33 Across

When I get on the metro in the morning, I'm usually not at the top of my game.  I always get a copy of the Washington Post Express from Johnny, who has been outside the Rockville Metro for close to a decade.  I  skim through the paper; I have to check the horoscopes.  I am a Capricorn, and depending on who is in my life at any given moment, I skim their's too  (I'll let you know if it's gonna be one of those days; one of the many services I provide).  After that, I read through the ridiculous celebrity news.  The Express has some very funny writers, and the last page is their showboat; I often giggle outloud at their clever wordsmithing.  That done, I have to find something else to occupy the next 45 minutes to an hour.

Often, I doze while listening to my iPod, or people-watch while listening to my iPod, or check my Facebook while listening to my iPod (do you see a theme here?).  Every now and then, I am sufficiently competent enough to take on the crossword puzzle...with a pen, because I don't DO pencils.  Today was one of those days. 

As Highlighted and Presented to Dean

As I folded the page to make it optimal for Metro writing, I IMMEDIATELY saw the clue for 33 across, "Kilmer of film."  Those of you who know me, know that I love me some Val Kilmer...even the bloated version.  I am very loyal...and three is my lucky number.  Any combination of threes makes me feel like all's well with the world.  I knew it was going to be a good day, and I dashed off a little message to a couple of friends saying as much. 

Having gotten that distracting little clue out of the way, I started back at the top of the crossword.  The theme of today's crossword was window coverings.  The first themed clue was Navy, to which the answer was Shade of Blue.  Again, this brought to mind a good friend, who was both in the Navy, and likes said color.  Finally, there was the clue for 35 down:"Campus big shot"  Answer: Dean, who is my best friend, and 35 is how old I am!  It doesn't happen often, but I finished the whole puzzle, bouyed by a sense that all the signs were in for a good day. 

I am one of those odd birds that finds patterns and meanings in everything.  I overthink the importance of someone ordering American cheese versus Provalone on a sandwich.  Another oddity is that I have almost no visual memory at all.  I believe this is why I am so verbally inclined.  I associate words and feelings with the people I love, because with few exceptions, I cannot see their faces. Words that evoke thoughts of loved ones is like seeing them in my mind. When I dream about people (which is often, and my dreams are like movies), I know people by the emotions they evoke in me and certain physical attributes (just not the face). I often see people in specific colors.  For example, my mother is always in dark purple or midnight blue; Dean is always in blue (French blue, really); my friend Travis is always in yellow; my sister is always in lilac purple (from a pair of courdoroy culottes she had when we were little); Mike R. is always in navy (and a hat!).  These aren't colors any of them wear particularly often; it's just how my mind works.  Couple the visual cues with the emotional ones, and that is how I know who I'm dreaming about (though I have seen a couple of those peoples faces in my dreams...it's how I know how much they mean to me).

The crossword made me think.  Each person I meet is a word map of symbols, emotions and attributes I associate with them that gets fleshed out and more complex the longer I know them.  How would you remember people if you couldn't close your eyes and see them?  What words would you associate with yourself?  Do they differ from what you want people to associate with you?

Hot digity!

Hello friends. It's been a while. Things have been relatively quiet on the metro, and I briefly had something more interesting than blogging in my life...thank goodness THAT'S over!

Today, its 75 degrees outside and 150 0n the Metro. Concepts like flexibility and reasonable change still elude Metro management.

It's crowded, but not unduly so, so the utter stank of sweating bodies isn't off the nasal charts as yet. I'm facing backward, and a cute little banker dude keeps meeting my eye...yes, i've checked to make sure that the skirt is down, the Girls are in and there's nothing on my face...no accounting for taste.

Also directly in front of me is a relatively normal looking guy with a ginormous duffle bag and a parka that could house a family of eight. He's hanging on to the bar as if it is his lover...and I in fact believe he imagines it were. Every now and then he does a fascinating little pelvic thrust ( the parka is between him and the bar), and arches his head back to the ceiling...all the while muttering something to himself. The two women standing beside him keep looking at him, then each other then me and giggling.

I'd like to sleep to make it all go away but its too hot. There are several men on here who have soaked through their shirts...faces are red and glistening. It's the type of atmosphere that would foment a group of teens into a full on riot. Luckily, this is the working class crew and we dont have the energy to get upset when someone runs our toes over with their pretentious rolling brief cases or slaps us about the pate with their over-sized zebra print bag (yes...both have happened just now).

My gyrating friend wants to be a lifeguard...heaven help us all...he's rockin his grey lifeguard tee tucked into his leather braided belt and pleated navy cargo pants. A few more weeks, and we can start talking about inapproriate flesh-showing in public areas...I, for one, am giddy with excitement

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Happy Hours

My Boss, newly afianced in Venice, Italy. Is about to embark on a voyake to the far East, My wacky, wonderful wing-nut co-worker organized a happy hour for him.

