Hill Hobbits.

On May 30th, I will be moving to the Hill.
In order to do so, I will also need to become a Hobbit.

The MacBrides sometimes refer to their Arlington three-story as 'the little Hobbit house' -- mostly because it twists and turns and has lots of stairs. In comparison, there is just really nothing Hobbitish about the MacBrides' house, and just a whole lot of Hobbit qualities about our new place on the Hill. A few of them are:

a) Underground entry

We really want you to come over, but recommend that you bring spelunking gear in order to do so safely. I may just leave my head lamp* at the curb for those who venture over to Maryland Ave. after dark.

b) Junior-sized appliances

Before beginning this house-hunt three weeks ago, I thought 'Honey I Shrunk the Kids' was just a really creepy movie from 1989, not a scientific development documentary. It turns out that appliances in the District have all undergone a mysterious shrinking process, especially the dishwashers. We will in fact be able to wash dishes after a get-together or shindig, but will be forced to limit each load to either 3 margarita glasses or 2 dessert plates and one coffee mug.

c) Really-tall people probably won't fit

This will, of course, thwart LK's hopes of 'befriending' the Washington Wizards starting lineup. Perhaps by the time she finishes undergrad and has her taste of international-ness, we'll be in a more accommodating Dupont penthouse. Perhaps.

d) Cute, in an 'aw, what a cute little _____' way

This, of course, is different than cute in a sprawling shabby-chic way, and different than cute in an 'oh my gosh, Heath Ledger' way. We're talking more along the lines of the reaction you get when you see a tiny Heinz ketchup bottle, a baby-sized football jersey or a model White House. Cute.

e) Located in Middle Earth

Stanton Park on one side, a hop/skip/jump from the Mall down the street, and walking distance to the best blueberry buckwheat pancakes ever to be tasted. If Tryst II were to open around the corner, it would be Heaven, but for now, it's at least Middle Earth.

Promise you'll visit us.

*A favorite possession, perhaps a close second to my little Washington, DC book of lists.

Anyone need a ride to Dulles tomorrow?

My current Thursday schedule is as follows:

4:30 am - Leave for Baltimore
5:30 am - Deposit LC at Satan's favorite airport*, BWI
7:45 am - Pick up Patrick from Old Town, have breakfast (Jack's?)
9:00 am - Deposit Patrick at Jesus' favorite airport**, Reagan National

If you need to go to Dulles, Atlanta, or O'Hare, just let me know.

Also, I feel that now that I've cooled down a bit from Yasmin's disastrous waitressing fiasco, I should temper my comments, for this reason: some of you have not yet had a Tryst soy latte. A friend Gchatted a few moments ago, saying,

"so Tryst seems like the worst place ever"

As we veteran coffee rats (I have shamelessly bought my way into this demographic) know, Tryst is actually not the the worst place ever. It is possibly the best place ever, just with the worst service ever, and the worst font choices ever.

My friend who made the 'worst place ever' comment happens to also share my loathing for mankind's most devastating typographic invention, the font Papyrus, which is used sporadically throughout Tryst's menu. Obviously, all of my blog posts can't be written about this DC hangout (or from its tables, like most of them have been lately), but when this blog needs a real diatribe, I'll scan a page of the menu and point out the millions of schizophrenic typeface choices that simply prove we should let them do what they do (make really awesome coffee and coffee-flavored alcohol drinks) and let me do what I do (drink their coffee and coffee-flavored alcohol drinks while pointing out bad font choices).

It really is great, though. For you College-Stationers, it's like a twenty/thirty-somethings version of Sweet Eugene's (minus any hint of Sweet Eu-Jesus -- no metal-bound NLTs with hip Christian stickers to be found in this joint) for the neo-liberal human-rights artsy-fartsy probably-jobless crowd in Adams Morgan. Come visit, I'll take you.

Now it's 12:49, which means I'm leaving for the airport in 3 hours and 41 minutes. I'll have to tell Yasmin to make me a triple tomorrow.


*Evidence of Satan's affinity for BDubs is obvious: the extreme inaccessibility, the lack of snack-purchasing options (hard pressed even to find a Starbucks), the inevitable 4 hour delay you generally hit whenever you're within a radius of the place.

