Behind the Curtain: Second Edition

I was chatting with new friends who grew up in Ecuador and they said something funny that resonated with me. They explained that when they were growing up, they would see these people from America come there to teach English and they thought those teachers were so motivated and admirable...but now that they live in the U.S., they realize: those teachers were just restless college kids who couldn’t figure out what to do with their lives after graduation.

I’ve thought about stuff like that before. Like when my college friends started becoming teachers, I saw my beloved elementary school teachers in a whole new light. I knew my friends were staying out late on the weekends, having parties, dancing like idiots, and making out with strangers. Was Miss Plough also doing that when I was in kindergarten!?

Mind. Blown.

It reminded me of a post I wrote a few years ago about how it is when you see “behind the curtain” on things in life. So many things I thought would be a certain way, or were unattainable, really aren't when you get the inside scoop. So I thought I’d update that post a bit and re-post.

Behind the Curtain 

I’ve mentioned that I have an insatiable urge to experience everything. I’m not satisfied unless I feel like I’ve seen behind the curtain – like in the Wizard of Oz. Everything in life to me is like this amazing, intriguing thing on the outside and I just have  to go behind the scenes and see what’s really going on.

It might’ve started when I was little. I recall a school carnival that included a haunted house. I went through once and was freaked out. But I dropped something when I went through so the people running the haunted house stopped being scary and took me through the whole thing backwards so I could retrace my steps and find the thing I lost. All these goblins and witches were now being nice and concerned for me -which was trippy for a little kid!- and I got to have an inside look at how this haunted house thing really worked.

So yeah, that’s probably where this whole “I must see what’s really going on” obsession started. Because not only did that experience cure my fear of those haunted house things, but when you’re in elementary school and you get to “cut the line” and be personally escorted by a ghost, you start to feel powerful! 


And that thirst for power curiosity to see behind the scenes has followed me into adulthood. I’m always trying to get an insider’s view of things. Like what’s it really like to run a marathon? (long). Or wouldn’t it be cool to work in one of those secured government facilities where you need a special code to get in? (it wasn’t. I had to leave all my electronics at the door and I couldn’t IM my friends on gmail if I got bored…) Or wouldn’t it be awesome to be in a rock band and perform in front of crowds?

Ok that actually was really awesome.

But sometimes I’ve had moments where I’ve gone behind the curtain and didn’t stop to even realize it.. Like being a consultant.

I was a Business major in college, and I remember my 19-year old self fantasizing about one day sitting in a Power Suit around a boardroom table somewhere in Corporate America. I didn't really know what I wanted to do, I just knew what I wanted to look like:

Executive Barbie. 

I remember doing research (In books. Before Google. Life was hard.) on the different career options for business majors and I came across a description for: Consultants.

I thought it sounded awesome. “Consulting.” You don’t have to do math, or become an expert in something boring, you just …consult people on things. You advise. And you can bounce around and do it in a lot of different places.

Considering my main fear in life is boredom, I thought this sounded nice and squishy. Not pigeon-holing myself into something that might get old, but just flitting around in a suit advising people on ….things.

Well, shortly after that, I decided to go to D.C. on a whim and my life changed and I didn’t think about my former plans. I just enjoyed the ride of my surprising new-found life in politics and government. Then, when the Bush Administration was about to end, I knew all of us Politicals would need to find new jobs. Which is when I started looking at where my friend Sean worked: 

a consulting firm.

I’m not even kidding when I say it didn't register to me that that was the same job I fell in love with before I graduated.  Because now, whenever I heard the word "consultants” in Washington, it sounded totally different. These consultants were spoken of like:

- “oh those contractors” – as in: federal contractors are a lower form of life than those direct employees of the government, obviously.

– or they were spoken of like this:

http://www.despair.com/consulting.html

Yep. Those consultants who make the big bucks but no one knows what they actually do. Harumph.

In reality, many people do go from politics to consulting, and it sounded really similar to direct government life, so I went for it. And it wasn’t until years later - when I was wearing a suit, sitting around a boardroom table, as a consultant- that I realized I accidentally got my college dream and didn’t even realize it happened. I had gone behind the curtain!

  

And just like those witches and goblins from elementary school, it turned out that this thing wasn’t what I pictured once I got on the inside. First of all: suits are constricting, you guys!

"Party clothes are so binding..."

And sitting around boardroom tables gets boring. Instead of being Serious and Important in meetings, I get texts from annoyed coworkers across the table that say things like “Throw your pen at my eye and try to kill me...”

