staycation day 30

I am still unemployed.  My contract has been in flux for the last five weeks and I believe I'm bordering somewhere between crazy sad and crazy mad at least 85% of the time.  So my options are 1: stay home and entertain myself here all day or 2: go back to the fish bowl  embassy, suck it up and take a job that pays me less than I made in college because it actually requires less thought than my job in college.  Clearly, I am enthralled by both options.

At the beginning of my so-called staycation, I felt very productive and used the time that I thought would be temporary to my advantage.  Now that the only end in sight to the boredom of option #1 is the boredom of option #2, my motivation has decreased significantly and goals achieved in a day read more like "shave legs" or "wash hair."  Yesterday I accomplished half a goal when I shaved one leg.  The hot water ran out before I could shave the other, and all women know shaving your legs with goosebumps only results in razor burn.

I'm trying to at least keep up on my exercise, but for some reason sitting on my lime green couch all day makes me really tired, and by the time Joey gets home from work it's all over and I've completely melted into the cushions.  Some days I wonder about those people who sort of morph into their couches and how long it will take before I'm half-flesh, half-synthetic fiber.

Today I decided I would do yoga.  As I mentioned earlier, I fried my ipod one hot afternoon when I tucked it into my sports bra as I vinyasad along.  Joey's been kind enough to let me use his while he's at work, but that's only when either he or I remember to take it out of his gym bag that usually sits in the car.  As that is the case today, I lugged the laptop out to the pool and strained to zen myself away with the faint music produced by the laptop's lackluster speakers.  Then it started raining.  Ash.

Ash falls pretty frequently around here, as it is the preferred method of garbage disposal (have I mentioned my theory that after seeing the third world I am convinced that nothing any green, tree-hugging American or US corporation could do would even begin to mitigate the pollution created on this continent?), but usually it's only a flake or ten and you can brush it off your shoulder.  Not today.  The garbage fire was in the next yard and caught by the wind and the large ash flakes that landed on my computer and yoga mat and in my hair and in my water were profuse.  Disgusting.  Not even taking the time to roll my mat, I scooped it up, dumped out my water and ran into my house.

Okay, inside.  Can't do hot yoga, but how about a yoga DVD?  Five minutes into Shiva Rea and I would punch the TV because she annoys me so much (I swear to God yoga DVDs are only for people who have never actually been to a yoga class), but I don't have to because the power has gone out.  It really makes me want to scream when all I'm trying to do is say "om" and I can't because of giant ash clouds and our unreliable generator.  Just another day in paradise - or really ironic lesson of yoga.  Isn't the point to block out all outside distractions and just go with the flow?

Yeah, well I'm willing to bet swami yogi never tried to do yoga in Nigeria.

because why would they do anything logical?

Abuja is a hard-to-fill post.  Shocker, I know.  But since the powers-that-be have a difficult time filling mid-level positions here (as only your first two tours are directed), many mid-level positions are occupied by entry-level officers.  Many other positions remain unfilled, leaving more work and less time to do it for those who serve here.  This leaves officers bogged down with routine and mundane tasks, making it exceptionally difficult for them to undertake anything new that might augment the quality of life here, thus perpetuating the cycle which makes this post hard-to-fill.

Now I think my husband is pretty amazing.  Not only is he a fabulous husband, he is also an incredibly intelligent, creative, diligent and driven man who is able to accomplish things of which mere mortals like me couldn't even begin to dream.  Like the housing project he's begun here in Abuja.  Obviously I can't go into many more details here, but I can say that if he's able to complete the project on which he's been busting his ass for the last year, not only will he greatly improve the lives of those who serve here, he will save the government tens of millions of dollars doing so.

In order to finish what he started, he needs six extra months at post.  So he requested an extension.  Post approved said extension and everybody asked the powers-that-be in DC.  Of course, as Abuja is hard-to-fill and Joey is doing something to make it an easier place to live and save the government money, DC said yes no. 

I truly don't care one way or another; Joey and I had discussed a possible extension at great length before he actually requested it and I'd made my peace with it, knowing how important this huge professional accomplishment would be to my husband, and how much the project will benefit those who serve here.  But apparently Joey's language training class in January is more important.  We're scheduled to go to Panama next August and even though that post is one of the most highly bid in the world, they'd rather fill his vacancy here in Abuja than in Panama.  So now they'll remove an officer who has requested six more months to achieve his goal and replace him with another officer who probably didn't want to come here in the first place.

I just don't get it.

about that hotel

For our honeymoon, Joey and I took a Mediterranean cruise. We docked one day in Montenegro, where we bought a bottle of wine at the local market for two euro. A few hours later, bound for our next destination, we brought our wine to the ship's dining room. Although we had our own romantic table for two, we really enjoyed the large table of octogenarians next to ours, and we joined them that night for dinner. We offered to share our wine but no one was interested. One dining companion offered us a pearl of wisdom for our new married life: two euro wine in Europe is usually a lot like a two dollar wine in the US: not very good. While I have had more than a few good, cheap bottles of wine in Italy and France, his advice absolutely held true for that Montenegran wine.

So maybe I should have listened to his voice in my head when I booked the Twiga Home in Moshi for $20.

Beside the filthy floors and walls, cobwebs and bugs inside the broken wardrobe, suspect-looking towels (one each), ant infestation and dirty sink, the shower consisted of a faucet slightly over the toilet attached to a live wire with zip ties. We were given the option of A/C, which broke, on, after the staff had left for the night, and since the only bedding available was a thin sheet over the rubber mattress, we actually froze.

I don't know what I was thinking when I booked this place. I'm pretty sure the reviews on Trip Advisor were okay. For a hostel. And truth be told, I've never actually stayed at a hostel before. Had I realized this place was a hostel, I probably wouldn't have booked it because hostels are for college kids who can drink enough they don't care where they're sleeping. But Twiga doesn't call itself a hostel. It calls itself a home. So I canceled my perfectly good reservation at the Protea, a perfectly good South African chain, to save $125, apparently believing it was just a good deal. I'm so smart. And when did I become such a big spender?

So in addition to my moratorium on drinking bad wine, I have instituted a new moratorium on booking bad hotels by establishing a lower limit. Unless that cheap hotel room is sold by Costco or Trader Joes (because everybody knows you can get good, cheap wine there).

the ugly american

2.26.12  9:30am (Two hours later)

Just encountered the most annoying traveler on our way to Mt. Kilimanjaro: the ugly American.  This diva is clearly headed on a fashion safari, replete with her olive cargo shirt stuffed with her muffin-top into matching olive, skinny cargo pants that are tucked into her shiny, gold platform tennis shoes and accessorized with a dusty pink purse.  But don't worry, lest you think this woman's outfit might be too drab.  She dressed it up with not one, but three rhinestone barrettes.

