I Am Alive

But oh, what a crazy few days it's been. Let's start at the beginning.

Saturday: I took the Amtrak's regional overnight on Friday, and got into South Station in Boston at 8am on Sunday. My mom picked me up and we went back to Hull to drop my things off, and then decided to go out for a very unhealthy, calorie-laden breakfast. As we were getting ready to walk out the door - around 9am - I realized I needed to call the blood lab to see about my blood results, so I called and they said they'd sent the results in, but couldn't give them to me even though they were my blood results. Fab. So I called my doctor's office, and my doctor said she'd go check the fax machine, seeing as the results came in late the night before.

She calls me back a minute later and says: "Sorry, surgery's off." The last time I was checked for Factor 7, I tested at 40%. I don't know exactly what that means, other than that I was healthy and it was barely an issue, and it pretty much just meant I was a carrier of the gene and nothing else. Well, this time, I tested at 17%. My first reaction was "Oh yay, I'm better!" but this means that I'm worse. Apparently 20% is the severe risk level, and I was, obviously below it. So of course I freaked out.

Yep, crying on the phone, panicking, making an ass of myself. My doctor was very apologetic, but she wanted to be safe, and while I can't blame her, it's quite a punch in the gut. And she didn't know when I could have surgery, which would've meant I would've had to change pretty much all of my plans for the next few months (including getting the fuck out of DC and moving elsewhere.) So my mother gets on the phone and talks logistics with my doctor, and I try not to pass out from anxiety. My doctor says there's still a slim chance surgery could go as planned, but she'd have to get in touch with the hematologist and work out all the issues, and find more Factor 7 to have on hand in the OR. And she's not even sure my hematologist would consent to surgery, seeing as she hasn't seen me in close to 2 years. It was one giant mess.

After we get off the phone, we decide to still go out for breakfast to cheer me up. I pour myself into the car, feeling terrifically sorry for myself (but looking forward to chocolate chip pancakes and hash browns) and we start driving. About a minute later (this is now around 9:30am) my phone rings, and once again it's my doctor's office. I pick up, and my doctor announces: "Surgery's on! I'll see you Monday!"

To say I was shocked was a bit of an understatement. In that half an hour, my doctor had not only gotten hold of the hospital and found more Factor 7, but she'd already talked to my hematologist and they decided that since I have absolutely no history of bleeding, I'll be okay for surgery. With the extra Factor 7 on hand in the OR, I'd be okay in case anything happened. Again, all this in half an hour. So then of course I cried on the phone again, but at least my doctor is a young woman who specializes in women with hormonal insanity, so she was used to it. So, within a half an hour, surgery had been canceled, then was back on, and I was almost insane. At least we ended up going to Stars and eating enough food to feed a small army.


Monday: Surgery day! I woke up at 6am with my mother to go to school with her before surgery. Since they'd bumped me up to an earlier time, we decided to go ahead and do the before school program that my mom does, and then just go right to the hospital from there. And to drop off my rent check along the way, since I was juggling a million things at once when I left and DIDN'T DROP MY CHECK OFF. Sure, it would be in on time since it's not due till the first of the month, but still. Ugh. So at 8am we left for the hospital, and I went right in for blood work. Everything panned out and I changed into one of those super flattering hospital johnnies, and settled in for the long haul. I was supposed to have surgery at 11, but it ended up being closer to noon because of another surgery before mine that had to start late.

I have no memory whatsoever of getting my anesthesia or waking up after surgery (I got my anesthesia in the pre-op area so god only knows when the hell they pulled that one on me) but I do remember waking up an hour or so after surgery, covered by this awesome blanket that was hooked up to a machine that pumped hot air into it, so I constantly stayed warm. This was amazing because the last time I had this surgery, the anesthesia made me so cold that I was shaking and kept hurting my surgery area, and they had to pile, like 8 blankets on me. Oops.

I would've been out of recovery about an hour or so after surgery, but without thinking I said sure to having pain meds pumped into me (twice) and so I ended up spending FOUR HOURS there, while I tried not to puke my brains out. I can't handle any pain meds anymore - no percs, no vicoden's, not even morphine. All of it makes me feel like my stomach has turned itself inside-out and is trying to spew itself forcefully out of my mouth. Sexy.

So, around 6pm my mom and I finally emerged from the hospital. Some retarded new nurse brought us all over the place because he got lost wheeling my wheel chair out to the door (brilliant.) Then, while my mom went out to get the car and bring it round to the door, some crazy, haggard looking woman wandered up to us and asked if we had an extra cigarette. Yes, because a nurse and a chick hunched over in a wheelchair, clutching a pillow and looking like hell, would definitely be toting around packs of cigarettes. Nothing says "smokers!" like scrubs and someone obviously out of surgery.

