A Fungal Affair

My housemates and I have planted a garden.

Townhouses in DC don't offer much yard space, but we have a modest little plot with just enough room for trash bins, a rangy rosebush, and a tired box garden that had clearly seen nothing but neglect before our arrival.

We ripped out the dried up tomato plants, tilled and mulched and etc, and sprinkled some seeds. Now we're nurturing carrots, beets, peas, arugula, spinach, basil, daisies, and marigolds. I've never successfully grown anything from seed before, but I would say we've seen raging success.

You may notice (or not, the pic is kinda small) that the beets refuse to be nurtured. No matter, I don't like 'em anyway -- instead, tonight I had a lovely arugula salad for dinner. Yummo.

You know what else we're growing? Mushrooms. You know where we're growing them? In our kitchen wall.

Situation: DC has experienced some heavy rains recently. (Welcome to spring. Yay thunder!) I had water issues occasionally in my old cave-like apartment, but have since then moved to a posh lil townhouse. Unfortunately, our new house has not proved exactly, um, waterproof? Let's just say an evening of games and guests turned into a frantic dash for towels and pots to catch drips.

The water damage is especially obvious in our kitchen, which was pretty terrible to begin with. Envision narsty pink wallpaper from the 60's, cobwebs that have fused to the surface in the humidity, grease stains splashed randomly here and there, and pink formica countertops with permament stains on them. Classy. Now add peeling narsty pink wallpaper to the mix, with dark blotches of water damage. KLASSY.

A contractor came to fix the leak. A few days later we noticed some wires poking out from behind the peeling-back wallpaper. Must be leftover from the contractor, I mused idly, grabbing an apple as I rushed out the door. Whatever, deal with it later. I kind of purposefully ignored the fact that wires poking out from a random pink wall with no outlets in it made no sense whatsoever.

Wires, amiright?!

Later that day, my housemate: "So, are those wires...or, something growing?"
Me: "Wires. They're definitely wires."
Her: "Are you sure?"
Me: "...Yes." *Leaves room abruptly.*

Upon closer inspection, they're not wires. They're mushrooms. Or fungi of some kind. And while I do love our garden, I don't want it that conveniently located. I prefer my veggies to grow outside. 

Landlord is on it, though. He's great. And I think when our back wall gets replaced, we'll be able to replace all the wallpaper. Win? I think so.

NOT COOL, ROBERT FROST.

Okay. Hi Internet. Been awhile. How ya been? Cool.

 

You know what’s not cool? Job insecurity. Job insecurity during a recession (potentially The Recession?). I interned for a whole year after graduating – I scraped and clawed and brown-nosed my way to a steady paycheck, and no one’s taking that away from me. You’ll have to pry it from my white, lifeless fingers, and then you’ll have to sprint away because my zombie body will come to life and chase after you for it, arms outstretched, yelling, “My paycheck…my paycheck…” Maybe I’ll be one of those sexy zombies. They seem to have fun. They make movies n such.

(Do I have a flair for the dramatic? Just a tad. Ask my friends about it sometime.)

Anywho.

I’m not saying I’m in imminent danger of losing my job. *smoothes hair into place and pastes on confident smile* I’m just saying that my department is experiencing some changes in the next few months, and those months do contain the very, very small chance that I might get laid off. Needless to say, I’m dusting off my CV and doing some quiet searching for new opportunities.

But the idea of being thrown back into unemployment terrifies me.

Part of it would be great – sweatpants, mac n cheese, and sleeping in – but really. That’ll get old after, like, a day. Then I’ll be bored, miserable, and discouraged.*

For some reason I always figured that doing the intern/whatever job/60-hr week thing was a one-time thing, a pattern for a stage of life that would not need repeating. But I guess that’s no guarantee. If I lose my job and can’t find a replacement in time, I’m gonna HAVE to pick something else up. Girl’s gotta make rent.