And wouldn't you guess that after this consummate annoying safari-farer had loaded her six duffle bags on the security conveyor belt, she insisted her floral bag be returned from the other side of the X-ray so she could retrieve her SOCKS.  To put over the socks she was already wearing in order to walk through the metal detector.  Which beeped repeatedly because of those fancy, sparkly additions to her fabulously bad, black dye job (and Mallory, I know you get mad when I call it a dye job, but please trust me, no color specialist had been near her head).  When the security attendant asked her, kindly, to please take out her barrettes, the diva only exclaimed, repeatedly, "IT'S MY WIRE BRA!"

Oh.  God.

Are you serious, lady? In case you haven't noticed, you're in a domestic airport in Africa, and those guys with AK-47s are not a joke.  Meanwhile, the entire line has stalled and the United States of America has just been denigrated by one of its finest citizens.

I bit my tongue for as long as possible.  But the hotel shuttle had dropped us off at the wrong terminal, where we went through that security line before realizing we'd need to leave that building and run the quarter mile to the domestic terminal (which makes total sense since we're flying from Ethiopia to Tanzania) to make our flight and now we're stuck behind this prima donna.  I finally turned to her and said something about the line (I'm sure I was very tactful).  We eventually got around her as she was taking off her second pair of socks.

We made it to the departure area just as the plane was starting to board, and upon sighting the second round of security screening giggled with the relief that we wouldn't have to witness that spectacle again.

ruminations

Perhaps I may be a little melodramatic at times.  Additionally, I tend to take things personally when my feelings really have nothing to do with the matter.  One of my parents' favorite things to say about me is that I will cut off my nose to spite my face.  Hmm.

I realize that Panama is considered a great post.  We would have happily served in Panama the first time around.  We bid it high last time.  I've been there - it's nice.  Especially compared to where we are placed now.  It has beautiful beaches, great restaurants and lots of old people from the US.  Kind of like Florida.

But it's not Europe.  And frankly, I had my heart set there.  So I'm not disappointed so much that they assigned us to Panama, but that they didn't assign us to Europe.

I don't think that my expectations were unrealistic.  One great colleague of Joey's whom we met here in Abuja is in a fabulous European capital now.  Another colleague will leave Abuja and head to the same fabulous European capital in a few months.  Another colleague of his from Abuja is headed shortly to my favorite city in the world.  Every person we know who has served in Abuja received one of their top five bids.  Our top seven bids were in Europe, five of them with perfect timing.  Yet we were assigned number nine, which was imperfect timing.  Frankly, I find it insulting.

I'm sure this seems petty.  I know.  It is.  But serving here has been freaking hard.  And we were told that serving here would virtually guarantee our pick of anywhere in the world for our second post.  Which seems to me like a pretty blatant lie.  Joey's CDO (career development officer) told him that all posts above us went to people with higher differentials.  I don't see how the smaller winter bidding cycle had eight other people with higher differentials (considering ELOs (entry-level officers) aren't allowed to serve in Iraq, Afghanistan or Pakistan), while Joey's colleague who heads to the fabulous European capital in a few months bid in the huge summer cycle.  Where were all the people with higher differentials then?

Oh, and the same day we got our bids was the same day that they finally approved an additional 10% differential for Abuja.  Seven months later.  It really just makes me want to scream.

So while there are some amazing benefits to Joey's career, this is also something that we (okay, me.  Joey, ever the laid-back, nonchalant man that he is, could really give a shit.  He's amazing at accepting the hand he's dealt and making the best of it.  Maybe that's one of the reasons I love him so much: his "that's the way the cookie crumbles" attitude really complements my "oh really?  Well GFY!"-ness.  (I know, I know, I'm so eloquent)) have to very carefully weigh: are the benefits worth feeling like someone's pawn for "the needs of the service?"  We certainly haven't been singled out - this shit happens all the time - but I just don't know if I can handle being tossed around to places where I'm meh at best and horrified and bawling under the covers at worst.  Also, as calm and collected as Joey is, I'm not sure how many more we-got-our-post-Melissa-is-having-a-meltdown he can handle.  

Anyway, that's where we are now.  We'll have to truly consider all of the costs and benefits (which will certainly involve more than one Excel spreadsheet).  Right now the plan is there is no plan.

and our next post is...

The United States of America.

Actually we got assigned to Panama, and since I can't handle two more years of not being able to drink the water, two more years of living somewhere that needs the Peace Corps, two more years of cockroaches and being afraid to run by myself, that means we will be moving back to the USA.  Seriously.

I will leave it that I am exceptionally disappointed.  I really thought after living in an exceptionally difficult and dangerous third-world country for the last two years we would have earned our way past that.  Apparently it doesn't work that way.

I will write more when I'm better able to mince words.  In the meantime, feel free to shoot me an email and I'll tell you how I really feel.

merry christmas?

I didn't feel like writing much about Christmas before this happened.

http://edition.cnn.com/2011/12/25/world/africa/nigeria-church-bombing/index.html?hpt=hp_t1

Anyway, we as safe as can be reasonably expected.  Just want to thank my good old husband's employers for recognizing the danger here.  Oh wait... I hope you're enjoying a safe and happy Christmas with your family back in Washington.  We'll hold down the fort until you figure it out.

how best buy tried to screw me and funny emails from frank

As you may be aware, I ruined my camera on our trip to Ghana.  Actually, the rain ruined my camera, but I probably should have known better than to take a camera in a rain forest and expect it to stay dry.  Since my blond roots tend to show more often than not, I always buy the warranty.  If it's a high-ticket item, chances are I'm going to drop it, lose it, break it or get it wet (like the time I bent the setting on my wedding ring by 90 degrees when I fell into the sump pump hole in our basement).  As such, when I originally bought the G10 back in 2009, I also bought the warranty.


This proved a smart decision in the summer of 2010 when the G10 just stopped working (I swear).  I took the camera and the warranty into Best Buy and after about a month of wrangling back and forth, they replaced it with a brand-new G11.  Best Buy's replacement of the G10 with the G11 constituted fulfillment of the original warranty, so I purchased a new warranty for the G11.