Anyway, my mom carted me home and put me to bed, and I spent much of that day sleeping and whining and whatnot. I actually felt (much) better than I'd anticipated. Last time, I spent 3 days out flat on my ass, and had a hard time getting up and moving around. This time, it was much easier, and I'm much more mobile. The day after surgery, I could maneuver the stairs without it hurting too much. The surgery itself was far more minimal - rather than thick bands of scar tissue everywhere, and endometrial tissue on nerve endings and stuff, there was only a bit of endometrial tissue on the underside of my uterus. More sexy! At any rate, my reproductive organs are still operating swimmingly, and I'm fine.

Everything in gerneal was pretty fab, really, until late yesterday afternoon, when I realized I was having some bleeding issues. As far as I'm aware, this is considered normal, but given my Factor 7 issues, I'm freaking out a bit. As of yet, I haven't died or anything, and a trip to WebMD said it was normal, but I'm waiting for my doctor to call me back and assure me that I'm okay. Fingers crossed.

At any rate, I feel okay, and I'm definitely getting better. As long as all this blood crap checks out, I'll be good to go!

Just Kidding

I'm not done yet.

Just got off the phone with my doctor, who informed me that the blood lab, rather than performing a Factor 7 Activity Level test like instructed, performed a Factor 8 Activity Level test. Now, I'm not quite panicking yet because they said they can rush the results for the correct test and have them in either this evening or tomorrow morning.

Now, my doctor originally said the results could be in tomorrow and I'd be fine, so that's... good at least. The only problem is that they were supposed to be in yesterday or today, so that my doctor had ample time to speak to my hematologist in case my risk factor had gone up (which I still don't understand, given as I have the gene, and do not have hemophilia) but she thinks surgery should go on as planned. The only issue would be if the results changed, but they still would have the Factor 7 on hand just in case, so I have no idea what the fucking issue is. Just order freaking extra, if you're worried.

This is ridiculous. All of this could've been avoided if they'd just told me in ADVANCE that I needed this test done. Then the lab could've fucked up and it wouldn't be an issue. Now, of course, I get to go home and spend the entire train ride worrying that something will be off, and I won't be able to have surgery on Monday. I swear to god, if I don't have surgery, I will kill someone. Happily.

Last Minute Craziness

Days till Surgery: 3
Days till Old Age: 12

So today is the day I pack up my comfiest pajamas, make sure all the food in my apartment that could go bad is thrown away, and prepare for a week full of surgery, recovery, and eating entirely too much ice cream at home in Hull.

I am, most unfortunately, at work for the better part of the day today, although I get to leave early to make sure I have enough time to get everything together and actually get to the train on time. For those of you that have had the immense pleasure of traveling with me, you know I like to be early for any train/plane/automobile I may be taking. When I travel Amtrak, for instance, I arrive precisely an hour early, and I sit in the seat closest to the gate, so that when it comes time to line up, I can leap up, push aside the elderly and any small children, and guarantee that I have a window seat. You never know - sometime the train comes from Virginia, and the good seats are few and far between.

I also need extra time to finish packing, even though I have been packing for several days now. I always cause immense levels of stress in those around me when I pack, because I can never make up my goddamn mind. Even when I'm going home to basically sit on my ass for a week, I spend hours stressing over which pajama shirt best goes with which pair of pajama pants - because you never know who may come bursting in your room and judge you on your outfit. Hey, it could happen.

Oh honey, those striped Victoria's Secret loungewear pants are so last season!

So I have much to do when back at my apartment, and a few things to actually do at work before I can take my week long pseudo-vacation. For instance, upon arrival in the office this morning, I had to tally up the first round of the Sweet 16 scores, and see where we all stood in our office pool. If that's not important, earth shattering work, then I just don't know what is. Unfortunately, I am in a tight spot, as I'm currently in last place...

...but! A few of the guys have teams going all the way to the last two (or even winning the entire thing) that have already been knocked out, and since those rounds are obviously worth more points, I may be able to turn the table at the last minute. C'mon, UCLA and UNC! Especially UNC - if I don't win this, heads will roll. Literally.

Once I get home, things will hardly slow down, at least for the weekend. This morning my brother is having oral surgery (goodbye, wisdom teeth!) so I'll spend the weekend helping my parents make sure he's suitably comfortable, and trying to help out as much as I can. I'd feel really bad if he was still really in pain and then I went and had my surgery and stole their attention away, so hopefully things will even out and he'll be in good shape once it's my turn to have Operation played on me. Why we're having surgery so close together I don't know - I don't think anyone really realized what was going on until both had already been planned and it was almost show time. Now we're all looking sheepish and going "Oooh yeah... damnit!" At any rate, this will be one very interesting long weekend.

