5 People You Want To Avoid Eye Contact with on The DC Metro

Despite nearly constant track work, broken escalators, and elevators that occasionally break midway between the ground and the underground, the DC metro can be an efficient way to get around the city. Every time I’m on the train though, I’m struck by the completely bizarre mishmash of randos around me. Maybe it’s because I work from home so I rarely come into contact with other human beings anymore, but riding public transportation at rush hour makes for some excellent people watching.

Here are five of The Usual Suspects you can expect to find on the DC Metro.

The Sick Person
There’s nothing I hate more than sick people. Sick people should stay home, pull the covers over their heads, and sleep until they’re healthy. So, when an otherwise cute girl gets on the metro hacking up chunks of her esophagus, I immediately give her my devil eyes. COVER YOUR MOUTH. ARE YOU KIDDING ME? Seriously, why do people think they aren’t gross?

The Aggressive Nose Breather
While most would agree that nose breathers are better than orange-juice-breath mouth breathers, the aggressive nose breather is an all too common sight on the metro. This person is usually male, usually slightly overweight, and usually between the ages of 50 and 70. You may find there is too much of an overly spicy cologne seeping from his pores, gel in his hair, and his face is shaved mostly free of stubble. It’s not uncommon to see the aggressive nose breather with a mint or cherry-scented cough drop rolling around his tongue - possibly causing the noisy exit of air from his nasal cavity. Phfff. Phhhhf.

The New York Girl 
DC is an important city but we are not a cool city. Well, I mean, I kind of think we’re cool, but my friends who visit from bigger cities tell me otherwise. Of course, New York girl is a regular public transit-er. She usually sports a look of sheer disdain for the humdrum DC world around her and she is decked out in outfits meant for a very different environment. In DC, it is sensible to wear flats. It is sensible to wear a warm coat in the wintertime. It is sensible to put on your Ann Taylor suit separates, smear chapstick on your lips, and run a comb through your wet hair before you head to your very dull non-profit job on 16th street. New York girl ignores what is sensible in this city. Her stilettos add five inches of height and five spoonfuls of “I don’t belong here”. Her overly glossy lips scream “LOOK AT THIS PERFECT POUT I DON’T BELONG HERE”. Her keratin sleek locks say to DC girls “your hair is frizzy mine is not so clearly I don't belong here.”

The He/She 
You know that large, sexually ambiguous person who gets on the metro and immediately sits down next to you, wedging you up against the sticky window? Yeah you do. Well, is it a guy? Is it a girl? Those are boobs, right? But, you could almost swear that is some legit stubble under his/her chin. Wait, maybe it’s man boobs? No… it looks like he/she’s rocking some hips too. Hold up. Time to check for the adam’s apple. Oh. Of course – there’s a gender-neutral scarf wrapped around the base of their neck completely obscuring the one little bit of proof that might indicate their sex (barring the sight of an actual reproductive organ). Meh – whatever. You’ll try not to stare and just assume it’s someone “in transition”.

The Lone Child
It’s like – are you four? Are you eleven? Where are your parents? No matter the time of day, it’s almost a guarantee that you’ll spot a small, seemingly parent-less child wandering the train. If you weren’t super stressed on your morning commute, you’d stop and ask if they needed help but you just don’t have time for other people right now. You have the Express to skim and a latte to finish before your stop.

#WMATA

The Morning After: Big Bear Traditions

Last weekend I met a Very Important Person in your life. I was nervous - trembling really - when I crossed the threshold and saw her standing there. I wanted so badly for her to like me. I wanted her to see how good we are together. I wanted her to instinctively know that I was worth your time and attention.

Last weekend I met your barista.

Our Saturday morning coffee runs tend to become something of a hipster safari. The pretentious caffeine addicts nurse their soy, double shot cappuccinos and peruse the weekend section of the paper with a kind of detached appreciation.

Though you regale me with stories of epic handlebar mustache sightings, I've merely been privy to a disturbingly large number of men with scraggly facial pubes and pit stains. It’s been weeks now, and I have yet to see a truly impressive, lip-framing fringe.

But that’s okay. Because with you, there’s always next weekend.

Now that I've figured out how to upload pictures, I can share my recent health fair images!

Here is a picture from a recent health fair I organized at a radio station in downtown DC.

With only two screeners, it was my smallest so far, but it went really smoothly and all the participants were wonderful. No one was squeamish, everyone bled well (sounds gross I know), and none of the employees fainted!

Even better - we had no machine mishaps and the schedule was booked solid from 9-3. Overall, the screening was a success!

Apparently, I'm a Klutz in DC

In Chicago I liked to think of myself as a fairly high functioning individual. I cooked and cleaned (occasionally) and did laundry. I knew how to wash dishes without breaking them and I drove my car without crashing it.

Then. I came to DC and my life seemed to fall apart. I started stumbling down stairs, dropping cups, spilling food. I went to costco with my mom and tried to make myself useful by lifting boxes of food out of the shopping cart and into the trunk of her car. Of course, the box I grab has a broken bottom and food tumbles out in every direction forcing me onto all fours in the crazy costco parking lot on a Saturday morning. I scrambled around collecting oranges and water bottles, praying I wouldn't get run over by deranged soccer moms.