Don’t get me wrong, I love my job. And sometimes being behind the scenes of things is just as awesome as I imagined. And honestly, I now try to step back and take it all in at various points in life so I don't accidentally skim over realized dreams because I'm too busy rolling my eyes at the reality of what those dreams end up entailing once I'm on the "inside." 

But that's the beauty of continuing to explore. Sometimes the "inside" is even better than you hoped for.

...or sometimes it's just a little nerd back there pulling strings.

That Time I Joined a Flash Mob Dance

I was trying to make plans with my friend a few weeks ago and we were comparing schedules when she casually drops in "yeah I might go to a flash mob dance that night...."

*record scratch* Excuse me? You have intel of a flash mob occurring and this is the first I'm hearing of it?

I love a good public display of ridiculousness, so I was instantly intrigued. I posted on Facebook that I was planning to attend and a friend in another state said something about wishing she could be in a flash mob, and I thought - you know what? Why wouldn't I just be in it? When life hands you a flash mob, you join.

I immediately went to work trying to convince someone else to do it with me.

I was 100% unsuccessful.

(I guess if life hands most people a flash mob, they laugh and run the other way.)

So then I was on the fence about doing it. I kept going back and forth in my mind right up until the day of, when I still wanted to go but I was starting to get nervous.

I actually like the thrill of trying something that makes me nervous. But even so, it would be much more fun if I knew someone....

Oh yeah, did I mention that I actually didn't know anyone in the group that was doing this? And that some of them had been practicing for weeks together?

I started to feel like a new kid at school about to try to find a lunch table...

YOU CAN'T SIT WITH US!

Thankfully, my friend "C" calls just a couple hours before the event and says he will go with me -

but I will owe him for this.

Ok, I'm not even going to think about what I'll have to agree to attend with him in the future. I'm just going to focus on Yay! I don't have to go alone afterall!

I head out to the practice venue, which looked like this:

The group had planned 6 different "routines" that people could choose whether or not to join: a modern, a hip hop, a salsa, a swing, a line dance, and finally - a group number. I chose the line dancing. ...and started learning it on the fly.

Thankfully, everyone was really nice and we all tried to help each other learn the choreography. I dutifully learned my stomps and grapevines and felt like I knew the dance well enough to perform spontaneously in front of a public place full of strangers.

Me, surreptitiously proving to my grandchildren that I really did participate in this.

C finally arrives, and I explain the line dance steps to him. Then I inform him that we are all supposed to join the group dance as well.

He asks what that one is.

...and that's when I have to admit that it's: What Does the Fox Say.

...as in, the most annoying song currently on the planet.

C is not having that.

Ok fair enough. We'll just stick to the line dance then. I feel confident we can still stamp our life cards with the "I did a flash mob" stamp even if we only do part of it.

C and I finish practicing our part and step to the back of the room to chat while the others are still practicing.

And then, out of nowhere, the door to the restroom next to us opens and this happens:

Ahhhhm......did anyone else just see that?

Turns out, there's an actual fox joining the last number. This just keeps getting better.

Practice finishes up and we are told to head over to the site of the flash mob, which is Union Station.

We are supposed to separate from each other and act like we are just hanging out like normal.

Here's the victim venue:

You see that authoritative looking man in the yellow vest? He'll be important later..

So C and I are fake-hanging out together at the Chopt when we finally hear the music start. We get into place and jump in for the line dancing portion, finish our moves, then casually walk back off before the next routine starts. And C says to me, "did you notice the security guard on his walkie-talkie during our dance?"

And I was like "Naw, I think he was videoing it. I think he liked it."

Yeah no. As the next routine starts, we see the fox appear on the scene, and then -

The music abruptly stops.

And a whole herd of security walk up and tell us to disperse.

Whaaaaa-?

this....is....AWESOME.

It's been a long time since I've attended an event that got shut down by authorities. First Time Flash Mob: Success!

So in the end, the group didn't get to finish, but we all enjoyed it anyway. We decided to head to a nearby pub to continue to hang out and get to know each other.

And the great thing about DC is that its full of people with really interesting backgrounds and careers, who also happen to blow off steam by doing really silly things like joining flash mobs. So I started the evening spontaneously dancing in the middle of an American monument to transportation, and then seamlessly moved into discussions about civil war history and debates regarding President Correa's policies in Ecuador...

I love this city.

I ended up leaving that group to meet up with other friends who happened to be line dancing at a country venue in Virginia. And while I'm there, I hear a song come on the dance floor that sounds familiar. It turns out-

it's the line dance I had just learned for the flash mob.