So now I must say adieu, my loyal readers. I won't be updating for a few days - at least until I can sit up and attempt coherent thought. Hopefully I'll have an update on Wednesday or Thursday, if all goes well. I'm crossing my fingers and already dreaming of a giant vat of Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream. Here's to our dreams.

ANTM Hurts My Brain

Days till Surgery: 4
Days till Old Age: 13

Now, usually, ANTM always hurts my brain: the girls are shockingly loud and obnoxious, the pictures are usually hilarious, Tyra is always completely insane, the J(ay)s frighten me, and the judges always pick the least talented, least model-esque girls to "continue on towards becoming America's Next Top Model." This week, however, things were thrown around a bit, and for once I'm almost at a loss for words. Almost. In order to better tackle this conundrum, I've put this week's pictures in order of call out, from best to worst:

Whitney: Grunge

Okay, well, I'm torn on this one. I'm so happy that they're finally taking a plus sized model seriously, and I love Whitney, I reall do. I think she's gorgeous and talented and I'm so happy to see her holding her own. At the same time, all of her goddamn pictures have the same face - that slack jawed, slightly dazed, slightly surprised look that kind of makes you cringe, cause you don't want any flies buzzing in there or whatever. I mean this picture looks great (if rather The Crow-esque) but I was hoping we'd see more from her than just an open mouth. So I'm a little surprised that she was called out first. Tyra, what are you thinking?


Katarzyna: Emo

Now this picture deserved to get the first call out, in my humble opinion. Katarzyna looks absolutely stunning here, and finally proves that she's not just some mail-order pin-up bride from Russia. This picture alone shows just how versatile she is, and how she can rock anything from a lingerie cruise on the Hudson to an Emo photoshoot with lots and lots of black eyeliner and hurt feelings. I'm so happy that Tyra & Co. actually recognize how good she is. I loved her from the beginning and saw a lot of potential in her, so of course I assumed she'd be going home first.


Fatima: Heavy Metal

Now this I don't get at all. Yes, Fatima finally realized that her legs are indeed a part of her body, and finally posed them accordingly, but otherwise the photo is ridiculous. Yes, she finally "got into it" and showed some kind of expression, but she looks like a KISS reject, and rather than it being ~provocative~ it comes across as really scary. Like, hiding under your bed scary. There were a lot of much better pictures this time around, so I have no idea why she was called out so high; I'm thinking Tyra just wants to make a fuss about Fatima actually listening to her for once. Because, you know, listening to Tyra guarantees her a spot among the greats, and all.



Lauren: Pop

I have no idea how this picture expresses "Pop" especially because when I think of the term I envision Miley Cyrus, and oldschool Britney and Christina. But whatever. At any rate, the picture is... okay. I'm glad that Lauren is so much fierce in pictures than she is in person (especially because she's so horrific in person) but this picture leaves much to be desired. It's... just okay. Not great, not terrible, just okay. Like Fatima, I have no idea how she got called out so highly, especially when there are much better pictures still to come. Again I think it's a "listen to Tyra and climb the ranks!" thing which pisses me off.



Anya: Punk Rock

Now this is one of the pictures that should've been called out after the top 2. Anya looks amazing here, and uses her full body (feet, legs, torso, arms, face, etc) to really bring both the pose and the theme of the shot to life. She does a much better job than Fatima and Lauren, yet is called out after. Which again makes me want to beat my head off my desk. Although, like Katarzyna, I liked Anya from the beginning, so I was anticipating her going home right away. At any rate, she actually rocks her ridiculous platinum 'do here, so I'm happy for now. I just hope she ends up kicking some ass in the future, and doesn't get stuck so low in the pecking order.



Dominique: Folk

Do you know what this is? This is a dude in a dress. A dude, in a dress. There's nothing even remotely appealing about this picture, and I cannot, for the life of me, understand why she wasn't in the bottom two this week (and especially why her manly ass wasn't sent packing.) Sure, her waist looks kinda small, and I guess the whole outfit and outdoors scene gives her that "Folk" feeling they're going for, but Dominique herself (himself?) brings absolutely nothing to the plate. Ooh, a slight tilt - genius! Clearly that embodies the Folk theme! Ugh. She's so freaking hideous, both in person and in pictures, yet she continues to stay on. Tyra, I know you're doing this just to piss me off, and I'm so sorry to say it's working. Damn you and your lack of a soul!