So when we got back from Ghana, I mailed the G11 (minus the battery, lest the pouch reject it), the warranty, the receipt and detailed instructions (including an explanation for the Geek Squad as to why the battery was missing) to my always-willing-to-help dad.  I asked him to please take it to Best Buy right away because I was afraid they would take longer with the holiday rush and I needed a solution no later than January when we meet in Italy (so he could bring the battery).  Three weeks later, my dad sent me this:


Hello Kid,


Just got your camera in the mail today.  I unpacked the box, read the notes, immediately put on my coat and shoes, got in my car, and drove as fast as I could to Best Buy!  (The cop couldn't keep up so I didn't get a ticket)  When I got to the parking lot there was a front row spot just waiting for me!  After making an older woman pee her depends, I jumped out of the car and ran into the store as fast as my new tennis shoes would take me................Just to frigin' wait in line for about a half hour because some couple can't figure out that they can't get cash back without a receipt!  After they finally got done, I go up to the counter only to find out that "ITS A GEEK THING" and I should have been in the line on the other side of the circular barrier!  I go around and after another fifteen or twenty minutes they told me there was no battery in the camera.  After a few minutes of explanation they finally said it would be no later than Dec. 17th for an answer whether they would junk it and give you a new one, or repair it.  So now we wait.  I'll let you know as soon as I get the word.   


Anything else I can do, just call someone else!  Just kidding, you know I'm here for you two!!  


Love you guys 
Dad


In the meantime, I decided to buy the T2i, which I also had sent to my dad (again, thanks to the battery).  But, because the price keeps fluctuating so much, I told him not to open the box just in case the price goes down enough for me to exchange it.  Here's his response:


Got it Kid. Won't open till I hear from you. This camera thing is like a game with new moves all the time! Like getting my orders from my secret agent boss!


Smart ass.


So a few days ago, Best Buy called my dad and said they'd made a decision on the camera.  They were going to give me a new one - yay!  But there was a catch:  Best Buy wanted to replace my top-of-the-line, $500 point-and-shoot with a puny, little $199 X230HS.  The geek fed my dad some line about technology getting better and prices dropping and compared it to the cost of LED TVs.  Then the geek straight-up lied and said the X230HS is better than the G12.  For those of you who don't know anything about cameras, this is like trying to replace a Mercedes with a Dodge. 


The geek also offered a $199.99 Best Buy gift card.  Oh woo hoo!  Now I only have to spend $300 more dollars to replace the camera on which I already bought a $70 warranty!


Obviously when my dad relayed this offer, I told him to please share with Best Buy my feelings about it.  Feelings that included my favorite four letters, or as they'd call it here in Nigeria, 419 (fraud).  Dad said he'd take care of it.  Then I got this email:


Subject:  The Camera Saga Concluded


OK Kid,


After a short demonstration of Consumer Reports magazine and a full presentation of documents from all the online services Mom could find.....................you now have a BRAND NEW CANON G12 CAMERA IN THE BOX!!!!!!!! 


Tell me what the hell you want me to do NEXT!!


Love you.

Daddy


Silly Best Buy.  Don't try to scam someone who lives in Nigeria!


P.S.  Don't I have the best dad ever?

it's not you, it's me.

Seriously, would everyone please stop inviting us out?  I know my combination of charm, wit and extensive vocabulary of four-letter words makes me irresistible, but I really just don't want to go to your dinner.  Okay, while I'm honored for the invitation and do realize it's probably not my sparkling personality but that everyone stuck here for the holidays is lonely too, I still don't want to go.  I don't mean to sound stuck-up, but I just don't feel like putting on a bra and makeup to go eat your meal out of a can.  Or to stand around making small talk about the same three topics while drinking the same three beverages available to me at home.  Just because everybody works together does not mean that we all have to be together all the time.  Let's face it:  besides where we live and how much we love it here, we really don't have that much in common.  So thanks, but no thanks.  

Really though, when you live in a fishbowl, how do you draw the line?  In such a small community, is it at all possible to avoid offending your co-workers (who also happen to be your neighbors) because you didn't attend their event?  

 

So maybe it makes me a bitch because I skipped the girl's night and my neighbor's brunch and don't want to share my Christmas dinner with anyone besides my husband.  I won't apologize for choosing to sit at home in my hot pink sweatpants with Joey and the dogs and eat popcorn and chocolate chips by the bag and drink wine by the bottle this holiday season.  I prefer to think of myself as an introvert who misses her family and friends and snow and America and just doesn't feel like putting on a brave face to go shoot the shit with people she barely knows on Christmas.  Is that really so bad?

anti-malarials

I started taking Mefloquine. Three weeks before we departed for post.  Mefloquine isn't generally recommended for those who have suffered from depression in the past, but it is the only anti-malarial safe for pregnancy, and this time last year we'd fully intended that I'd be pregnant.

Until we got here.

One look at the haze of the Harmattan and I couldn't bear the thought of bringing a baby back to Abuja.  I absolutely believe in a woman's right to choose when it's the right time for her to become a mother, so I respect the many people who have added to their families here, but I knew this wasn't where I wanted to start mine.

I thought I'd stick with the Mefloquine anyways since it was the easiest option.  It's offered free through the med unit and you only have to take it once a week.

That lasted for about two months.  At the time I was pretty sure it was exacerbating my depression, but looking back on all that we were going through at the time: an international move to a dangerous, third-world country, away from our family and friends and Target, and with it the culture shock of a new home, a new country, a new job and new friends, I'm wondering if maybe it wasn't the Mefloquine that was making me blue.

So back in early March I switched to Doxycycline.  Doxycycline is an antibiotic, and while it doesn't cause the crazy dreams or shit-for-sleep that Mefloquine does, it does cause some killer nausea, especially if you're already prone to motion sickness.  Also, from my completely unscientific research, I deduced that it's generally recommended not to take antibiotics for more than six months consecutively since they kill everything in your system - the good bacteria with the bad bacteria.  And if the sales numbers of Traditional Medicinal's Smooth Move Herbal Tea are any indicator, you'd see a spike between March and four days ago.

Finally on Friday I decided that I was sick of feeling sick every single day.  I ran out of another box of the tea and I figured I'm already depressed this holiday season, so WTF, I'm going back to the Mefloquine.

There is a third option.  While the med unit will write you a prescription for Malarone, they don't keep it on hand, and you have to come out of pocket to pay for this drug.  I first attempted my foray into Malarone in June, but for some reason the insurance company had my birth date wrong and no one at Coventry felt the need to tell me my prescription couldn't be filled.  So I wait the six weeks I'm told it will take for the prescription to be filled and mailed to me and nothing.

