The single girl's anti-hero

I inadvertantly created a new superhero last night, an anti-hero really. Obsessogirl. Obsessogirl isn't able to leap tall buildings in a single bound or see through that trench with her x-ray vision. She does possess an amazing ability to overthink even the simplest situation and can spend hours obsessing over alternative scenarios for life, love and the pursuit of happiness. Her strength lies in her research capabilities (i.e., spying and information gathering skills) even though these sometimes feed into the entire obsessive loop. Obsessogirl can be a jealous bitch and has a temper that burns hotter than her fiery hair. Don't piss her off lest she cut you.

I don't know about you, but I'm kind of trying to ditch her.

Tabula Rasa

It's easy to wipe away the signs of some drunken nights. Allie will be upset, but the drunken post had to disappear. It's not my style.

As I walked down the streets of DC this morning, I tried to inhale deeply only to choke on the exhaust fumes of a passing bus. Raked over by the wind, I dodged the splatter of last night's excess on the sidewalk. There is no one to wash away the evidence on the weekend, sending it careening down the stormwater drains. Leave it. We need the reminders of how far we fall and the loss of dignity.

I make my way to work and see the last of the prostitutes packing up shop. I pass the stolen shoes displayed on the foldout table. Dueling panhandlers flanked the entry to CVS and were all that stood between me and caffeine.

This is my city.

Candy striping causes tooth rot

It's a little after midnight, and all I can do is fall into bed. I had tickets to see The Gossip in concert tonight and had planned to have a jack & ginger in my hands right about now. Instead I spent another evening at the hospital after taking a call around 3:30 from my sobbing roommate. Seven hours, one emergency room, one ultrasound and hospital room 487 later, I'm exhausted. It's too hard having to watch so many people in pain. A two-year old with blood staining her nose and soiling her mother's clothes. The woman who slowly slid out of her wheelchair and onto the floor. Her son struggling to pick her back up. Watching my roommate scratch her chest so much that she is bleeding.

Since Labor Day, I've been at the hospital more often than I care to think about. My roommate bounced out of a whitewater raft in NC and raked a few layers of skin off her shin. But who the fuck gets an infection and then has a violent allergic reaction to the meds supposedly fighting the infection? Her body is covered in a rash worthy of the Old Testament. I started calling her Job today. It was so bad that backup emergency doctors were called and eventually two infectious disease doctors. They went all medical CSI...creepy. At least they finally admitted her to the hospital to get the mess worked out.

So no concert, no dancing, and lots of disinfectant. At least I have my bed.

Riding the Rogue Wave

Went to see Rogue Wave at the Black Cat tonight with Allie. It was a good show with all of the acts being fun and worthy of a listen. I like it when bands touring together seem like families. It's late, so I think I'll just share an inside look at my thoughtlife this evening.

*If she backs into those flower pots, I'm going to be so embarrassed.
*After what I did tonight, you had better be effing worth it.
*I know you love the band, but please stop humping my ass as you press me against the stage in an attempt to dance.
*Thanks for making eyes boys and for the ego boost when you moved up to stand by us.
*Guys should really take advantage of the fact that most girls get turned on by the guys in the band at concerts.
*Tattoos on men turn me on.
*Graham (Rogue Wave), you're a cocky bastard, but I bet you have a veritable harem.
*I refuse to do the indie head bop.

I spent many of my formative years pretending to be dumber than I was. Being deemed "smart" by other kids in San Angelo, Texas was a burden, the metaphorical albatross. She's smart was said with derision. Being asked to help others with homework or carrying everyone else's load on a group project quickly grew old. Toward the end of elementary school and into junior high I began to try to shed the rumors I was smart. I learned to play dumb. They say girls are less participatory in class and raise their hands less than boys. My goal wasn't to blatantly contribute to this practice. I wasn't stupid but also wasn't about to take that intellectual risk and find myself labeled. In my mind, I had nothing to prove to the teacher and needed to build up some social credit with my peeps. While I couldn't shake it entirely*, I got pretty damned good at it. Hell, I actually think I did get stupider. High school presented a new opportunity to see how low I could go. Maybe too many issues of Cosmo and Seventeen had warped me into thinking I needed to be dumber than any boy I was interested in. I can't really say. All I know is that embraced the role.