Stacy Ann: House

Okay, usually I hate Stacy Ann. Like, hate Stacy Ann. With the fury of a thousand suns. But this week I was shocked to find that I really liked her picture. There's something about the pink color against her skin, and her expression and body pose here that I really, really like. And, quite frankly, I'm baffled that she's so low in the call-out order. Sure, it's not overwhelmingly full of emotion, but I thought it was a great shot - something you'd easily see in the pages of Nylon, for example. It just seems very natural and very easy, so I don't get the low call out - especially because she's crazy, and Tyra loves her crazy ass. And Tyra's favorites always get first dibs.



Claire: Country

It kills me to say this, but... I like this picture. A lot. I still would've preferred to see Claire leave over Aimee, but that's mostly because I hate her in person, and I think she looks like a 60 year old dementia patient who's been locked up for years in a psych ward. But this picture is very interesting; soft but it highlights her strong angles feminine, but you get the hint of cowgirl beneath it; kind of plain, but it speaks volumes. So of course it's in the bottom two. Now I'll admit, she's not doing much in this picture unlike some of the others who are bending all over the place, and making more of an outward gesture of emotion, but I think this picture speaks to Claire's ability to just do it - to sit there and still take a good picture. This is the difference between her picture and Dominique's - both of them are just there, but Claire really brings some depth to it. So of course she's in the bottom two? IDK. I also don't get why Claire is STILL the Covergirl of the week! Seriously! She brings nothing entertaining to this show!


Aimee: R&B

And Aimee, once one of my top picks for this competition, goes home tonight. I have to admit that I was wrong in my choice, and I do (mostly) agree with her being sent home. I would of course have wanted Fatima or Dominique to go home instead (especially Dominique, cause that is all new levels of hideous) but Aimee just hasn't had "it" lately. The last few pictures of hers have been boring and uninteresting, and while I love her look, and I really liked her in person, she's falling flat on camera. Sadly, I have to admit it was (probably) her time to go, and I have to keep my fingers crossed and pray that next week, our resident Tranny man is the one sent home. Please, Tyra God, work your magic in my favor for once, okay? Please??

The Trials of (Pre-) Surgery

Days till Surgery: 5
Days till Old Age: 14

So yesterday's post was made before even more insanity went down. Here's what happened:

Like I said yesterday, South Shore Hospital informed me that I had to come in sometime before surgery for blood work. They said Friday morning was fine, as long as I was in before 5pm when they close. It was a pain in the ass, but I started planning a new trip home, and was waiting on my mother to call me back to change my travel arrangements.

Well, then my doctor's office calls, and informs me that no, I cannot have the blood work done on Friday, as that specific test has a WEEK turnaround time, and we're going to have to reschedule surgery. EXCUSE ME??? You do not schedule an over-the-phone consultation 6 DAYS before surgery, then inform me that I HAVE to take a test that has a WEEK turnaround time. On what planet does that make sense?? I'd talked to my doctor and several people in her office numerous times since scheduling my surgery (which was, by the way, weeks ago) and not once did they inform me that I needed more blood work. My doctor even said I didn't need a real pre-op, since I'd already had the surgery before, and all my blood work was up to date.

Obviously, I freaked out. I've been anxious for days now because of surgery, and my hormones are touchy as hell as it is, being on the Lupron, so hearing that I might have to rearrange all my travel, fight with work to move my schedule around, and have to wait another week for surgery (meaning it would be 2 days before my birthday, which is no fun) pretty much pushed me over the edge.

My doctor spoke with my hematologist who said I had to get the blood work done, but said if I could find a lab in DC that could get the results in by Saturday, I could have the surgery as scheduled on Monday. A million thanks to Sam for pointing me towards LabCorp, a lab on K Street, as I called them and they seemed outraged that the test would have a week turnaround time, as they could do it in 2-3 days. I literally got teary eyed, I was so grateful.

So I called my doctor, informed her that she was doing surgery, and then skedaddled down K Street to get my test done. I was in and out in less than 10 minutes, and now I'm all set (for real this time) for surgery! I understand that my doctor is very busy, and really likes to take all possible precautions, but this was just insane. If you really want me to have a test that's practically needless, at least tell me beforehand, so you don't fuck up my entire schedule. It's so horrifically unfair to announce "well we didn't tell you more than a week before, so we're gonna reschedule!" The surgery itself really isn't all that bad, but all the anticipation and anxiety and stress leading up to it really gets to me, and it's too much to have to push it back.