After too much time on hold with Coventry, I thought I got my birth date changed.  The patient people in the med unit resubmitted the prescription, patient little me waits six more weeks and still nothing.  The idiots at Coventry couldn't figure out how to change my birth date the first time I sat on hold and so I had to call them.  Again.

Finally this time it appears the monkeys Coventry hired have learned how to differentiate between a 3 and a 4 on the keyboard.  So the med unit submits the prescription again and Coventry denies the claim.

Can you tell my why it was so freaking important that you had my birth date correct if you were going to deny the claim anyway?

At this point it's November.  I see the claim is denied and I assume that means I should be getting the prescription and a bill.

Last week I got a letter in the mail.  I have to provide payment information before I can get my prescription.

So tonight, after I finally get through to a human being who WON'T STOP TALKING, I give her my credit card number and she tells me how much this prescription for the malady that exists in the country where we live because of my husband's employer, who will only pay for the cheap drugs that have shitty side-effects, is going to cost me every three months.

$479.

So you choose.  Malaria; depression, nightmares, inability to fall into a deep sleep; nausea, intense heartburn, complete and utter irregularity; or $479 every three months.

Merry Freaking Christmas.

born this way

I heard Lady Gaga's "Born this Way" on the radio last night.  Ironically enough, Nigeria recently outlawed homosexuality.

Dear all members of all legislative bodies across the world, don't you have anything more important to worry about than what gay people are doing?  Can't we just let them be?

But considering my pop culturally-inept husband didn't know what the song is about, the people at the radio station probably don't know what it's about either.  

online reviews are ruining my life

I'm serious. They have completely debilitated my shopping prowess. I can't buy anything anymore without reading every. single. review.  And even if almost all of the reviews are positive, that one bad review will completely cloud my judgement and render me unable to purchase the item.

Take, for example, sheets. Average review of 3 1/2 stars on Amazon.com:

"These are the nicest sheets ever! A great deal!" say reviewers 1-42.

"These sheets SUCK. They are scratchy and absolutely NOT 1200 thread count," says reviewer #43.

"Very happy with these sheets," according to reviewers 44-84.

"The sheets are great - for six months. Then I woke up with my foot next to the mattress because there was giant hole!" contributes reviewer 85.

Then reviewer 86 gave then a one-star review because the color in person didn't match the color on the computer monitor. Very helpful.

So don't read the reviews, right? No way. In fact, if an item hasn't been reviewed yet, I am even less likely to buy it. How do I know from that grainy little picture and clever online marketing if the product is worth it? Someone has to tell me what to think! And if an item has only been reviewed by one person, even if that person positively glows about the product, that's not enough statistical probability for me. Then those 1200 thread-count, Egyptian-cotton sheets that only cost $30 will actually be burlap (or maybe I've lived here so long I think everything is a scam).

I mean, what if I pay $100 for a set of sheets, wait 3 weeks to get them, wash them and they're scratchy? Good luck trying to return already-washed sheets through the mail (I totally would return those in the store, though. I'd look that manager straight in the eye and tell him his sheets are sheet.) Or what if I pay $100 and I wake up one morning with my foot in a hole? Or like the pair of sheets I'm attempting to replace, what if this pair pills and itches after ten washes?

This is what happens when you have lived in Africa for a year. Twelve months of no shopping, after growing up in the suburbs and having nothing else to do but shop, results in a shop-obsessed- I-suddenly-must-buy-an-ice-bucket crazy person. I am going through shopping withdrawal. What I wouldn't give right now to sit in my car, listening to NPR and fighting holiday traffic to rush through the frigid winter air into the warm, fluorescent wonderland that is Target. To lean on a shopping cart and sip my tall, Starbucks, one-pump-pumpkin-spice, non-fat, no-whip latte as I wander aimlessly through the brightly lit aisles of Bed, Bath and Beyond and listen to cheesy, over-played holiday tunes. To pick up a box, turn it around, read the label, look at the packaging, feel the quality between my fingers and come to my own judgement about whether or not I should buy it. But instead I am relegated to the product of my Google searches and Amazon sorting mechanisms. Then what should be a simple solution to a simple problem (I need new sheets: buy a new set), turns into marathon internet shopping session in which I read 5000 reviews and buy nothing.

By the way, I decided my blog needed an update. Just wanted to give credit where it's due: Lizz, I used your template. I hope you don't mind.

And I'm definitely interested in your reviews.

an open letter to celebrity cruise line

Dear Celebrity,

My very first cruise was on Celebrity.  I was a senior in high school and my friend's mom organized Spring Break on the Celebrity Zenith.  We had a blast.  The cruise ship was beyond impressive, the food beyond delicious and the staff beyond friendly (even when I dropped my entire breakfast tray in the middle of the buffet line).  After my week on the Celebrity Zenith, I returned home with stunning photos, lifelong memories, and ten extra pounds.

Five years later, my husband-to-be and I planned our honeymoon: a Mediterranean cruise.  Finances and dates precluded Celebrity, so we settled for Princess.  It was a lovely cruise, but every time my husband pointed out something great, I replied, "It's nice, but it's not Celebrity."

We took two more cruises over the next few years; timing and cost relegated us to Royal Caribbean and Holland Cruise Lines.  Again my husband complemented our cruise experiences.  Again and again I echoed my refrain: "It's nice, but it's not Celebrity."

Finally this summer we had the opportunity to sail again with Celebrity.  We booked an 11-night cruise on a brand-new ship, the Equinox.  I so looked forward to showing my husband the amazing cruise line that, in my mind, reigned supreme.  And after six months of living in Abuja, neither one of us could wait to be pampered and stuff our face.

We boarded the massive, gorgeous new ship and a waiter handed us flutes of champagne.  Joey looked at me and said, "You win."  We dropped off our bags in our room, impressively ready immediately and gorgeous in its own right, then headed straight for the good stuff: the buffet.  Eyes wide and stomachs growling, we examined the multitude of options: Asian, Italian, Indian, Mexican, salads, meats, cheeses, grilled foods, desserts and more!  We proceeded to the poolside grill station and practically drooled over the burgers, brats, hot dogs, nacho cheese dip, hot wings, french fries, onion rings and acutrements galore.  I hadn't seen fresh, bright green jalapenos in six months and they tasted wonderfully crisp and spicy on my big, juicy burger.

With the giant, fluffy pink margarita I ordered from the poolside bar in hand, Joey and I explored the rest of the ship.  We loved the modern art and the bright, clean spaces.  There seemed more cool bars than days on the ship; but we were ready for the challenge.

