DTR

(dated 1/13/10... I just never got around to posting it til now, oops!)

Its taken six months, but I finally feel like my social life has settled into something I am comfortable and content with. At first it was hard, maybe because I was the peppy girl from Californa who didn't quite understand the East Coast conventions of how to make friends out here. I still don't think I really get how it works, but time and patient persistence has finally won out. I finally feel like I have a steady group of people from my class who I can depend upon for ordering pizza to the library at 10pm, or for going out on the occassional night when we don't have a million things to worry about for the following day, or for discussing guy issues when we've hit a DTR wall.



Last night Rupa and I decided to celebrate our friendships by throwing a potluck dinner party at our place. Once we settled on a date, it took us another week to acutally send out invites, because we had to juggle which boys (of those we'd dated or were dating) to invite to avoid the most amount of awkwardness. My biggest issue was that I wanted to invite the guy I've been dating as well as a friend who I still have a major crush on. Lets start with the basics. For the last three weeks, I've been dating this lawer who I met at New Years at his party. On each of our dates, he has been beyond chivalrous (paying for meals AND my cab) and entirely drama-less. He calls (not just texts), he brought me flowers and chocolates on the second date. Our conversation is interesting and engaging. Hes got a ridiculous knowledge of DC restaurants and bars and knows all the best places for pretty much any type of food you can think of (and is totally willing to take me to all of them). Only thing is something is missing. I hate to admit it, but part of that something is the chase. I feel like I'm being shoffered into this relationship, not walking into it on my own accord. Is it immature to still want that chase?



I hear people talk about online dating, I find the biggest underlying problem is the expectations you have are different with people you meet on the web. The most pervasive complaint is that there is no mystery or wonder when both of you have already scoured one another's profile and know that you're mutually interested with similar expectations of a fruitful and long term relationship. In that sense I feel like I'm in the same boat, except this time I fear its a little one sided. He, being much older than I (early thirties), is probably looking for something more serious than I am ready to provide. He's done all the traditional things to woo a girl, and has left nothing to doubt. Maybe in 7 years, that will be exactly what I want, but right now, it just doesn't do it for me. Theres no mystery.



Then, on the opposite end of the spectrum, there's Mr. Mystery who I've been frustratingly chasing after since I met him a few months ago. Looking back on that sentence, you'd think I'd realize my idiocy and give up already. But I can't help it. He's got the rugged charm, the cute body, and fantastic (Italian) cooking skills. Just clearly, none of the committment skills. We've hung out multiple times, though the majority of it has been under the pretext of studying, not a legitimately defined date. Yet every time we usually end up chatting and sipping our coffee instead of studying. What am I supposed to do with that? Feel free to clear up this mystery for me.

I'm stuck somewhere in the center of the frenzy that is 'dating in DC'. But hey, its fun and at least I'm putting myself out there. As for the dinner party, I took a deep breath and invited both. Don't worry, all went smoothly. If only my life could run the same way =).

up, up and away... barely

For weeks I’ve been looking forward to going home for Thanksgiving. That little nugget of joy has been keeping me going through the last ten or so exams. Late nights in the library, I would savor the thought that I would soon be home with my family, my dogs, and unchallenged sunshine. Today I nearly blew that thought to smithereens.

The day began like any other day in the life of a PA. After waking up at the crack of dawn , I did a little last minute studying, then ran out the door to the catch the metro to school, making it to class just in time for my microbiology exam. Once the last few dejected looking stragglers made it out alive, we all packed up and took a much needed lunch break together, ordering some much needed mimosas and bloody mary’s. I headed home after that to pack up for my flight. For the most part, my bag was empty, since my goal was to fill it with warm clothes to bring back from home. I left my apartment at 2pm with all the necessities. I had my tickets, ID, and study materials for the weekend (I know, I thought I was getting a vacation too… not so apparently) and headed down to the bus stop that would take me to the airport.

I know I should have expected it, but I’d walked by the stop earlier and there hadn’t been that many people, so I was somewhat surprised to find a huge line of at least 30 people waiting for the bus. The bus came, it filled, it went. I was now number eight. Bummer. Luckily, my flight wasn’t until five, and catching the next bus in half an hour wouldn’t be too bad. Turns out they called another bus in, so we only waited twenty minutes for the next bus. I settled into my seat and closed my eyes trying to ignore the gnawing feeling that always eats away at my composure when I have to rely on public transportation to catch a flight. In case you didn’t know, DC traffic is actually worse than LA. Add that to Thanksgiving weekend and you’ve got a hour bus ride that normally only takes 40 minutes. It was cool though, it was still only 3:30 when we got off the freeway. It was then that I in my excessive worrying decided to double check my ticket and make sure I had all the info right. I actually let the thought of accidentally getting the airport wrong dance across my mind for a millisecond (my masochistic brain likes to dream up awful scenarios sometimes just for fun). As I glanced at my ticket, everything looked fine of course: Washington to Phoenix to San Diego, departing 5:10pm. Then I flipped to the email conformation I’d printed out as well. I read it. I blinked a few times. I read it again. When I looked up my heart was beating twice its normal rate and I was gasping for air. Three letters that weren’t present on my ticket glared at me. “DCA”. That’s the airport code for Washington DC’s Regan Airport. Just then the bus pulled up the curb at its destination, “IAD” aka. Washington Dulles Airport.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I swallowed hard. Total panic set in. My heart began beating three times its normal speed. I was now approximately an hour (assuming traffic) away from home and another 15 metro ride from there to Regan. My heart now pounded forcefully in my chest as if maybe it could knock me unconscious so I wouldn’t have to deal with this sick feeling in forming in the pit of my stomach. So this is what it’s like to have a panic attack huh? How ironic that we were just learning about this disorder in class not long ago. Lucky me to get to experience it firsthand. I knew it was probably hopeless at this point, but I had to at least try to get to the right airport, otherwise Nana would kill me (she paid for my ticket). Once everyone was off the bus, I made my way up to the front to speak to the bus driver. I asked him if I should just ride it back or if I’d have a better chance with a cab. I’m not sure if he was secretly laughing at the idiocy of my situation or just didn’t care, but he recommended the cab, so I grabbed my bags and bolted out the door.