Sure, you might say I'm being a baby, but I've already had it happen once, and it was a disaster. I went in for surgery the very first time, was hooked up to an IV and ready to go, when they announced that some ridiculous test (not a standard test at ALL) had shown I had the gene for the Factor 7 Deficiency - and I had to go home. The test is almost never preformed (and shows just how ridiculously slight my deficiency is) and obviously I was fine, as I'd already had my wisdom teeth out, and if I really had hemophilia, I would've died a horrible, bloody death in the operating room. I'm all for better safe than sorry, but not when it fucks my mind and body over. At least give me some damn warning so we can schedule accordingly.

So, enough ramblings - I'm coming home as planned on Saturday morning, having surgery as planned on Monday morning, and hopefully all will be well. Although if I get another call about yet another issue, I'm gonna start snapping necks left and right, so I might end up in prison - and that wouldn't be good.

I'm Screwed

Days till Surgery:6
Days till Old Age: 15

Royally screwed.

I spoke with South Shore Hospital today (if you couldn't guess, it's where I'm having my surgery done) and they informed me that I had to - not if I wanted to, or was inclined to, but had to - come in for blood work prior to my surgery. Problem? They're only open on weekdays, and I'm not going home until Saturday morning. with surgery at 11am on Monday morning, there's obviously no time to come in and have any work done. But, as I said, they stressed that I had to go in.

Of course I've already booked my train home, which means I get to cancel the train, pay the cancellation fee, rebook the train, pay the extra amount, come home a day and a half earlier, take a day and a half more off of work, and attempt not to lose my mind over all of it.

Now, it's great that they're so fastidious about blood work, especially because I have the gene for Factor 7 Deficiency, but the point is, I only have the gene. Technically I do not have hemophilia, it just shows up on certain tests because I carry the gene. The only time anyone is at risk for fun side effects like bleeding into their brain is if I mate with someone else that carries the gene, and 1 out of our 4 children actually contracts the Deficiency. But they still want me to come in to make sure everything's okay, which is fine with me, it really is - better safe than sorry. But it's a hell of a lot to smooth out in order to actually take this precaution.

So now I have a mother who's MIA (how, pray tell, does a Kindergarten teacher go MIA?), a father who's dealing with my grandmother who just had surgery, a brother who's having oral surgery either that Thursday or Friday, and one big mess of a fucked up schedule. I feel like a liquid lunch is in order today - preferably several martinis, with lots of olives.

Surgery, Travel, and March Madness

Days till Surgery: 7
Days till Old Age: 16

So today marks the beginning of several week's worth of insanity. It also marks the beginning of my downfall in our office's NCAA Bracket, but I'll get to that in a minute.

This week is a whirlwind of last minute preparation before surgery next week, including a few doctor's appointments, making sure my surgeon has Factor 7 on hand (just in case I decide to start bleeding profusely out of embarrassing orifices), finishing the limerick book drawings for my mother's Kindergarten class, packing, pre-op stuff, and traveling. Oh, traveling.

I'm heading up to Boston on Friday night, taking my old standby, Amtrak's Regional Overnight. Some people hate taking the train, and I'll admit that it can be difficult to spend anywhere from 8-12 hours (depending on whether or not there are delays) stuck in one seat, but the way I look at it? I'd much rather be comfortable and on my ass for hours on end, than plummeting out of the sky when a plane has a mechanical failure and crashes to the ground in a massive, fiery explosion. Unless I ended up on the Lost island... hmm...

Now this should cure my fear of flying!

Surgery is on Monday, then it's a week on my ass for recovery/binge eating/chocolate consumption. Then, MOST unfortunately, I do have to fly back on Sunday the 6th. I wanted to take the train, but I feel like 8+ hours on a rumbling, shaking train probably isn't the best way to travel so soon after having surgery. I mean, I'm mobile again after about 3 days, so by that Sunday I'll be feeling much better, but still, I figure it's best not to risk it. I'd be so pissed if I felt good, then got on a train and fucked myself over.

So yes, I'm flying, and I'm taking Jet Blue and I'll probably be on lots and lots of happy pills so I can do it, but oh well. You gotta do what you gotta do.

So I get back on Sunday night, and go back to work on Monday. On Wednesday I turn 23 (speaking of which, I found another gray hair this morning - delightful!) and immediately lapse into a coma of self-despair. Luckily, I'm going to the Celtics game that night, and watching then crush the Wizards (while drinking copious amounts of FREE alcohol in our company's Box Seats) will surely cheer me up. Nothing says "Happy Feelings" like booze and basketball.

¡feliz cumpleaños!

I hope the bar in the Box has Margaritas.