It was a blast and proof that nutella addicts, WOW geeks, and southern belles really can co-exist peacefully (don't ask Megan...she still believes firearms should be involved).

Unfortunately, the Phillies were in town beating on the Nats. Not pretty, but predictable. Doubly unfortunate is getting on the Metro at the Navy Yard post game. Me and every Phillies and Nationals fan on one platform. Cozy!

Yes, i educated the out-of-towners on proper Metro escalator ettiquette: Stand on the right, and let the pros walk up the left! I was, for 20 minutes, a girl in a black suit and red top awash in a sea of Jerseys and jeans. I am content to know that I at least matched the Nats, and the odd number of Terps shirt (Fear the Turtle!).

I have my iPod at max level, and yet i can hear this mostly-drunken crowd clearly (I've had a couple myself). Men, women, and children WAY up past their normally respectible bedtimes. I am an interesting Native, seen in my own habitat. Don't feed me, I do bite...and spew poltics....

This is what i had expected of my sojourn into DC last Friday. It is lively, but not circus-esque, alas. Normal people having an adnormal night celebrating America's past time.

I dont understand why Metro, knowing full well the sporting events in the center of the free world, doesnt adjust trains for an hour after games to expedite patron delivery services...for the low low price of $5.00, i suppose I'm being unreasonable.

Me and my quite content heels are eager to make the last, uphill trek homeward to perhaps dance (I need to!). It was lovely to sit with smart, witty people, text my loved ones and puppy owners, and laugh manaically. Worth feeling like a sardine in an admittedly benign, though crowded tin can. Goodnight, sleepy little sardines!

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Send in the clowns!

So, this will be a short contribution. I'm doing something I don't recall doing: heading IN to DC at 8:00 pm.

Friday night into DC is what I wish my commute would be...my experience of heading home at the same time is very different. There should be dancing, and drag queens and raucous teenagers....am I at the proverbial witching hour? Just between respectable and full-frontal freak?

I'm going to celebrate indentured slavery with an enlisted Navy man (he told me earlier he has a kilt of his family...le swoon) and Guinness...we're all watching a crazy drunk pacer and making guarded eye contact to coordinate our mad nunchuck attacks...(see left)

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Take a picture, it lasts longer!

Ok. First things first. I'm no beauty queen. Granted, I tend not to break mirrors, but that's the extent of it. No, thats not self-loathing; I'm content with what I look like for the most part.

It's a packed Metro today and a little too toasty for the heat, which is on. I'm playing solitaire and listening to Winter Winds, by my fave, Mumford and Sons. I love the lyrics and how they make me think.

Perhaps I'm making a face, in my thoughtfulness. I dont think I am, though. I looked up and a relatively short, relatively round, very bald man is looking at me. Not terribly uncommon because it's all about keeping awake when you're standing up (which he is). All's fare in love, war, and Metro standing.

A couple stops later and I look up...there he is again, still staring. Then he WINKS! I look down, but watch him out of the periphery of my eyes, while seriptiously typing this blog.  He has not stopped looking at me and smiling. A man got on and he made him shove past him because he didn't want to stop staring. Seriously????

I don't understand this, and happens more than I care to admit. I attribute it sometimes to my tendency to bop a bit when I'm standing and listening to my iPod. Or my particularly larger-than-normal crazy Irish almost red hair. Sometimes it may be 'The Girls'...again, an admitted distraction.

(He just got off at White Flint).

Today, however, my hair is pretty calm. I have a very high cut dress and sweater (Megan, the Hooch, called it girly and asked where the sock hop was going to be). I'm not bobbing...what gives? There are many, many cuter, hotter, more interesting people to spend a long Metro ride watching.

Times like this remind me that I am on a system that caters to people of all walks of life; there's no telling what psychological niche staring at me fulfills. Do these people have a big hair fetish? Do freckles turn them on? Ok, ok, i get the boob thing...hell, I might even look. I dont have particular things that make me stare...which begs the question? What would YOU stare at???

(and that picture is proof The Girls and the Irish 'fro) are behaving)

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Of Rat's Nests and Nutters

Another quiet ride in, and for the exact opposite reason as yesterday: Metro riders are allergic to rain as equally as they are allergic to working when it's sunny and 75 degrees.  I, on the other hand, adore stormy weather.  I woke up at 4:00 a.m. to one of the biggest storms I've experiences in some time with a huge smile on my sleepy face.  I didn't even begin to think about sleep until UConn cut down the hoop at around 11:30. GOOOO HUSKIES!  And thank you for triggering my ulcer!

The walk down to the Metro was amazing.  I started out the journey with my hair up in a clip, since it was still wet, but after I dropped off my daughter, I took it down.  The air was crisp but not cold, and the wind was just brisk enough give the impression I was running.  I didn't even grimace when I saw the Metro.  I felt like I was flying down the hill with the wind in my hair, and the big fat grey clouds roiling over head.  Armed with some decisions made the night before, it was particularly energizing.  It helped that Modest Mouse's "Missed the Boat" came on as I reached the final decent to the Metro.  My mood was pretty unshakeable.

