishes he could take CVS bags with him. Politely giggle, unsure of the meaning of his comment. Put my nose back in book and wait for bus to continue down H Street. Hear knock at my window. Turn to my right to see other drunk old man standing at window, motioning for me to get off bus. Turn back to book and think to myself that the day couldn't get any crazier.

4:32 p.m. – Get off bus and make my way down H Street. Out of corner of my eye, see drunk young man approaching with bottle in brown paper bag in hand. See him stop short. Continue walking, making extra effort not to make eye contact. Drunk young man grabs my arm as I walk by and proceeds to make the sign of the holy cross and blow kisses at me. Continue walking, resolving not to come out of the house for the rest of the day.

public transportation trauma

Since I sold my Explorer in August, I have become a champion of public transportation, and I have found that it's really not all that bad. At first, I would sit on the bus and fume, reminding myself that I have been through eight years of post-secondary education and I'm still riding the bus. But after a while, I got used to it.

Then this morning happened.

The bus was running late, so when it pulled up, I could see that it was packed full. I squeezed onto it and, as I do most mornings, stood in the aisle, holding on to the pole so that I wouldn't topple on top of the other fifty-seven people standing in the aisle every time the bus went over a bump or took a turn. I was standing there not three minutes when I heard a rather impatient man making his way up the aisle, pushing people out of his way, going "excuse me excuse me." By the time he approached me, I had already resolved that I was not going to let him by. In fact, I was rather annoyed at him. So he reached me and told me "excuse me excuse me excuse me," and I held on to the pole and told him "sir, you're gonna have to wait a minute until the bus stops." He looked at me with disbelief and said "I'm tryin'a get to the back of the bus," and I replied "well, you're gonna have to wait."

And then it happened. He took his dirty hand and grabbed my freshly lotioned hand on the pole, and then with his dirty fucking REPULSIVE long-ass finger nails, dug under my fingers to loosen them from the pole and brushed right past me.

I was and still am DISGUSTED. I got to work and washed my hands like seven times.

My response was "excuse me, please don't touch me." The words came out of my mouth and even as I heard them, I was so pissed off at myself. Why did I have to be so proper and polite? "Excuse me?" "Please?" Why couldn't I be gangsta and bust out with some shit like "Oh, I KNOW you didn't just put your dirty mothafuckin' hands on me, mothafucka" and kicked him in the groin? No, instead I busted out with "excuse me" and "please." What the fuck?????

I spent the rest of the ride to work trying to read my book but fantasizing about Henry Hill being my boyfriend and being on the bus with me and whipping out his pistol and telling that motherfucker "Touch her again and I swear to God I'll fucking kill you" like he did when that neighbor boy tried to touch Karen. Okay, not really, because I'm not a proponent of violence, but at least a big beefy gangster boy with me to be like "Touch her again and I swear to God…" something. Something gangsta. Not "Excuse me, please don't touch her again."

yet another reason why i love this city (despite the cold)

Earlier today I was feeling kinda blue for a variety of reasons (mostly the $200 I had to drop this morning on an eye exam and glasses and worrying about a friend who's in a bad shape right now). But when I went to get on the metro, there were two dudes standing at the top of the escalator, one with a trumpet and one with a saxophone, and guess what they were playing? "Kind of Blue." So thanks, dudes at the top of the Metro Center escalator playing "Kind of Blue," you took my blues away this morning.

i hate me a tourist

This morning was supposed to be one of the most exciting experiences of my life. I was supposed to sit in on a US Supreme Court argument. Not only that, but I was supposed to sit in on a case that involved an issue that I argued in my national moot court competition last year.

But the TOURISTS ruined it all. I got there an hour before seating began, and the line was already huge. And it was full of TOURISTS. So when they cut off the line for the people admitted for the morning argument, and I watched them all go in there with their stupid "Washington, DC" t-shirts, it was all I took not to tackle them down and scream "WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT STIRONE AND COTTON AND NEDER?!??!?!? I BET YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT AN INDICTMENT IS!!!!"

I did get to do the three-minute tour, though. Once I got through security and I stood in that huge, grand marble hall waiting to be let in the courtroom, I actually got butterflies in my stomach. And when they let us in, and I saw all nine justices sitting up there, the lush red velvet drapes behind them, the whole thing took my breath away. I mean, I spent the last three years of my life studying this place, and then I was there. I immediately recognized Ginsberg and Roberts and Thomas and Scalia and Alito. I was so excited I almost burst. The Government was arguing, which is the side that I argued at my competition, and I was pleased to hear a touch of one of the arguments I had made. Ginsberg asked a question, and then I almost wanted to wrestle the Government lawyer from the podium and answer myself. "Yes, Justice Ginsberg, that is correct. However, this Court must keep in mind that..." Ahhh...I can see it now...

Anyway, the issue dealt with the omission of an element of a crime from an indictment, and I'm pretty positive that the Court will rule in favor of the Government, given its conservative disposition. Scalia and Roberts didn't ask any questions as I sat there, and I was sure it was because they both had already made up their minds. But then, when the guard indicated that our three minutes were up and we needed to leave, and as my heart fell to the ground, ROBERTS ASKED A QUESTION. AND I DIDN'T HEAR IT. I was so mad! Of course, all the stupid TOURISTS with their stupid gay t-shirts got to hear it, but by then they probably were sitting there all smug and shit, tuning out the entire thing because they had no idea what the fuck was going on anyway.

ARRRRRRRRGH!!!!!

no subject

It has hit five o'clock and I can no longer focus on chest x-rays, pulmonary function studies, and presumptions of total disability. So I shall blog.