Then the cracks appeared.  At dinnertime, we walked downstairs to the main dining room, seating assignment in hand.  A waiter greeted us as we entered, and led us to our table.  Except that table didn't exist.  The waiter kindly asked us to stay put while he figured out our seats, so while the other 1,500 people at the second seating brushed by, we stood in the middle of their way.  After about five minutes the maitre d' finally seated us at a table for five in the corner.

Joey and I always enjoy meeting the other people sailing with us, so we anxiously awaited our dining companions.  And waited.  And waited.  Finally, when it was clear we'd be dining on our own, our waiter finally took our order.  Our meal was delicious and once he finally took our order, our waiter was wonderful; however, throughout our meal several different waiters stopped by our table to pick items from the extra settings there.  First, a fork.  Next a knife.  Then a wine glass.   Obviously I don't need four forks, knives, wine glasses, etc., but it certainly kills the romance when every few minutes someone is stopping by to pilfer from your table.  From our vantage we saw many other tables experience problems of some sort.  Joey and I chalked it up to first night jitters.

The second night we were seated in the same table.  We waited for the other guests to join us again, although this time our waiter was immediately more attentive.  Our other guests never arrived, but our procession of visiting waiters did.  Apologetically, our waiter promised the next night to only set the table for two.

The third day our stateroom attendant delivered a new seating assignment to our room.  That evening the maitre d' escorted us to our new table: at the end of the main thoroughfare for the waiters and diners, and directly in front of the kitchen door.  Bright florescent lights glared from the corner as the door slammed open and shut and waiters shuffled in and out, with the clanging of trays and serving lids and silverware drowning out our attempt at conversation.  Our table was surrounded by so much commotion I opted to forgo dessert (yes, it was that bad), and before leaving the dining room, we requested a new spot from the maitre d'.  He apologized and told us that while the seating was full and we might have to wait a few minutes the next evening, he'd find us a new table.

On the fourth night the maitre d' found what he assured us would be a quieter spot.  He apparently didn't notice the table of ten children under the age of ten seated nearby, who screamed, yelled and threw food our entire meal.  When the neighboring table asked the waiter of the whereabouts of these childrens' parents, he replied, "the specialty restaurant."  The parents deposited their children in the main dining room and left them there, under the supervision of the waiter, and went two floors away to enjoy a quiet dinner.  Are you kidding me?  And Celebrity let this happen?

Joey approached the maitre d' again.  And then when I thought Joey was too soft on the guy, I charged into the conversation.  The maitre d' apologized profusely, explaining that nearly 1/3 of the 3,000 people on board were under the age of 18.  He also informed us that 900 guests were either Latin or South American, which he claimed to be highly unusual and that the cultural differences accounted for the parents' and their childrens' behavior.  (Um, okay?  1. We saw the same families throughout the cruise and every single one of those guests, even the kids, had frequent-cruiser cards, so apparently it wasn't unusual at all.  And 2. How does their ethnicity preclude Celebrity from enforcing a modicum of decorum in the main dining room?)  He assured us he'd find us a quiet table in the future.

The rest of our seating arrangements were amenable, although we were disappointed that we were unable to develop any sort of relationship with our waiters, their assistants, or the wine steward, since we bounced around the dining room for the remainder of the cruise.

Our frustration with the service on-board wasn't limited to the dining room.  After shelling out $200 for a massage and a facial, I spent half an hour of my treatment listening to the on-board announcements read in nine different languages.  My aesthetician merely shrugged and said safety regulations mandated that everyone be able to hear the announcements.  This seemed odd, because I could never hear them in the gym or our room.  One bartender had oppressive body odor and another spent half an hour lecturing Joey and me how Slobodan Milosevic was just "doing what he had to do."  Even our room steward seemed to put forward half-hearted service.

Needless to say, a fabulous new ship and haute food do not a perfect cruise make.  It's the people; the little details remembered by the staff that make the experience memorable.  I was so disappointed by Celebrity's dearth in service, it will be a long time before we consider your cruise line again. 

Here's a link to the pictures I took on the ship: https://picasaweb.google.com/100586084762366858227/Cruise?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCJfB1JevhZDvcA&feat=directlink

lessons learned

Travel lessons I should have learned the first time we schlepped around Italy:

1. Train rides suck.  They make me feel like I drank all the vodka in Russia the night before, whether or not I consumed a drop of alcohol.  They are crowded, generally stinky (although after 6 months here, my tolerance for BO is now as high as a Russian's tolerance for vodka), and just altogether unpleasant.  Whose brilliant idea was it to plan a 9-hour train ride from Provence to Santa Margherita? 

2. Europe is not handicap-friendly.  And big, heavy suitcases are big-ass handicaps.  The same brilliant person who planned the 9-hour train ride thought it would be much easier to just lug one bigger suitcase (each) instead of having to juggle two smaller suitcases (each).  Maybe, until the 9-hour train ride included 4 stops, which meant five separate times Joey had to heave my 60-lb suitcase and his 60-lb suitcase down the staircase to the train platform, up into the train, down out of the train and back down one staircase and up another staircase to the next platform.  In 90-degree heat.  Oops.

Yeah, just because Aix-en-Provence is close to the French Riviera, and Santa Margherita is on the Italian Riviera does not mean you should take a train between them.  Maybe if you take a day in Nice.  Or maybe if a direct train overnight existed (it doesn't), it might be a tolerable trip.  But definitely don't do it the way we did.  By the time we left Aix-en-Provence and stopped in Nice, Ventimiglia and Genoa before arriving in Santa Margherita, we were completely and utterly exhausted.  And I didn't even carry the suitcases.  Which brings me to #3:

Pick one destination and stay there.  Going from A to B to C to D to E is expensive, it's exhausting, and by the end of the trip, it's just plain annoying.  Packing and unpacking and repacking your suitcase gets progressively harder, especially if you buy any sort of souvenir.  Particularly if you've been in Nigeria for six months and are struck, first numbly, and then overwhelmingly, by your innate, American consumerism that sat dormant during the last several months.  Trust me.  Go somewhere you can explore for a few days and from where you can easily explore a few other destinations for a few days.   A to B to A to C is infinitely easier.

Oh, and wearing high heels because your travel shoes are broken and you'll have slightly more room in your suitcase is beyond inane.  Who would be dumb enough to do that? 

fraud

So frustrated right now.  The price of groceries in this town is freaking ridiculous.  Our sponsor recommended we use netgrocer.com to purchase some goods, as they usually arrive in two to three weeks, which will help us save at least some money until our HHE and all of the consumables we purchased in DC arrive. 