This gives me a lot of compassion for workers in retail, restaurants, etc, even the people on the sidewalk with cardboard signs who we all rush past and avoid eye contact with – it’s so easy to let ourselves judge based on appearances. But really, we don’t know anything. Maybe s/he had a great job and got laid off. Maybe a family member had crazy health problems and s/he went into debt. Maybe s/he just likes working in a restaurant.

Point is, anything can happen to anybody.

You all know that Robert Frost poem? Two roads diverged in a yellow wood… Yeah, my high school had the last few lines of that poem painted on a stairwell wall. I stared at it every day as I trudged to Biology, honors English, and honors government (yeah, we didn’t have AP, podunk small town that we were). Sometimes the words annoyed me, but most days they simultaneously inspired and vindicated me in my nerd-dom: "Yeah! I’m just over here taking the road less traveled!"

I’ve thought about those lines a lot since I’ve moved to DC. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I/I took the one less traveled by/And that has made all the difference.

They still assuage my troubled soul at times, but ya know what? Here, let me put it in words from our dear Kid President: “Two roads diverged in the woods…and I took the road less traveled…and it hurt, man! Really bad! ROCKS! THORNS! And GLASS! Not cool, Robert Frost!”

Available at
http://www.cafepress.com/kidpresident.776411657



Yeeeaaaahhh, dear ole Robbie forgot to mention that part. Rocks n thorns n glass n stuff. That’s what this whole “road less traveled” things is all about, huh?

Awesome. Lemme grab my hiking boots.


*[Editor's note: when I zapped this post over to The Sis for editing, she said, "haha, everytime you talk about job uncertainty, unemployment, being bored, miserable, discouraged, i [want you to] insert 'ie: my sister' *sad, slightly hysterical lawls*" Reprinted w permission, cuz there are no sissy fights here.]

Careful with those winky faces: some notes on friendliness

Our era of pervasive (invasive?) technology, constant texting, and social media has changed the way people interact. Don't believe me? Check out articles here, here, and here. Whatever your thoughts on the matter, technology is here to stay (and grow), and the way we communicate is adapting along with it.

For instance, let's take texting. Have you ever tried to explain texting etiquette to your father, a man who could barely be bothered to TURN ON his phone and yet has recently purchased a smartphone?

My text: "Dad, you have to add some more punctuation to your texts...otherwise you sound detached, like a robot ;) "
Dad's text: "Beep"

Thanks, Dad. You're hilarious.

Smiley faces, winky faces, sunglass faces, evil grin faces...they are powerful little emoticons that can help soften your messages, adding color to something that could otherwise be very flat and impersonal. They can also convey things that words simply cannot. Just ask anyone who's ever flirted via text. Ahem, don't ask me; in case this isn't abundantly clear from earlier posts, I'm kind of awkward.

However! Be careful with thy winky faces! For with great power comes great responsibility: you may think you're being friendly, chill, and awesome [Drinks after work? 6? ;) ], but text messaging has an amazing capacity to be misunderstood. It lacks TONE. Maybe someone's response [Sure] is short and curt because you smell and are clingy and they actually don't want to get together for drinks. OR maybe the office is busy and he/she just can't think beyond the next 10 minutes.

Texts can also be misunderstood in the other direction. Say, for instance, you're harmlessly chatting with the cute desk manager at your gym. He happens to have experience in your desired career. You exchange numbers and start texting, arranging a time to meet up and talk about that career further. Then he sends this: "I hope business isn't the only reason you come to the gym. :D"

Oh my.

You don't want to give him the wrong impression. You have a boyfriend after all. (Readers, it should be noted that this is not my story.) So you gulp and, being both sensible and sensitive, send back, "Hey, hate to do this over text, but I actually have a bf. Always interested in meeting a new friend tho!"

He returns, quickly: "lol thats not what i meant but i could see how it would come off that way. i actually have a girl myself."

You: "Oh awesome. I'm gonna go die of embarrassment now."