I bounded out to the floor and gleefully start stomping and grapevining next to strangers again, confident that clearly- this is my destiny for tonight.

Moral of the day: when life hands you a new experience, just nod and stomp along. ...even if there's a giant fox next to you.

Insight into my Cell Phone Contact List

Periodically, I’ll look for a number in my cell phone and realize there's a ton of old contacts I really should clean up. The numbers represent the randomness in my life, and they are organized in the typical “system” I use whenever I’m writing things down on the run  -- code words. Many of which don’t make any sense later, leaving me with notes like the one currently sitting next to my laptop that starts out “did GW Pkway classic 2003, more clothes donation, after girlz swap, 4 shades”

Yep. Iron clad system, that one. Some of the codes in my phone are legitimate nicknames, some are places I've worked, and some are just whatever description I thought made sense at the time. I did an audit today and posted some of my favorite gems below.  Enjoy.

Dana's Contacts

"K9 Dan Ackerman" (took me a really long time to remember what this was. K9 cop? The guy’s a dog? Turns out, he was leading an animal rescue charity event I helped with…)

Amy Yack’s friend (this is only funny to me because A. I don’t know an “Amy Yack” and 2. I sure don’t remember meeting her friend)

Andrea OSC (OSC stands for the President’s Oil Spill Commission. Andrea Oil Spill Commission - I think that has a nice ring to it, really.)

Café Asia (Ok, I really love sushi)

“helpdesk” and “helpdesk guy” – yes , I have both.

 “Bruce the Catholic”

“Caitlin Loose Cannon”

A number that simply says “Call” (I'm scared to actually do that though. No clue.)

“Lebanese Taverna” (Ok, I really love Lebanese food)

“David Christmas Party”

The number for Bill Clinton’s personal aide

Simply the word “Crack”

“Capital Rowing Club Kyle”

"Dominos" (Seriously? How big is that fat kid inside me?!)

“don’t answer” (assuming that was a boy)

“Driver Kurt”

“Driver Mike” (I wish I was Mr. Big from Sex and the City and these were my actual town car drivers, but no. These were volunteers driving me around when I campaigned for MittRomney here. )

The number for a Kinkos in New Orleans

“Room 317” in the Federal Emergency Management Agency headquarters

“Kevin Football”

The main line for the United States Secret Service

“Marie Iceland”

“Marie Iraq”

“Jim Bible Study”

The number for a former cast member of Les Mis

“Mongo”

“Panda”

“Republican National Convention girl”

“Joel Salsa Young Republcian” (as explained here)

“Hotel Security”

“Sign Language Ilana”

“Stenographer for Oct 13”

Random music studio in West Virginia

“Washington Plaza Beverly” (now it just sounds like I’m meeting women in hotels)

And finally -

“Joel ?”

(Hopefully after tonight's New Year's Eve party, I'll be adding something to the effect of "New Year's Sugar Daddy" or "Adam Levine who just happened to be at my New Year's party"....we'll see.)

The Deflate Escape

I just discovered the What would I say site, which pulls random pieces of text from your Facebook page and combines them into ridiculous sentences like:

I can't resist a snow monkeys to do

-DanaBot

or:

; we had fun I shot Dog owner sitting behind this, they towed from a massueuse so I suppose I couldn't find my nephew.

-DanaBot

It's almost like playing Mad Libs, or reading the script to a Bad Lip Reading episode.

One of the phrases it pulled up for me was “Deflate Escape.”

Ah, the Deflate Escape. Let me explain.

Like I told you here I met my friend Ryan years ago and we immediately hit it off sense of humor-wise, especially when Ryan started emailing me on a federal account, using my badge photo in the email to make it look like I was saying whatever stupid thing he typed next to it. He used his photo too. Now that I think about it, it might've been the first Facebook Wall pre-Facebook.

From: Ryan

To: Dana

Subject: How non-awesome everyone else is

(that is not actually Ryan, that is some random dude I found online to protect Ryan's innocence, but you get the gist.)

We've stayed friends through the years - through ski trips, softball teams, and multiple parties with his former roomates and his awesome wife.  

I feel like I've never hung out with this group without seeing something completely silly. Fire extinguishers sprayed into hot tubs, holes put into walls from boys fighting while wearing hockey gear. One time, they created a new game where they rode skateboards in the basement while simultaneously jousting each other with swimming pool Fun Noodles.

Wouldn't you stay friends with these people forever, too?