I love my life today. This whole week, actually. Monday I got my first paycheck as a professional. It wasn't that much, being that I am a government lawyer (or will be assuming I pass the bar), but it did buy me the four-inch black pointy toed heels that I've been fantasizing about for weeks. I saw them at the Nine West at the little mall at my metro stop, and at least once a week I would go in to visit them and subliminally tell them, "Don't worry, my little preciouses. In a short time, you shall be mine." So now I finally have them. They were a little hard to get used to at first. I could walk in them, but every time I caught my reflection, I'd be like "Oh my god. I look like a hooker." And they started killing me after having them on for one single hour. But now it's two days later, and now when I catch my reflection, I'm like "Oh my god. I'm so hot." And they don't really hurt anymore.

So yesterday I went down to this little place called Marvelous Market for lunch. They have all really good gourmet sandwiches and shit that I like to eat. I work in Chinatown, which is a pretty busy part of the city. "Vibrant," actually. So I sat up at the counter that faces the window so I could see the world go by, and I looked down at my four-inch black pointy toed heels and my gourmet sandwich and out at my city and for a second there, I was simply elated.

And today Missmo arrives. In two hours, to be exact. This makes my life today PERFECT. Don't worry, lovely readers, the next entry shall be "in our own universe part duex" and we shall have lots of stupid pictures to show you all. Perhaps we'll even get kicked out of the marine barracks…you never know…

wwhen the beat drops, i just can't help myself

One of my favorite parts of my new-found city girlhood is putting on my I-Pod, making the little-less-than-a-mile trek down to the metro, and catching the metro down to my barbri class. The walk is really a great way to start the day, not to mention really good exercise.

There's only one small problem. Anyone who knows me knows that I looooove to dance. At the club, at the bar, in my room, in the car...wherever there is a good beat. So, as you can imagine, I have an extremely difficult time containing myself when my little I-Pod Shuffle picks something really good for me.

Example - sitting on the metro, and all of the sudden "Vivrant Thang" by Q-Tip comes on. It's all I can do to prevent myself from jumping up, grabbing one of those poles that people hang on to when there's no place to sit, and twerking it all over the metro. Or, walking down F Street and "It's Goin' Down" by Young Joc starts playing. I'm able to contain myself somewhat, but if one were to observe me very closely, he or she would notice that one shoulder shrugs ever so slightly three times, and then the other.

I mean, even my rock jams get me going. I have to lip sing Led Zep's "The Ocean" when it comes on, because belting out "Used to sing to the mountains/But the mountains washed away," in that high-pitched Robert Plant voice on the metro may make me look a little crazy. However, just yesterday, walking up 7th, I couldn't help myself. I didn't think anyone was around, so I busted out with "Biggie Biggie Smalls is the illest!" To my dismay, I looked behind me and there was a yuppie looking dude looking at me like I had lost it.

And nothing's better than standing on the metro escalator, ascending back into the world, with Dave Matthews telling me that "When I step into the light, my arms are open wide."
Being a city girl is so great.

DC is awesome, but barbri SUCKS

I have now been an official Washingtonian for an entire week. Here are the highlights of the past week:
- I got a gig waitressing at a nice little joint on the Hill. The staff is so fun and already I've made a few friends there. So far, it's been a pretty cool crowd that comes in and I've met a few interesting folks so far. It's gonna be a fun summer there, I can tell already.
- I started studying for the bar. Sucks. I'm supposed to be studying 6 to 9 hours a day after my four hour classes, but I can't stand it. Secured transactions, commercial paper - who gives a shit?!?!?!? I'm supposed to be studying now, 12:30 on a Friday night in DC. Instead I'm blogging. Productive, I know. The good news is there's no DC law on the DC bar. Instead, it's all multi-state general law. Phew.
- Douglas is adjusting to city life very well. He has realized that the tiny little front yard is part of HIS territory and, accordingly, is terrorizing the neighborhood by barking and growling at anyone who has the nerve to walk by on the sidewalk. It's actually pretty funny.
- I have mastered the metro in less than a week. My commute to my bar classes is an hour and a half. I could probably get there quicker by driving, but I'm still afraid to drive in DC. I have ventured down to Arlington twice so far to hit up Target, and both times I missed the exit on the way home and ended up in Maryland or a potentially dangerous part of DC. However, since I still don't have any idea where I am at any given point in time, everywhere in DC is potentially dangerous.
- My roommate is awesome. She's been really good about showing me around, and what's more, she loves Dougie. It's cool because I haven't been around much between work and the bar, and she's been taking him for walks and even picking up his shit outside. She rocks!!! Also, she makes home made chocolate. She's awesome.
- I hooked up with my beautiful Julia Gulia last weekend and we hit my fave DC spot, Madam's Organ. It was a lot of fun. We were supposed to maybe go dancing this weekend but OH yeah!!! I have to study for the bar exam! Still haven't seen D but promised a happy hour next week.
- They play my fave dancehall reggae jams on the radio here.
- I can see the capitol while driving down the street.
- On Memorial Day, I put on my navy sundress with white polka dots and took myself out to breakfast at a little sidewalk cafe before catching the metro down to Arlington National Cemetary where I walked around looking so cute and eyeing the hottie Marines in their dress uniforms and paying my respects when I bumped into none other than Donald Rumsfeld. No shit. I was close enough to touch him. This one dude was like "you can get a picture with him," and I was like "I don't want a picture with him." I took a video though, because I didn't think my friends from home would believe me.
- I miss Florida, but not too much yet. DC is just so fucking cool, and hot enough to be Florida. I miss my mama, though, and my missmo and all my Florida friends. I miss them tons. I wish they could all move up here. But not til late July when I'm done with the bar.