Take-away lesson here: Be care with thy winky faces, people. Be careful with thy winky faces.


Editor's note: Texts have been changed to reflect some norms of punctuation, in order to make content accessible to those not familiar with texting jargon. Aka, my parents. Love you guys! 

Things that have happened in the interim – a 2-month recap

I went Home.

While normally I’m happy to babble endlessly about my home and my family, right now the thought of doing so just makes me homesick. I refer you to this post. Or this one.

I went to some weddings.  

Three, to be precise, three Saturdays in a row. Family, friend, friend. Notable moments: rafting down the river for my cousin’s ceremony, seven boats all lashed together while the vows were said over the water; bonding over mutual beer snobbery (and too many Jack-and-Coke’s) with my other cousin; discovering a high school bud is getting hitched next week and oh wouldn’t you like to attend?; seeing The Sis and another childhood best friend as bridesmaids.

I got really sick. Again.

Nasty head cold this time, layed me out for about a week. Unfortunately I had to fly back to DC before it had run its course, and all the subsequent pressure changes left me deaf in one ear for about two days. I actually warned my boss, “I’m not ignoring you, I just can’t hear anything you say.” It was freakin hilarious. In a "I think I might be dying" kind of way.

Btw, this dang cold is still hanging on. I’ve been sniffling for about three weeks now, and I had a relapse last week that turned into a sore throat. It also significantly impacted my ability to complain.

I discovered that my hometown has what’s dangerously close to a “nightlife.”

Since I’ve been gone, Brookie’s Cookies (yes you read that right) acquired a liquor license and a backyard patio, complete with a stage and a fire pit. Add in live music and drunk people with a tendency to stand too close to the flames, and you’ve got an instant hit.

We also have a new bar – one that could actually be considered DC-chic. No dirt floors or panties on the taps here! A DJ playing club music even attracted a small dancing crowd, and yes, I rocked my moves with the best of them.

Apparently I’ve got game?

This is news to me – I consider myself more of the ‘lovable dork’ variety, not the ‘sexy stranger’ you’d hit on in a bar. Case in point, I recently remarked that I must be a reincarnation of the awkward Liz Lemon from 30 Rock, and my friend listening quickly (too quickly?) agreed.

However, while at home I "picked up" a very handsome cowboy at a bar, and in the last week I’ve been 2/2 for exchanging numbers with other targets attractive gents. We’ll see where this goes, cuz I’m a bit suspicious of this new trend and don't quite know what to do with it, but I’ll keep you posted.

While we’re on the subject of my vanity…

I continue my search for a great DC hair stylist.  
I had a great stylist all through high school who understood my hair’s thickness and natural curl, and who always managed to cut flattering layers. However, factor in DC’s higher humidity and 4 extra inches of hair, and you get this: 

Yesterday a friend called me "Extra Hair."

My hairbrush recently snapped in two while I was brushing through my 80’s-style mess long tresses, so I’ve bumped this up on my list of priorities.*

Also, I should probably get signed up at a doctor’s office now that I have regular health insurance.

I continue to not know what to do with my life. 
I recently got a job, but that doesn’t mean that stressing about my future has ceased.  I still feel like I need a plan. Grad school? Foreign service? Waitress through Scotland? Move to LA? Choices, choices….

*I don’t know why you’d really care about this issue, because I hardly care. I just thought my hairbrush breaking was hilarious and I wanted to mention it.

Disturbing content HERE

Okay, yall. I'm gonna apologize for the disturbing content I'm about to post. Hhhhyeah. You'll be grossed out. These images are not for the meek.

My apartment has cockroaches.

To those of you who are rolling your eyes and muttering, Psh, well I've dealt with cockroaches for years, this is not blog-able content...Congratulations. You've dealt with cockroaches. You win an award. But this girl has NOT ever had to deal with them, and she's struggling a little with the adjustment.