It wasn't raining during my walk, but perhaps a little misty.  That meant everyone but me was huddled under the awning toward the middle of the train, only to run out and try to push me over when the train arrived, lest they should melt.  I got a seat with no issue.  My seat partner got on a couple of stops later.  She was totally inoffensive; neat, clean, tidy and in her own world (read: iPod).  The train was neither crowded, nor delayed, and this particular train didn't even have a carpet that would smell of mildew from the rain.

The only issue I ran into was the utter nutter sitting in front of me. She was probably in her early sixities, with grey-white hair.  Remember, I love white hair.  My mother has the most beautiful head of white hair I've ever seen, and I'm highly envious! I've wanted to be fifty since I was four, and everytime I find what I think is a white hair in my head, I run gleefully over to my friend to confirm it...he never does.  I digress. 

This woman was dressed quite respectably, but her hair was a rat's nest in the back, and a greasy on at that.  I was in a pretty good mood, so I noted it, and remained relatively immersed in my iPod-environs.  At Cleveland Park, I saw her stand up, and thought she left the train.  Four stops later, at Metro Center, I stood up to prepare to get off at the next station.

Lo and behold, the nutter is coming BACK to the seat in front of me, where an older blond woman had been sitting.  As I'm trying to get out, the nut job is trying to get back into her seat, while the blond lady is trying to get off.  I eek my way toward the door, and watch the nutter repeatedly step in front of the blond lady, who finally darts around her with the speed of a woman half her age, and pushes ME (and several others) out of the way to get off the Metro as fast as she can.  No, I couldn't not help but say, "Excuse you!" to her departing back.

I looked back as I was departing and the nutter was sitting back in her seat with her hands grasping the bar at the top of the seat in front of her smiling devilishly.  I'm pretty sure I heard, "MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA," echo in the train station behind me.

I Whip my Hair Back and Forth...

Monday, and a rare, very boring ride in. So I shall tell you about Friday. I had no power Thursday night when I got home from a long, cold Opening Day at Nationals Park (good fun, bad team). It was a cold, miserable, self-pity inducing night. The power came back on around 4:00 a.m., which went mostly unnoticed, since I had pretty much just fallen asleep (why yes, I am also an insomniac). When the alarm went off at 5:30, I turned on the news ... and snuggled down for a few minutes. The first thing I heard was that they finally caught the Metro gropper, based on a victims detailed description of the man on Unsuck DC Metro (which, consequently, is impossible) and that there were delays on the Red Line at Judiciary square and on the Green Line at Waterfront.

I felt my frustration level rising ... clearly, this is not the best way to wake up. Trying to be positive, I reminded myself that I still had about an hour and a half before I needed to leave; surely they'd have that mess sorted out. I typically leave my house around 6:45 a.m., and when they were still announcing the two delays, I decided I'd stay put for an extra hour and go in late; I was still thawing out from the cold night without heat, afterall. I arrived at the Rockville Metro around 8:00 a.m. There were still delays, but at least it was not as crowded as the 7:00 a.m. train. I got a seat and cocooned myself with Linkin Park, Rise Against, and others to get me in a suitably stable mood for what I knew would be a stressful ride in.

At Tenleytown, a young man got on with his friends. He was about 5'7", with skinny jeans, spiky black hair, and a dark pea coat. His friends stood by the door chatting away, and he sat next to me, and put on his GINORMOUS headphones; they were literally bigger than his whole, tiny head. As a coping mechanism, I highly approved. As a look, perhaps not so much.

It started slow. A little movement here and there; I can't complain. Especially if I'm standing, I will sway to the music myself. Anything to avoid the reality of the the situation, which was that we stopped at each station for several minutes, never with any acknowledgement of the delay we all knew we were experiencing. That and the "Metro Minute" (definition: the 3-5 minutes one minute means on the train arrival boards...I've seen it go backwards), are my biggest pet peeves on Metro. Metro likes pretend its customers are mentally deficient with hazy grasps of the concept of time. Big Headphone Boy's (BHB) friends got off at Cleveland Park, and that's when the movement got even bigger.

The occassional head bob soon included animated mouthing of the words. Based on the animated drumming that soon accompanied this, I have to say BHB's earphones were pretty fantastic; I heard nothing of what must have been epic drumming. The head bobs then transformed into head whips from side to side. His eyes were closed, but clearly, he was rocking the Verizon Center to a sold out crowd. I didn't even pretend to not watch; I think it was expected. I felt I could have danced along to his air drums. I was actually disappointed when I had to get off, and leave him there to perform to a far less appreciative audience. He did Willow Smith proud, and the giggle made the Metro go down easier!