So, I realized the klutziness was a real problem and decided to go above and beyond in my attempts to remedy this. I started going to bed earlier, thinking that an extra hour of sleep might help me stay focused throughout the day. I started drinking out of my camelbak water bottle during all our family meals in order to avoid knocking over my glass into everyone's meal. I even surrendered my new cutco knife to my mother so I didn't slice off a finger while cutting up fruit in my new apartment. Yet, despite my preventative measures, I still managed to sprain my finger, burn macaroni and cheese, and ruin my parents new stove in a 30 minute period after work today.

WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Is it DC? Is it post-work exhaustion? Am I reverting to childish tendencies because I'm in my childhood home? Maybe once I'm all settled in my new apartment the klutziness will fade. I don't know though... thoughts?

Maybe I Should Change the Name of this Blog

Yup, it's official. I got a job :)

After sending out my resume to over a hundred companies and drafting industry-appropriate cover letters; after whining to my parents and driving my friends crazy; after hours of babysitting and paid research studies, I can finally say: I'M EMPLOYED!

I think the hardest part now is picking up and leaving the world I've been a part of for the past 4 years. Hyde Park is certainly far from paradise but I carved out a homey niche for myself. My apartment, with its Pepto-Bismol pink walls and sticky kitchen floor, was a haven for me during the iciest days of winter and kept me safe from dining hall food and dorm germs.

Now it's on to the next apartment. My friend A and I have been searching all over craigslist hoping to find a 2 bedroom 2 bathroom unit that isn't underground and doesn't smell like stale beer. Unfortunately, I'm stuck in Chicago until the movers come in two weeks and A is busy at work all day. So, the main apartment hunter: my mom. That's what mothers are for, right? I've booked tours and appointments for her every day this week, barely allowing her time for lunch in between building visits. With little sister S playing chauffeur, mom has been trekking all over downtown DC in search of the perfect new place.

Fingers crossed A and I find an apartment we both love before the end of the week, otherwise all my belongings will sit in "movers limbo" somewhere between Chicago and Washington.

I'm looking forward to the next phase of my life but I have to say... I'm going to miss you hyDe parK.

And Chicago Didn't Even Make the List...

A recent article in the Washington Business Journal touted DC as the #2 place for job hunting grads based on the cost of living, employment opportunities, and wages. Surprisingly, DC placed only behind Houston as "The" place to live.

While I find this incredibly encouraging for myself and my East Coast friends, it seems surprising that Chicago doesn't even place in the top 25. Chicago's cost of living seems comparable to DC's, it houses many major companies (such as Boeing, PepsiCo, and United Airlines) and it's full of young people. Lincoln Park, Wrigleyville, Belmont, etc. have bars on every block brimming with the under-30 set every weekend. No offense Tulsa, but it seems a little bit ridiculous that you would rank at #13 and Chicago doesn't even make the list of Best Cities for New College Grads!

Some might argue that Chicago is expensive or the job market is slim and those are fair arguments. But New York (#12) living expenses are higher than the tallest skyscrapers, and why would anyone even want to work in Dayton (#20)? I don't mean to hate on you, other cities, but come on, give Chicago a little credit.

Or, maybe I can see this as a good thing. If Chicago doesn't even make the list but, in my opinion, has a reasonable cost of living and companies offering competitive pay, it suggests that Chicago is lacking in the third category: job openings. Maybe this explains why it is so tough finding work right now - I'm looking for jobs that truly don't exist.

I might be born and bred on the East Coast, but Chicago, with all its Midwestern charm, will always hold a place in my heart. Even if no one here wants to hire me, I'm hoping this summer isn't my last in The Windy City.

We're All in the Same Gray Boat

Transition periods are scary.

Four years ago, the thought of leaving DC and moving to the Midwest for college seemed like the stupidest idea ever. Why would I want to leave the East Coast, I questioned myself over and over? What was I thinking? But, once I was all settled in (it took a few months to really feel at ease) I started to realize that as long as you have good friends, you will always feel like you're home.

Now, I'm in a similar transition period and it feels as unsettling as that first "Big Move" out West. Whenever I don't know what to expect, I feel out of control and helpless, and as a neat freak bordering on obsessive-compulsive, I hate feeling so vulnerable. Then, a few days ago, I realized: I'm being totally self-absorbed. EVERYBODY feels this way right now. I asked C if she was nervous before her first day of Goldman training and she shuddered.
"Of course," She replied. "And I have an advantage over others because I interned last summer. I at least have a sense of what's going to happen."

Even when we have an inkling of what to expect, the unexpected can still occur and until we've all developed regular routines and become accustomed to new daily patterns, life will seem a bit muddled.

Once, four years ago, Chicago was the spot of the Big Bad Transition. Now, the situation has reversed and I blame DC for my uncertainty. For now, I'd like to stop seeing things purely in black and white. Chicago is great but DC will be great too. Life during a transitional phase, it seems, is a crazy beautiful shade of gray.