Standing outside the airport entrance, I looked around. Not a cab in sight. Naturally. However there was a string of blue super shuttles lined up outside, so I ran up the first one I saw and again explained my pathetic situation. I got another confusing look, but also I think a hint of sympathy. He said he offered rides to Regan International for $30, but how long it took to get there was all dependent on traffic. The price was honestly was much better than I was expecting, so I took it. I ran over to his van and hopped in, suddenly horrified to see six other people already seated inside. Was he going to take these people home first?! I jumped out and intercepted the driver as he was loading my bag, asking if he’d be going to Regan first. I got a non-committal yes. I was out of options anyway… I sulked back into the van, took my seat in the back and began the most anxiety filled, adrenaline pumping, and overall worst 35 minute car ride of my life.

35 minutes. It took an hour to get to Dulles, and by some spectacular stroke of luck, it only took 35 minutes to get back to Regan. Well, “only” isn’t quite the right word. I spent the entire 35 minutes shaking, teary eyed in the back of the van, cursing my stupidity, praying to the traffic gods, and hovering with my finger over the send button of my phone, wondering when I should call my dad with the bad news. When I finally saw the signs for Regan International, I was overjoyed and amazed that, pending security, I might actually make my flight! Maybe someone or something really did want me to see my family this Thanksgiving. Whatever it was that led to the total evaporation of returning traffic, I was utterly grateful towards it. I paid the driver, thanked him profusely, then flew into the airport so fast I’m surprised security didn’t apprehend me on mere suspicion of my erratic behavior. When I finally made it to my gate, I pulled out my ticket and checked and rechecked it, not really believing that I was actually going to make my plane. But I’d really made it, and with five whole minutes to spare before boarding!

Un-freakin’-believable.

I figured I’d use those five minutes to call my dad and tell him the good news.

.

.

.

This year I am thankful for the fact that I gave myself that extra hour of travel time.

I am thankful that I printed out my confirmation so I didn’t realize my mistake inside the airport.

I am thankful for the super shuttle guy who knew how to put the pedal to the metal.

I am thankful for the chance to see my grandparents, family, friends and dogs for Thanksgiving.

sitting, waiting, wishing

You know that question, “If you were stuck on a deserted island what one item would you bring?” Well l’d like to look at that question from a different angle. If you were destined to stay in one place for the rest of your life, where would that one place be? For me, it’s a coffee shop. I absolutely love them.

When I moved here, I really only had a few requirements for locations. One was that my apartment had to be near a metro station for convenience. The other, just as vital necessity was its proximity to a decent coffee shop. I’m so thankful that I found a place that fits both those categories. In fact, my most proximal café is actually only a 3 minute walk from my apartment, and it’s the kind of institution after which I want to model my future café. It’s called Greenberry’s Coffee and Tea Company and it’s got its fair share of charm. Inside the walls are lined to the ceiling with mahogany shelving dotted with an assortment of coffee mugs and torani flavored syrups. Local school’s artwork hangs on the walls and currently there are twenty three painted pumpkins lined up, all creatively painted by elementary school kids. I think #14 won the contest.

Jazz is usually pumping out of the speakers in the ceiling, though every once and a while, they’re switch it up to cater to the most current holiday. Big round tables clutter the wooden floors. I love that they provide ample space to spread out and study as compared to the dinky Starbucks tables in Westwood that barely support your cup of coffee. I adore the smattering of overstuffed chairs that every once in a while I am lucky enough to nab. But the best part is undoubtedly the people. Greenberry’s is always full (probably a testament to their delicious coffee). And the people who frequent here are always diverse and interesting to overhear. On Tuesday nights the knitting club meets: a group of all ages who make sweaters and scarves for loved ones or maybe pets, who knows. On weekends, the morning bikers stop by after their sunrise ride, people meet to discuss their PhD work, or their kids in college, or they come here like me, to study in hopes of gaining enough knowledge to do something worthwhile.

Perhaps it’s the caffeine running through my veins, but sitting here watching and listening always gets me excited. It just reminds me that I am one among many, but that those many lead such different and intriguing lives. I love how there is so much knowledge and wisdom being shared all around me. That’s why I could spend eternity here, sipping coffee in an overstuffed chair listening to the world.