So yesterday I spent an hour putting together a netgrocer.com order.  Then I attempted to pay for it using Paypal.  Paypal locked me out of my account until I entered the checking account associated with the card.  Well unfortunately the account number I entered was associated with Joey's PayPal account and so PayPal locked both accounts.  At this point I still have no idea that I'm using a Nigerian IP address, and so I'm going to our bank website trying to figure it out, back to our PayPal accounts - all over the place for about two hours.  Finally, defeated, I decide to try again tomorrow.

Last night one of our friends told us the internet in the library was not on a secure line.  Awesome.  Luckily today I was finally granted access to the computer lab.  I thought I saw two suspicious transactions but Joey checked them and we're okay.  I spent another two hours redoing my netgrocer order and trying to figure out PayPal.  Unfortunately we're both still locked out of our accounts.  Which also means we're locked out of netgrocer and locked into exhorbitant prices on laundry detergent and paper towels.  But I suppose I'm glad that PayPal is paranoid because I ignorantly exposed myself to fraud.

Rant

Our neighbors are freaking annoying.  Right now the guy above us is having a party and everyone up there is stomping around like freaking elephants.  I am about a minute away from going over to the buzzer outside and just holding it down.

The people below us do not like our dogs.  Twice now we have received notes about the dogs barking but guess what?  They forgot that thin walls work both ways.  Last Friday while laying in bed, Joey and I were treated to the sounds of their half-hour sex session, including moans, groans and several "Oh my Gods!"  Not to mention that she is ugly so that really makes for a nice image in my head.

As much as I am not exactly excited to go to Nigeria, I am so excited to move out of this loud, unfriendly, dirty, cramped rowhouse!  At least in Nigeria we will have a big house with no shared walls and nice neighbors!

Need Ice Cream

I'm having a bad day.

First, I signed up last week for a photography class, "DC Photo Safari."  It started today at 9:45 and who was fifteen minutes late even though she left half an hour early because she walked past the meeting point?  Oh, me.  I forgot the stupid diagonal streets in this town mean that just because one side of the street is one name, the other side isn't necessarily the same street!  Take for example, Pennsylvania Avenue.  Kinda hard to miss, seeing as the White House is on it, right?  Well I figured that because you take New York Ave to get to the White House, the other side of the White House must be the Pennsylvania side since that is New York Avenue.  Um, no.  So I walked past Pennsylvania Avenue, right past my group, an extra three or four blocks until I passed the other side of the White House...luckily by then the instructor had called and directed me back to where I needed to be.

Then, maybe ten minutes into the photo class, my battery started losing juice.  Within an hour it was completely dead.  Come on!  So I got some pictures but none using the time I would have liked to compose them and none actually employing the techniques we learned today.  At least I had already gotten the instructor to agree to let me attend the afternoon session next week so I didn't have to leave the dogs unattended all day, so I will have a fully charged battery next time, but still!

After discovering a great salad place, Chop't, I headed home to let the dogs out.  I took Moe and George separately over to the little "dog park" by our house.  I came back inside to discover I had stepped in shit.  It was all over my shoe and pant leg.  Disgusting.

Then I got my period.

Then, after a trip to the grocery store, I attempted to stop at a dessert place, because chocolate was very called for at this point.  In parking the car I almost ran over a biker, who knocked on the window of the car to tell me so. 

The dessert place was closed, so in a last-ditch attempt to make the day better, we stopped at CVS for Ben & Jerry's.  They closed 4 minutes earlier.   Now I am ice cream-less, hormonal, and crabby, and just spent the last half hour scrubbing shit off my shoe and blood off the carpet (because of course Moe's tail is bleeding).

An Open Letter to My Landlord

Dear Sahar,

I moved every piece of furniture in your house today.  I'm not sure when a furnished apartment became "leave all your crap," but I would greatly appreciate it if you could pick up all the chatzkes around here and take them with you, as I don't have enough room for my crap, let alone your crap.  I mean the giant jade horses's head is beautiful and all but it would be much prettier if it didn't serve as a bookend for paper towels, since I have no where else to put them.  Today I decided the giant Eiffel tower statue that you left here would look much more authentic if I left it outside - the elements provide that lovely galvanized look.  And what's the deal with all the dead flowers around here?  I get the concept of potpourri, but a dead flower arrangement that still has the plastic fork that holds the card is not potpourri.  Can I please throw it away?  It gives me the creeps.  Also, you have these matching decorative wine and martini glasses and pitcher - they are in my way.  I actually like to use the kitchen to cook, as such, my cooking utensils that thank God I brought since your idea of a furnished kitchen is a ton of pots and pans and nothing else (and I may have gotten the only cutting board stuck in the drawer under the stove) need the home that your wine glasses are currently occupying.  And let's talk about the spice rack.   Did you think that by leaving me this spice set you apparently purchased when you moved in here in 2001 that you were doing me a favor?  I emptied all of the spice jars today, seeing as they had all turned gray or brown, and put them in the dishwasher. 

Additionally, how in the world could you have ever possibly thought that a white couch would be appropriate rental furniture?  I have three dogs and you knew that before you rented to me.  Did you just figure that replacing the couch would cost way less than the deposit that you'll probably keep from us?   I appreciate that you have someone coming tomorrow afternoon to steam-clean it, but I would have really appreciated it much more if you'd had that person come before we moved in.  Nonetheless I will continue to put my bare ass on it, so you may want to have it steam-cleaned again before the next tenants move in.  Speaking of cleaning, let's go back to the I have three dogs thing and you rented me a furnished apartment without a vacuum.  And didn't tell me to bring one.  Thank God I at least brought the little half-assed dust buster on a stick that I did, because if not, no amount of steam-cleaning the carpets is going to make up for not vacuuming nine months of three dogs' hair.  I mean, not that I should be concerned with leaving this place clean - I've never seen so many dust bunnies and cobwebs in my life.  Have you heard of a Swiffer?  Don't worry, though, I took pictures of all the stains on the carpet and paint scratched off the wall just in case you try to screw me out of more than just space.

Finally, the flat screen TV wall mount in my bedroom is really cool.  It would be even cooler if there was a TV attached to the mount.  Can you either take the mount down or add a TV?  I know it seems like a lot to ask but every night I go to sleep that is the last thing I see and frankly its ugly.