Patrick was the red-headed upperclassman I dated as a freshman. We played the same instrument in band, and I made sure to fumble my chair test so he could "do better" than me. When we broke up, I aced the next chair test and moved to 1st.

Jim was cute and played drums in a band. He was the upperclassman who ensured this sophmore got to senior prom. Poor guy was also dumber than most dirt. He ended up not passing the test required to ensure high school graduation. I realized even I couldn't beat that.

Jason was the smartest boy in school, the one that aced his SATs and snagged that valedictorian title. He made me want to drop the role. Unfortunately, getting help with my calculus homework just proved too much fun.

A funny thing happened once I got to college. Things weren't handed to me, and I wasn't automatically good at everything I tried. I didn't have to fake it because there was so much I didn't know. Suddenly the desire to play dumb fell away, and I found myself wanting to be that smart. Guess you could say I was on my way to growing up.



*being in honors and g/t classes automatically lends some credibility to "smart" rumors

snobbery

Confesseion: I'm not one of those people who is comfortable in a large group. In fact, I pretty much detest it. In school I was always considered snobby because I stuck with small, well-defined group of friends. The reality was that it had nothing to do with snobbery and everything to do with my loathing of large groups of people and an (sometimes) extreme shyness. I'm not even good in larger groups of people I'm familiar with or that are acquaintances. To that end, I generally dislike parties, conferences, networking, etc. I'm good with a you+me equation or a slightly bigger us. Groups nearing 10 or more and you start to see me hover around a select one or two.

This post is brought to you by too much time on the metro.

Frustration Nation

I've developed this coping mechanism with the Bush Administration where I avoid many major forms of media and try to forget he's President. I can go deaf in two seconds flat if I hear his minions on the television and have been known to turn my back on the motorcade. Pieces of the wall I have built between myself and this Administration began crumbling down on Monday afternoon. Though I wasn't really watching it, I had left HBO on while I was folding laundry. When I saw Spike Lee's When the Levees Broke was coming on, I knew I should change the channel. I ended up in another room fiddling with something else. It had started by the time I had returned to the blue room. I was trapped.

As I watched the interviews and the Administration's attempt at a nonresponse, I was transported back to a year ago. Livid. Bush. Cheney. Vacation. Barbara Bush's comment in Houston about how many people are probably making out better because of the hurricane. I was red hot. I was cursing at no one...everyone. I threw my remote across the room. I remembered the war we were in, the funding he had cut, the fucking people he had turned his back on. Feeling helpless stoked my temper. This man who calls himself leader has spent the years not doing a damned thing for people who really need him. I want to block it out again. I want to not remember he's president. I can't even hope for a fucking coup because the only bastards that would pull it off are the ones just like him.

Divertissement

I finally saw Step Up yesterday afternoon, and it only further cemented my love of dance movies. Are they formulaic? Indeed. I can't imagine anyone watching your average dance movie for the plot. I don't care. I have accepted the basic plot structure of a dance movie and embrace it. I have no qualms about going to a theater simply to treat myself to a little eye candy...even if it means that Allie and I are probably the oldest people in the theater. Despite this, we may also have been the most annoying. None of other middle school rejects were looking at Kevin Costner in a preview of his new movie and saying, "I'd tap that."

**potential, tiny spoiler**

I knew something would happen to Skinny and that all of their shenanigans would lead to the part where the guy has to choose between a shady life and wanting something better for himself (hello...can you say Save the Last Dance?). I knew he'd get the girl, lose the girl, and wind up winning the girl back. What I didn't expect was for Channing Tatum to be so hott or have such sweet street moves. I was also surprised at how cute the dance outfits were.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I've finally given in. I signed up for ballet on Friday...the first time in roughly 20 years. Is it bad that I'm mostly worried about what outfit I'm going to wear?