I think Montana must be too cold or not humid enough or something, but honestly. I've never seen a cockroach before in my life. So when I was doing dishes and a brown, shiny, look-I-have-jointed-legs-and-an-exoskeleton bug-thing crawled up the disposal, I didn't react, ahem, well. Meaning, I yelped and dropped the plate back into the sink. Luckily, The Sis was with me at the time, so I pawned the bug-removal-situation off on her.

"Aw, it's just a lil Junebug!" she said, scooping him up in a bowl and depositing him in the grass outside.

I had my doubts about that, but I kept them to myself. Don't Junebugs have cute green and white stripes on them? And aren't they smaller? As in, NOT the size of my palm?

But hey, people every day choose to solve their problems by avoiding the very questions and details they should ask for--I joined that noble and classy crowd by choosing not to think too deeply whether that bug was an actual Junebug or not.

This incident faded from my mind. Until one night when I was sitting on my bed, minding my own business.

And something scuttled across the floor. Buried itself in a shadow by a stray sock. The sock wiggled.

I yelped again, and then froze. The "something" looked suspiciously similar to that "Junebug" from a few weeks ago...$%@! I thought. I'm the only one home. That means I have to deal with this.

Just to clarify. I can take care of myself -- I don't have a problem killings bugs or fixing faucets or grouting bath tile, or what have you. I DO have an issue with bugs that have exoskeletons. I dunno what it is, something about their shiny quality, the way they *crunch* when you kill them. They just seem so alien. So...evil. As if they are on a single-minded mission to destroy me.

When I was in middle school, my science class did an animal-dissection unit. We dissected giant worms, giant bullfrogs, aaaaand giant locusts from Africa. I had no problems with the former two -- I played with the frog lungs just like everyone else (you could actually make the lung inhale by forcing air into it with an eye dropper!) -- but I took one look at that locust and told my lab partner, "Josh, you're handling this one."

The "something" still sat camped out by my sock as all these pleasant childhood memories coursed through me. I pulled myself together. Armed with a cup and a plate, I trapped the invader and took him to the bathroom. "Let's see how you handle being flushed down the toilet," I told him smugly.

Turns out he handled it just fine. Since he refused to be flushed.

The backwash from the flush carried the little bastard back from the pipes, right back into the toilet bowl, where he proceeded to crawl calmly up the porcelain. Horrified, I pumped the flush handle repeatedly, but the water pressure wasn't recovered enough to do any more than sputter half-heartedly. The bug, whom I was certain was a cockroach at this point, had almost reached the rim. I grabbed at the toilet seat and slammed it down, hard, knocking the little cuss back into the water. Where he promptly crawled right back up the porcelain.

This process repeated itself until the water pressure recovered. It was a very lady-like situation, me cursing at the toilet while slamming the seat down over and over.

Eventually the water pressure recovered, and I sent that sucker down to the sewer to die. Done-zo. Gone. I was flushed with success (see what I did there?), but I had a new problem. Great, my apartment has cockroaches. 

I approached my landlords about the situation. Now, my landlords are WONDERFUL. But they wanted to be sure that these were cockroaches, and not "water bugs." Which apparently plague the area as well.

Allow me to illustrate.

THIS IS A WATER BUG

THIS IS A #%$^@*& COCKROACH

As you can see, class, the bug on the left has two pairs of legs and little horns. The exotic design on his back may be considered mildly interesting. The spawn on the right, however, has six legs and antennae. Notice a distinct LACK of horns. No design, other than a design to haunt my dreams forever.

The creatures I've killed have all had antennae. They are cockroaches.

Aaaaa I can't even look at these pictures anymore. Sorry to disturb you all with them. *Shudder* I can't believe I had to save them to my computer to write this post. I'm gonna go die now.

Editor's note: Aftan's apartment is regularly visited by The Orkin Man, aka The Bug Guy. A lapse in his visits allowed the spawn of cockroaches, but that has been remedied. Apartment = re-bug-proofed. Cockroaches = gone. (I hope...)