Your tenant,
Melissa

I'm slightly annoyed.  We moved here less than two weeks ago and the State Dept has already sent my husband out of town for the night.  I realize that this was a planned activity that he knew about long before we moved to DC, but I still think its shitty that I'm stuck here alone.  I organized a gathering of the other A-100 spouses and so I'm definitely looking forward to commiserating with some of them (or at least dining), but it still annoys me that I have to sleep alone tonight.  I realize that there are probably literally a million single women that live here in DC and sleep just fine and safe all by themselves at night, and I realize that I also have about 100 lbs of deterrent in the form of a big, scary (unless you know him), barking black dog.  Nonetheless, I am definitely going to need more than one cocktail to fall asleep tonight - not to mention being brave enough to walk the two blocks from the Metro station to my house in the dark.  Okay, seriously though, I live in a very safe neighborhood and the Metro station is located in the convention center so there are always tons of people around and security guards and its not an issue, but I grew up in Iowa, ok?  I mean, we always locked our doors at night but coming from 26 years of suburbian living to downtown DC is an adjustment by itself, not to mention without my big, tough, strong husband to keep me safe (gag me - sad, but true).

Another adjustment?  Mobility.  Even though I have more mobility at my disposal here than I did in Iowa, I feel totally debilitated.  I swear to God figuring out this bus schedule, metro schedule, parking schedule and matching it to my schedule takes more time than the activity itself.  Monday I got another $25 parking ticket when I drove to yoga.  Apparently I missed the meters.  So Tuesday I decided no more driving, the public transportation is great in this town, I'm taking the bus.  I left early, went to the CVS to get my Smartcard for cheaper fares, and then waited for the bus.  Well the bus stop is on the wrong side of the street.  So when the bus came (early, or so I thought), I got on and thought "this is the wrong way."  After about 5 blocks I decided to ask the bus driver and he told me I needed to get off and go across the street.  What he neglected to tell me was that his was the same bus that would be arriving across the street, after it had made a loop around the Federal Triangle.   So I got off, crossed the street and waited for the next bus (20 minutes), got back on the same bus when it came, and by then had missed my class.  So instead I went to the grocery store and walked home. 

Today I got on the right bus (the website says the stop is at 11th and L - the stop is actually 11th and M) and got to yoga on time.  After class, I caught the first bus, but then decided I could probably walk home faster since I had to wait ten minutes for the second bus that took me 7 blocks.  So I ended up walking home but freaking out the whole time because like I said before, even though my neighborhood is safe, its quite a different demographic than that of Urbandale, Iowa.  It is so frustrating to me that to travel a little over a mile it takes at least half an hour on a bus each way or a very carefully parked car (and now that we are almost $100 into parking tickets I've got nothing but time to ride buses). 

The traffic and parking and public transportation in this town is just downright confusing and frustrating and frankly, I felt more successful at explaining to my 85 year old Italian-American grandmother (whom I love very much), who has lived within a 2-block radius her entire life, why I was excited about Joey's career choice to move around the world and why I am not at home, in Des Moines, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, than I have at getting around town these last two weeks.  As such, instead of taking in the sights and museums like I should be, I'm hanging out at home with the dogs.  Granted, there has been plenty here to keep me busy, what with unpacking, cleaning (I swear this place hasn't been cleaned in two years), and the dogs, but really, let's face it.  I'm chicken shit to go do anything by myself.  Besides run, of course, because for some reason with my iPod and running shoes I feel like I can do anything - so at least since I run the mall everyday I get to see the museums and monuments that way.

Anyways, like I said above, tonight is dinner with the other spouses and I am going to do it all by myself...


Okay so I decided not to post this earlier because I didn't want to get my parents all worked up...I thought, I'll wait until I get home safe and sound and then post it.  Well, I didn't have to worry about walking home in the dark at all because no one showed up.  No one!  All these people emailed me and said it was a great idea and the ones who couldn't come told me they wanted to do something another night and then there were some people who said they were coming and so I went and waited...and waited...and waited.  Finally about 20 minutes later, practically on the verge of tears, I went back to the hostess, apologized and went home.  I got a phone call about 20 minutes after that and I guess some people eventually showed up but there's only so much standing around by yourself waiting you can do before a breakdown ensues.  Luckily I got home before mine hit.

So dinner tonight for me is a protein bar and amaretto.  I would drink something stronger but all we have is bourbon and I can't drink that shit.  I'm not going to lie, I'm so freaking lonely.  It's one thing to be alone all day, with the exception of your interaction with your trainer, Mansur (not even kidding that's his name, and so by the quality of his name you can probably judge the quality of the interaction), but then to be alone all night too is really hard.  I mean, I didn't have a ton of friends in Des Moines, but I had friends there.  And my sisters.  And a few friends coming through town every once in a while.  Here all I have is Joey and now he's gone its lonely and hard.  I just hope that when we go abroad he doesn't have that many nights away from me because its hard enough to adjust to living in DC and not have him here - its going to be really rough when I'm trying to adjust to living in Africa and my husband is gone. 

Oh well.  At least I've got my boys.  

Post from Yesterday

I wrote this yesterday.  Unfortunately the internet was down all day so here it is now.

Wow! What a morning it’s been and its not yet 8 am.  I just got back from taking Joey to his first day of work.  This morning he’s at “Main State” which is in Foggy Bottom, apparently somewhat of a trek from the nearest Metro (or so I’m told – methinks its akin to not wanting to ride the school bus the first day).  Starting tomorrow, and for the majority of his time here, Joey’ll be at the Foreign Service Institute (FSI) in Arlington, which is accessible by a Metro.  However, as we currently are juggling two cars and one parking space, Joey may be driving himself to work tomorrow since FSI has a parking lot. 

The drive to get Joey to work was easy – straight down 9^th, take a right on Constitution (at the Smithsonian), go down Constitution to 23^rd, take a right and he’s right there.  Unfortunately, the drive back was not so simple.  I couldn’t really turn around since there were 2 lanes of traffic in between me and the other side, and so I headed up 23^rd.  DC is on a grid, with the numbers going one way (East/West or North/South – I don’t know which) and the letters going the other.  Diagonally are the state roads (i.e. Pennsylvania, etc.).  Well somewhere between 23^rd and M and 9^th are a lot of one-way roads, none of which seemed to be going the way I needed to go.  Though I got quite a scenic tour of the city (including Chinatown where the frigging street signs are in Chinese – a lot of good that does me – which resulted in a turn onto a one-way street and oncoming traffic (don’t worry I backed up, almost into several pedestrians crossing the street), I really would have preferred it on foot.  