**There is no doubt in my mind that if Jesus were to fly into the US tomorrow, He would choose Reagan: they have a Vera Bradley luggage boutique, full-out bookstores while-you-wait, and plenty of organic food choices (all things Jesus likely cares deeply about).

"Um, you do know that the tip wasn't included, right?" (Rudely)

Tryst is lucky that I haven't given up on them, that's all I have to say.  

Honestly.  Are there not any trendy, tattooed, boutique-dressed vegetarians in Adams Morgan that can do the simple tasks associated with waitressing?  They include:

- Listening to orders

- Turning in orders

- Bringing orders to tables

- Charging the correct amount for orders

- Being a little nice

Every day that I sit in my corner spot and drink my soy latte, I become more and more convinced that there are no competent waitresses in this quadrant.  

I understand that they're stressed about their thesis on the philosophic implications of 6th-century agrarian societies.  I understand their latest piercing is still somewhat fresh, and the stretching involved to fit the plug will be a painful process.  I understand that it's raining, so they couldn't ride their vintage Peugeot road bike to work.  I understand there are a million places they would rather be than 'serving' an idealist like me with her Macbook and monogrammed Covey accessories.

I understand these things. 

What I don't understand is the apparent extreme difficulty involved in running two credit cards for one check.  I don't understand why it's so tough to walk six extra steps and ask if I'd like a refill on my ice water once or twice per shift.

The thing is, I'm nice.  I smile.  I say 'please.'  I tip well.  I order more things when I stay longer than I expected.  Throw me a bone here.

I'll stay, Tryst.  I'll keep giving you chance after chance.  But just know that as far as I'm concerned, you need me for way more than a font consultation.  And you need me badly for a font consultation.

As read on the Gold's elliptical --

"And all the time something within her was crying for a decision. She wanted her life shaped now, immediately -- and the decision must be made by some force -- of love, of money, of unquestionable practicality -- that was close at hand."

- pg. 159 The Great Gatsby

Let the life-shaping commence!

Oh, we're halfway there --

If my life has ever been lived on a prayer, it's now.
I'm finding it's not such an awful place to be.

Here are a few stats since 4/21:

- I have drunk somewhere in the neighborhood of 17-26 soy lattes, some (i.e. Tryst) better than others.
- I have shared meals with the badass President of DC's finest human rights organization , the best Southern couple North Carolina ever produced, and my favorite surrogate family in Arlington.
- I understand why people see classical music live: the cellist at the National Gallery performance had hair that was more accessory than anything else.
- I have cleaned a desk with remarkable speed and agility and found a treasure trove hidden in my bottom file drawer (6 pair of shoes, a jar of Laura Scudder's crunchy, Pad Thai, socks, and '50 Ways to Find a Lover').
- I have been a mom for a weekend. Enough said.
- I have said goodbye to my first Michigan-friend, my first Egyptian-princess-friend, my first 90's-grunge-friend, with amazingly few tears shed.
- I have underestimated the Atlantic sun (to the point that I couldn't sit down) and squealed incessantly at the Atlantic beauty.
- I have made it halfway or higher through not one, but two books on my spring reading list ('The Shack,' 'Great Gatsby').
- I know where my tire-changing tools are now; given about 6 hours and a flat driving surface, I might be able to change one myself.
- I have decided that Celine and I are one soul in different bodies ('Surprise, Surprise').
- I am now aware that the Hampton Inn in Morehead City offers 'Spring Romance Pkgs.'
- I know, after chatting with Brianna and Anessa on the steps of the National Gallery, that Miley Cyrus has made my name cool again.
- I have spent 120 hours straight with my friend/roommate, and much to Patrick's surprise, we still haven't run out of things to talk about.
- I have not worn any shoes but my broken-in Rainbows, and have gotten my first neon pedicure of the summer; ah, how my feet are rejoicing.
- I have realized that my worldly possessions fit into three stacking suitcases, a Rubbermaid tub, and two crates, and I like it.
- I have moved 3 miles down a road and started looking for a new life, only to find that I'm already halfway there.

So, let it be known: I'm momentarily jobless and penniless, but if laughter and peace could be measured in nickels and dimes, I'd be a rich lady. They sort of are. So I am.

Also, if I had a penny for every time I see a Chihuahua in a disgusting tutu, I could probably fund my soy latte addiction.

Love ya, DC.