The very next day, I drag my hungover ass out of bed, and roll into yet another Amtrak seat, as I'm whisked away back to Boston for my post-op appointment, and more birthday celebrations. Hopefully by this point I'll be walking with ease, and the train shouldn't hurt too badly. I seriously considered flying back and forth for this weekend, but the idea of flying literally makes me so nervous I want to cry, and since I'm already subjecting myself to it once this month, I decided to risk the train. If the appointment were any earlier, I'd fly, but I lucked out. I think. I hope.

Anyway.

I was hoping that after this weekend's NCAA college basketball games, I would at least have the Office Bracket to cheer me up. As of Round 1, I was firmly in second place in our office, with an impressive score of 44 points (which, okay, was only 2 points more than the person in third place, but that's beside the point.) Well, this morning I added up the points after Round 2, and realized...

...What the fuck, I'm in last damn place! By 4 points! When my boss first announced we were doing a bracket, I didn't even want to participate. Sure, I know the basics of the NCAA; I know who's good and who sucks, I know who's favored to win and who isn't, but I had no burning desire to get caught up in the mayhem of it all, especially considering I'm the only female in my office, and everyone takes it very seriously indeed.

But then I got roped into doing it, and now I'm freaking out about it. We're all getting so competitive it's ridiculous, stooping so low as to count and re-count our tally, even when we all know that everyone in the office has counted each sheet about 20 times. One miscount turned into a massive brouhaha, and I'm not sure I've ever seen a certain co-worker so riled up about, well, anything. It was somewhat impressive.

I will fuck your shit up

At any rate, I now know why they call it March "Madness." Talk about insanity. I'm hoping that UNC continues to kick ass - I have them going all the way, and beating UCLA to take home the title. Of course I had Georgetown in my Final 4, and Davidson kicked their stupid ass, so who knows. As long as UCLA and Memphis keep going, and UNC stays strong, I'll be all set. I better fucking win this bracket - there's not only Nat's tickets on the line, there's my pride.

Pros and Cons of DC

Days till Surgery: 10

Days till Old Age: 19

Happy Good Friday! Since I'm not sure what Good Friday actually is (is it the day Jesus actually died? And is Easter the day when zombie Jesus comes back to feast on the living? I dunno, I'm a Jew) I decided that my time was better spent today debating the pros and cons of living in our nation's Capital. DC is a... funny city, for a variety of reasons. Read on.

Northwest DC

Pros:

1. DC is a beautiful city
This is mostly true. At least for the Northwest Quadrant and parts of Northeast. The monuments are spectacular, much of the architecture is European and breathtaking, there's a lot of greenery and flowers for an urban setting, the river views are beautiful, and nothing can beat the view of driving in from Arlington, and seeing the city sprawl out in front of you.

2. Springtime in DC is unbeatable
Okay, this I have to admit - DC springs are amazing. The Cherry Blossoms are out in full swing, everything's green and lush, flowers sprout everywhere, and it's gorgeous. Add all the nature into the beauty of the monuments (and all of the midday and midnight monument tours) and it's really something incredible.

3. Action movies and political thrillers are filmed here
Where else would you go to film a movie about the president's son being kidnapped and held for ransom by stereotypical Russian terrorists with names like Hanz Van Evilstein? Some of the biggest, baddest names in Hollywood flock to DC to film against the backdrop of the White House, the Capital, and the other various landmarks that are peppered over the city. Add in the plethora of Ambassadors and foreign officers, and you have yourself a summer blockbuster.

4. It stays warm right through Halloween
This is an important one, because I hate being cold on Halloween. It's the one night of the year when you're expected - even encouraged - to go outside in the skimpiest lingerie imaginable, and no one wants to parade around mostly-naked if the temperature's dipping into the 30's. Spring may be the best time of year in DC, but the fall's damn nice too.


Okay, well, there are my pros. Not very numerous, but certainly good for something. Right? Onward to the cons...

Southeast DC

Cons

1. Paradoxically, DC is also architecturally boring and drab
There's something strange about a city that declares that no building can be as high as the top of the Capital. A lack of sky scrapers sometimes is the kicker to really making you feel like you're not quite in the busting metropolis that you were hoping to be in. And for every monument and pretty garden, there are 50 buildings in the same drab, grayish, creamish color, stretching on and on as far as the eye can see. It gets old fast.

2. Wintertime in DC is brutal
I really expected DC to have a much warmer winter than Boston, and don't get me wrong, it definitely is warmer. By about 10 degrees. So when Boston is 17 degrees, I get the thrill of knowing I can skip to work in... 27 degree weather. Yeah, not quite the huge difference I'd anticipated. And what's brutal about DC is that not only is the cold absolutely biting (and I say this coming from Boston) , the wind is brutal - absolutely brutal. I've never felt anything like it before. I'm assuming part of the problem is the architectural layout of the city, because certain blocks are always horrific wind tunnels while others aren't, but the sheer onslaught of the wind during the winter months is enough to send anyone running to warmer climates.