Upon finally finding our address and attempting to parallel park the Volvo and a 7 or 8 point turn later, I was driving around the block back to the all day parking lot.  Now I don’t have to move the car every 2 hours and find a spot and parallel park.  The guy had me back into the back corner (since I told him I’d be back at closing time) and I thought apparently he didn’t see me driving around DC like a chicken with its head cut off.  Then, even though they take your keys, he made me pay now, which of course I don’t have cash.  So luckily there’s a little market across the street so I just had to walk pass the vagrants (I don’t know if they really were vagrants) to go inside and find an ATM – thank God there was one.  So $9 and a block later, here I am, relieved that when I opened the door the dogs weren’t barking up a storm in their kennels. 

The dogs seem to have adjusted pretty quickly.  George made friends this morning with 3 other dogs while out for his morning constitutional.  Joey, while taking Max out yesterday, met a woman who told him the neighborhood was not only very friendly but very dog friendly and told him about a dog park nearby so when we have a minute to breathe we’ll check that out.  Joey also met the neighbors below us yesterday when he fell down the stairs in front of our house while taking Moe out (it was raining) because he made such a thud they came out to check on him.  Apparently they were very nice too and offered help with anything we needed.  I’m happy to know Joey has interacted with some nice neighbors because the first neighbor I met was a royal asshole. 

Like I said above, we have one parking spot.  It’s in the back alley, where there are 4 other parking spots.  Ours is in the top right corner, parallel to a fence.  Someone parks behind us and three cars park perpendicular to us with a large space between.  Well, since we were unloading the cars, we moved both into our spot (parallel to the fence).  We’d been there about ½ an hour when Joey went to the corner cafe, The First Cup, to get us some sandwiches.  Soon I heard some knocking on the back door.  Smiling, I walked to the door, assuming a neighbor had come to say hello.  Facing me was a short, bleach-blond, ruddy-faced queen with his hand on his hip.  “Is that your car?” he blurted.  “I can’t get my car out you need to move it IMMEDIATELY.”  

In the meantime I’m trying to get out the door without the dogs getting out and Moe gets through.  Thank God he didn’t jump on this prick because clearly he already had his panties in a bunch – the guy goes “GET that dog away from me.”  Well no problem, asshole, Moe has run away. 

I said “Is that gate open?” 

Rupaul replied “The gate is always left open” then he goes into this diatribe about how I need to move my car and I’m like hey princess, my dog is in the alley I’ve got better things to worry about (I wish I’d said that but I only thought it and was really worked up at this point).  Thank God Moe is terrified of DC because he came running back immediately so first I get Max inside (who has also come out to see what is going on) then Moe inside, shut the door and now face my friendly neighbor and say, “Ok, I will move the car.” 

So I go inside and realize that Joey has the keys with him.  I get Joey on the phone and told him he needed to come back and he said it’d be about 15 minutes.  In the meantime (this is about 1 minute), dickhead is back and he is banging on the back door.  I mean just pounding.  The dogs, of course go nuts and so I just stay in the other room where he can’t see me.  When the pounding stops I go to the back door to close the curtain when he comes back again and as I’m closing the curtain the frigging curtain rod comes crashing to the floor.  I’m like great, this guy is being an asshole and here I am pulling curtains on the floor.  Meanwhile Joey and I have arranged that he’ll come back and deal with Princess and I’ll go to the deli and wait for our lunch.  So Joey arrives (through the front door) and I leave, shaken and totally annoyed.  Joey goes to the back and tells the guy in Joey’s oh-so-annoying-when-you’re-mad-at-him-but-awesome-when-you’re-on-his-team-supreme-calm way to calm down, “no need to throw a temper-tantrum,” we’ll move the car. 

Apparently Princess then said, “I called the police.” 

Joey replied, “Oh good, I’ll wait for them.” 

This sent Princess to a whole new level of rage who said , who began yelling “F you” (he said the whole word) repeatedly as well as “Move your f-ing car.”  Joey told Princess that since he had called the police he didn’t want to move the car and be charged with fleeing the scene.  Princess is still yelling the F word – now mind you, there was room this entire time for Princess to get his car out.  He just wanted to pick a fight.  So anyway, Princess and Joey go back and forth and Princess admits he didn’t call the police.  Joey acquiesces to move the car and Princess says “I got a picture of your tags.” 

Joey asked him what he planned to do with them, to which Princess replied his refrain (“F you, you f-ing asshole”).  Finally Joey moved the car but I’m glad he put Princess in his place.  Next time I see him I am going to woman up and thank him, as warmly as possible, for such a warm welcome to the neighborhood.  I’m still thinking about putting a sappy thank you note on his car but this dude is the epitome of a righteous, flaming gay man and I’m pretty sure it would only incite him to call the ACLU.  Because he’s the type of guy who would say we picked his car to block because he’s gay.  (Which now after my diatribe I feel like I should insert that I really like gay people and I am all for gay marriage and rights but this guy is the type who gives gays a bad name).

After that lovely incident, we parked the Eos, emptied the Volvo and went to Target (because what else will make you feel better more than a trip to Target?).  The Target here is really cool – it’s situated in a mini-mall with Bed Bath and Beyond and Best Buy and you can take your cart from the parking garage below up into all of the stores and the Target even has a cart escalator.  So two hours and $200 later, we found the Whole Foods, parked in its free garage (I love you Whole Foods), and walked across the street to get some food and much needed alcohol.  After a pitcher of strawberry-mint sangria, we walked back to Whole Foods, bought our groceries and drove home, exhausted. 

More unpacking yesterday was broken up by a run to the Capitol, past some of the Smithsonians, to the Washington monument (where there was a triathlon and Tea Party rally – seriously I wish the Tea Partiers would realize their message would carry so much farther without the camo gear), then by the White House.  We also had a gathering last night in Falls Church (only a few miles outside DC but it took us 45 minutes to find the place because A) the traffic, even at 4:30 on Sunday afternoon, is freaking nuts and B) the town of Seven Corners has seven different ways to turn off the highway and Google Maps doesn’t really cut it.   It was nice to meet some of the people we’ll be spending the next several years with – I also thought it was really funny when some of them told me they had read my blog. 

After the gathering we went to church, where the Archbishop of Washington said mass (random), and then out for beer with a few of Joey’s friends from Principal who were in town for the triathlon.   

Today my goal is to unpack some more, find a yoga studio, gym and map.  I really need a map.