Gotta go get me a life...

It is hot. I am overwhelmed by said heat, and must comment on it.
Now that that's over, on to more navel gazing subjects.

So, the summer after college is coming to an end, and I have come to some realizations. First, the good news:

1. The economy did not destroy my life. I actually have a job that I <3
2. Living at home as an "adult" is not a bad experience, and for the moment I'm quite alright with it.
3. DC is a pretty great city. There's lots to do and see, and the people on the metro are endlessly fascinating.
4. I tend to have more than enough money to do at least most of what I want, possibly due to the cheapness of residing at home.
5. I am generally happy and fulfilled. Yay!

Now, the not so great news:

1. Said job is very demanding, and kinda stressful. This stress must be relieved.
2. Said home is kinda far from life, and requires a commute to most things.
3. I should probably interact regularly with people who are not from home or job, or anonymous folks on the metro.
4. Commuting eats up more of that money than I would prefer.
5. Happiness and fulfillment would probably increase if I got out and did more things.

The solution I propose is that I get a life. I know, obvious right? Oh, and that I save up money for the next year or so to potentially buy a condo much closer to, if not directly in, the city. But back to this life thing.

How do you socialize yourself into adulthood, without friends from state school? I of course have my Dukies in DC, and a few other promising fronts, but as far as being an active and contributing member of the world, I need a bit of work. So, I'm contemplating a few things:

1. Take a fun, random class- dancing, cooking and learning a language come to mind.
2. Volunteer- dunno doing what, or when I'd have time, but it's on the list
3. Start singing or performing again
   
4. Join a church (this may help with numbers 2 and 3 actually)
5. Schedule 2 friend dates per week

So, we'll see what comes of this, and how it all works out. But, now that these things are in writing I will hopefully be more committed to taking action. And the good news for the 2.5 people who read this thing is- it will give me more to write about!

Random Ponderance of the Week

I know there are lots more important things I could write about, and should gather my thoughts on, but something has really been perplexing me, and so I'm taking a friends' suggestion and writing about it.

What is the purpose of men yelling out of car windows at women who are walking by? Or for that matter, attempting to communicate at all when the two parties are moving incompatibly (i.e. driving in opposite directions, across an intersection, the aforementioned driving v. walking/biking/jogging... you get the idea)?

Now, I'm not talking about obscenities or catcalls. That's another post, and would inspire more annoyance than curiosity. I am just truly confused about why a man would call out to me while I'm taking my daily lunch break walk, when he's in a car and knows good and well he's not pulling over. I mean, it doesn't stop my fresh air fitness, but I find it silly.

The action doesn't seem to serve any real purpose- he's not making any sort of real connection- most of the time I can hardly even see his face to remember him, if that was his goal. We don't exchange names, certainly not contact information, and on the days when I'm trying to make a phone call, he's not even likely to get a wave.

(a fellow confused victim of the drive-by holler)

I just don't get it. Not that I'm under the delusion that every man is looking for commitment, but like, what could you want that you can get in 5 seconds on a street in the middle of the steam of a DC summer? You aren't going to give me a ride, which is the only incentive I could see for a woman entertaining the nonsense that is a drive-by holler. And why on Earth would you want to roll down your window, letting out all the good air conditioning?
When this question was posed to a few guys I trust to be honest, they said (after, of
course assuring me that they NEVER do this) it was pretty much the closest thing to real life facebook. Translation- no risk, because he can drive away before the rejection comes. Hiding behind his steering wheel is probably even more effective than hiding behind a computer screen, since I don't even have a profile to block. Of course, the corollary to this lack of risk is a lack of success. You will, 87% of the time, get nothing of substance from this interaction. (That 87% is for the women this MUST work on or it wouldn't have become a technique.) In fact, with women of temperaments other than mine, you're likely to get annoyance instead of amusement, which would seem to be the opposite of the goal of such interaction...

But, perhaps this isn't really about anything of "substance." Perhaps it's just an attempt to be heard in an anonymous world? Like a real-time facebook status, maybe these guys just want someone to know they're there... I guess I don't begrudge them that, I mean, everybody needs somebody, and maybe that's the closest they get.