3. Summertime in DC is equally as brutal
Most people forget that DC was, largely, built on former swamp ground, unless they're unlucky enough to spend a summer in the District. I never spent much of the summer months down here when I was in school, but every trip down made me instantly regret coming. The humidity is so heavy it nearly squashes you, and you can feel it weighing heavily on your shoulders with every step you take. You do lose, like, 10 pounds from sweating all your water weight out, but then you die of dehydration, so it's not entirely a win-win situation.

4. DC is a one trick pony
People go to DC for one reason, and one reason only: Politics. It's why I came here in the first place - like every wide-eyed, innocent student lucky enough to get into Georgetown or GW's Elliot School, I migrated to the Capital to learn International Affairs and Political Science from the best of them. Then I realized several things: I was crap at Economics, I wasn't a rabid crazy political junkie, and I wanted to major in something that would allow me optimal boozing time (aka, English.) Now that I've graduated and I'm actually living here, it's all about the field I'm not in. It was fine in college, because everyone had different majors, and people were still mingling with each other, but the adult populace of our fair city is only interested in yapping on and on about which Senator did this, and which Lobbyist group did that, and what intern's posing for Playboy, etc etc. It gets very old, very fast. Unless you're Eliot Spitzer, and then this place is one hell of a good time.

5. Everyone wants you on their side
Like I mentioned in Wednesday's post, DC is the place to go to stage a protest. You can protest the war, you can protest the President, you can protest women not having the right to choose, you can protest women having the right to choose, you can even protest the government conspiracy that stripped you of you home and money and put tracking devices in your ears (yes, I'm talking about you, that crazy old man outside of the McPherson Square metro station) - you name it, you got it. But that means that for all of the warm months in DC, you have to put up with the crazy screaming, drum banging, and general mayhem of large mobs of people going insane. As awesome as it is the first few times, it gets old fast.

6. Nightlife? Really?
Okay, sure, there are some good nightlife options in DC. Some. But there's not a lot, and after awhile, you get sick of the whole thing. First of all, something like 80% (okay I might be exaggerating) of the city is comprised of gay males, and the rest of the male population is fat, ugly, and thinks they're poised to become the next scandal-buttered Senator. It makes bar hopping kind of a bummer. And when the metro closes at 1am, and the clubs close at 1:30am, not only are you stranded because you can't get home, you're also a shitfaced mess because, you know, everywhere closes so goddamn early that you have to chug the bar down before it's too late. So then you're wasted and stranded, and wake up the next morning in a dumpster behind a Starbucks, wondering what the hell happened, and wondering if there's any coffee still fresh somewhere beneath you.


Okay, so, as you can see, there are good points and bad points to living in DC. Personally, I think the bad outweigh the good. By a LOT. Like, a LOT a lot. I'm not that political (moreso than most people, but nothing compared to the citizens of DC), I hate the cold and the crazy humidity, I'm tired of the East Coast, and I'm ready for one hell of a change. And I think, after reading this, you'll agree with me. Unless you're that homeless dude, cause no matter how many tracking devices and bugs he thinks the government planted in his brain, he's still a loyal citizen, and you can't beat that kind of dedication.

Hippies on a Warm Spring Breeze

Days till Surgery: 12
Days till Old Age: 21

Oh hey, that's a palindrome. If you put the numbers next to each other. Anyway.

Today is a glorious day in the District, because apparently someone has declared it "Protest Season." Protest Season is the time where every young, unwashed hippie (and every old, unshaven senior citizen - man or woman) is blown into DC on a springtime gust of wind. One day you're meandering down the street on your way to work, studiously ignoring every other exhausted looking yuppie, and the next day, people wearing tutus and capes (oh, I'm serious) are frolicking down K Street, waving flags and beating on drums.

Now, don't get me wrong, I support some protests. One of the best experiences of my life was the 2004 March for Women's Lives in which thousands and thousands of people marched through the city in support of a woman's right to choose, and a woman's right to easily accessible birth control. It was something I felt very strongly about, and it was a march that was run smoothly and efficiently. People really came together for a real cause - and one we could actively fight. And just last fall, Erin and I went to an anti-war protest rally, in support of our troops. The general feel was that we had to oppose the war but support our troops (my stance all along) but people knew you couldn't just up and walk right out of Iraq, because that is illogical.

But for every well thought out march or protest, or smart, eloquent group, there are the rest of the crazy ass protesters that storm the streets and make you want to snap their peace loving necks. Take, for instance, Code Pink. Sure, these women are really trying to get the attention of the government, and they feel very strongly about ending the war and bringing the troops home, but really? Really, Code Pink? The last time I checked, the least effective way to get people like, oh I dunno, the President and Congress to take you seriously, was to dress up in hot pink prom dresses, don tiaras and pink boas, and run amok in the cavernous underbelly of the Senate. Luckily for everyone, that is exactly what Code Pink does, so no one has to worry about taking them seriously anytime soon. If you're going to go for guerrilla tactics, at least come up with something that doesn't look like you chose your arsenal from the left overs of Pretty Pretty Princess.


As someone who believes in peace, women's rights, and equal rights, it's groups like Code Pink that make me gnash my teeth together and contemplate an existence in a foreign country. But at least they work in huge numbers, and do get a lot of attention. Unlike, for example, my very own Hippie March this morning.

Like I said, today has seemingly brought in the springtime Protests; at McPherson Square there's an... "interesting" anti-war protest with a giant yurt (think: giant dome-like tent) and probably a good four dozen Code Pink-ers, along with far too many men in fatigues that still think we're in 'Nam; at 16th and K there's some kind of strike/protest going on which includes Rastafarian music; and over on 12th street, there's yet another protest outside of the IRS headquarters (okay, I can't blame them for that one.) Luckily for me, however, I was given my very own Three Hippie Protest March, when I had the good luck of getting stuck at a crosswalk with three young people, none of whom had showered in at least half a decade.

Armed with a rainbow flag broadcasting the word "PEACE" and a drum, my hippies resolutely marched down K Street, banging away, crowing about how awesome this was and how they were totally getting so much attention. Yes, because three gross little buggers with a drum are definitely going to get the government to pull out of Iraq. Brilliant. What they didn't seem to realize was that yes, they were getting plenty of attention, but it was because of two reasons:

1) They're a bunch of unwashed teens carrying a massive and colorful flag, and they're beating on a drum incessantly at 9 in the motherfucking morning, and,

2) Everyone around them is staring at them because they want to kill them, just to shut them the fuck up. Sorry, kids, but that's a surefire way to get your asses killed. Forget the war - pissing people off before they even get to work on a gray March weekday is just asking for it.

I understand that this is DC, and it's the place where everyone flocks to protest, to stand up for what they believe in, and to try to make a difference - I really do. And I support that general mentality, because I've done it, and I feel strongly about keeping the right to do so. But I must admit, that if I see one more goddamn asshole banging on a drum, I won't hesitate to kill them. And you know what? I'll probably get a damn medal of honor for doing so. God bless America.

St. Patrick's Day Revelations

Days till Surgery:14
Days till Old Age: ??

I don't actually know how many days there are till my birthday, because I'm stuck at home today and denied access to the countdown on my desktop calendar. Now, don't get me wrong, I love days off, but today isn't a "it's nice out, fuck the office!" day, or a "I want to go shopping!" day, it's a "ouch, my uterus hurts" day. Fabulous.

However, a well-kept family secret has been unearthed, and despite my cripple-status, today is indeed a day to celebrate! See, my grandmother is a woman who chooses her words carefully. We just assumed she was, you know, gramma, when she'd say things like "I don't like Jewish people" and "the Irish are dirty" but it turns out, she was skillfully using those statements to hoodwink others - because guess what her mother was?

An Irish Jew.

I'm not entirely sure what constitutes an Irish Jew, although I'm envisioning Irish Car Bombs with a shot of Manischewitz, and rabbis getting shitfaced in pubs and fist fighting each other. At any rate, with all those potatoes, at least an Irish Jew would always be guaranteed a never-ending supple of latkes.

Latkes Go Bragh

All this time, and I never knew! Of course I've celebrated St. Patrick's Day by getting roaringly drunk since I was, like, five, but still! I was convinced I was only English and Welsh, and that I never really fit into the angry, drunken, rosy-faced world of the Irish. But I did! All this time! It really explains a few things, doesn't it?

Now I feel like it's my duty to make up for all the times I scoffed at the Irish, or felt slightly out of place in my home city of Boston. I mean, in a city where everyone's named Whitey McGuiness, it could be hard sometimes. As the lone Jew, I was also the lone non-Irish, and there was always that niggling feeling of not fitting in - but now, I'm a part of the gang! Of course I'm moving far away from Boston, but still - it's the point.

So, this St. Patrick's Day, regardless of being trapped inside, I'm raising a pint to you - my Irish brothers and sisters. Let's celebrate our day of drunken debauchery. And thank you, gramma. You may never want anyone to know your heritage, but you have made your alcoholic grandchildren very, very happy indeed.