Still, I gotta put this up there with facebook poking- wasteful and odd, and pretty much pointless. Thumbs down guys, thumbs down.

Learning what it means to miss New Orleans

I'm home. That's Maryland for any non-family or friend who happens to have stumbled across this blog. (Welcome, by the way, and please comment if you promise to play nice.) Maryland, I must say, is not New Orleans. Compounding this great misfortune is the fact that I'm finally getting all the only child moments I want, and have remembered why I always wanted siblings. Be careful what you wish for, no? And so, now that I must make my own dinners and cookies and pancakes, lets just say I've cut back on the carbs. There's no one to run down the hall and see, and as much as I love my mom I don't think she'd understand if I burst in her room after 10... Actually, I don't know how she'd feel about bursting... We're a peaceful household.

But luckily, I can see my Dukies (by definition) back at Duke. So I'm gchatting them, and saving all my mourning for Crescent City: the lack of shrimp and oyster po' boys in my life, and the crawfish etouffee I should have eaten more of. I miss the live music, and regret every night I stayed in (even though sleep and budgeting and being prepared for work seemed like good ideas at the time). I miss the new friends I made there, and the street car passengers, and the random palm trees in the middle of downtown. I even miss the weather, though I'm quite happy without the mosquitoes. I miss how adorable the musicians village is, and although I can't wax poetic about the stench of Bourbon, I do like knowing that it's there in its inferiority to Frenchman. I miss Superior Grill and Trolley Stop Cafe and a dozen other restaurants, and snowballs and getting hit on every day. I miss Magazine Street, and kitschy souvenir shops, and sitting at Audubon Riverview on a Sunday afternoon, and walking for five minutes and having sweat trickle (I liked to pretend I was getting excercise). And second only to the indomitable and loving spirit of the people, I miss how much possibility there is down there, and how everything has the potential to make a difference. I'm thinking it could be just as meaningful as my Peace Corps aspirations, only much less likely to give the parental units anxiety disorders.

So... yea. I don't just want to go back, I need to. I've contemplated "Walking to New Orleans" (a la Fats, see below) but I'll wait until I can afford less taxing transportation.



Oh, and I'm looking for a job. Maybe I can get one like that guy on Twitter who got fired?

(Resume and references available upon request)

Home Is Where the Heat Is

Engagement by the numbers:

• Gallons of sweat dripped- 28
• Mosquito bites- 1
• Catcalls received- 17.2
• Surprise adventures (aka times lost)- 5.85
• Times recognized as an out of towner- twice a day
• Crawfish eaten "properly"- .75 lbs give or take... mostly take

I saw a little girl on the trolley the other day that made me smile. She was the most precious thing I'd seen all day, though that isn't saying much. I'd trekked to the outskirts of the city, out of our lush Garden District all the way to the end of the world, or at least the end of the city, and still had not found my office. I was hot, sweaty and frustrated, with every intention of putting on my ipod and zoning out for the commute back to Loyola.

But, something about this little girl brought me back to why I was here. I think it was her hair. Parted razor sharp down the middle with two bush balls on either side of her head, it reminded me of myself at her age. But, this is definitely romanticizing myself at 5... My hair would have been more likely to resemble Don King's by this late in the day. There was as much cheese on her fingers and mouth as on the Doritos she was eating. Her mom followed her down the aisle and allowed the little girl to choose the seat right in front of me. They seemed completely engrossed in each other, and Javenique (assuming hers was the name tattoed on the back of her mom's neck) and her mother felt like they could have been my mother and I, transposed to another life. The mother-daughter moment felt so familiar, despite the surreal palm trees and street cars.

Much of New Orleans feels like this to me- as though I've been here before. I'm well aware that I stick out, since I'm almost daily asked where I'm from, and I sweat far too profusely to be a local. But, I love it here like I'm among cousins: the accents, the music, the seafood, even the air thick enough to slice with a knife. Old men here (at least the ones not too overly affectionate) remind me of my grandfather, and the accent is beautiful. I feel peaceful and comfortable here somehow, even when we're lost, or the street cars blow allergens into my eyes. I only hope by the end of this I've found something to give back to this city that I can tell is going to give me so much.

Oh yea, and it's hot.