The last party I attended was shortly before my trip to Iraq. It was Ryan's annual Ugly Christmas Sweater Party, and to add to the ridiculousness of everyone wearing crazy tacky clothing, there was also:

A Bounce House.

Yes. Like the ones made for children. Not grown adults working in professional jobs in the United States' capital.

And since this is the same group of people who like to create their own fun with everything, it wasn't enough to just bounce inside of this thing. No -- they had to see if they could break it.

And thus Deflate Escape was born. As the name implies, the "game" was to throw people into the house then have someone on the outside deflate it, and see how fast all of the people trapped inside could extricate themselves.

Here's where I feel the need to point out once again that many of these people work, by day, in jobs that support our nation's security. Makes ya'll sleep well at night, doesn't it?

Since I was about to go to the country where we had just ended a war, Ryan insisted I needed to participate in Deflate Escape as training. You know, in case I got in some type of situation in Iraq where I'd need to free myself from a rapidly collapsing inflatable building. Seemed legitimate.

What ensued over the next few hours was nothing short of astounding levels of immature mayhem. As soon as the release valve was pulled, people started bouncing off each other, fighting to get to the escape hatch in the ceiling or trying to squish themselves out the front door. From the inside, I just remember giggling a lot and seeing the bottom half of those who successfully reached the hatch before me:

From the outside, I watched people triumphantly emerge however they could:

It looked like a big colorful pillow case with giant hamsters fighting inside. I watched one escape episode where the house was still fairly stable and the boys inside shoved someone so hard he flew into the side, which caused the entire thing to immediately break down all lop-sided. And keep in mind, everyone is still dressed in Tacky Christmas Sweaters:

During the last escape, I'm standing with Ryan's wife on the outside while we hear him inside, yelling something about potentially breaking his back. He starts to attempt an escape out the front door, all while everyone is still jumping inside, which creates the scene where we see Ryan, head first, jostling violently out the front hatch, like some tumultuous birthing process. He's half moaning "I think I'm breaking my neck!" and his wife stands there watching him, shaking her head, and she dead-pans to me:

"This is a new low for us."

I love them.

One day, when we've all fully settled down and spend our days going to PTA meetings, hopefully we'll share these times with our kids to make sure they knew we were awesome.

...Then we'll rent bounce houses for the kids and play in them ourselves the rest of the night.

That One Time I Tried CrossFit

You all know how much I enjoy a good physical challenge. I've done Warrior Dash, Run Amuck, Tough Mudder, Muddy Buddy, Ragnar Relay, I've ran a full marathon, I go indoor rock climbing, I rowed crew, I've done kickboxing, worked with kettle bells...I've done pole. fitness. classes. people. (never fear, it was nothing scandalous. I just can't help myself - it's really fun to twirl, you guys.)

So it only seemed fitting that I also try one of the latest, hottest fitness crazes: CrossFit.

Aka the sport where "you workout one hour, then spend the next 23 hours talking about it..." (to quote my friend Zak.)

So yeah, that's one of the reasons why I hadn't tried it before. It has the reputation of being "cult-like," and all-consuming. The other reason I wasn't jumping to try it? Injuries.

When I hear "CrossFit," I instantly flash to the graphic images a friend posted on Facebook of his blown Achilles after CrossFit. Then I think of my coworker coming to work in a sling because CrossFit had snapped his shoulder out of socket...

So when my friend Adam suggested I join him for a class, I was hesitant. I decide to try it, then immediately get an email from a friend that starts with: "Ok, I'm not saying 'don't do crossfit'....."

She went on to warn me someone she knew nearly died from something called rhabdomyolysis... ...from a CrossFit injury.

*Face Palm*

I head to class anyway, and learn - it's held inside an MMA gym. So not only am I joining the CrossFit cult, but I have to push past blood-thirsty fighters waiting to jump in their ring before I even get to the workout room.

(the smell alone in the MMA part should've been enough to make me turn right around and go home, but alas, I persevered...)

We get to our room - and it's packed. Heavy metal music blaring, bodies all over the room intermingled with equipment I've never seen before, people yelling encouragement to others pumping some of the biggest weights I've ever seen. There are two pregnant women here. Everyone does seem a little obsessed. Dear goodness. This is a cult.

I'm thinking how thankful I am to be here with a friend and not alone -- then we get split up right off the bat. GAH! THIS IS HOW THEY GET YOU. They are separating me from my herd...

They put me with three other ladies who are also new. Everyone walks over to barbell racks where we are to get up under a barbell, do one rep of shoulder presses, then put the barbell back on the rack. And we keep doing that, increasing the weight, until we "fail," meaning we literally can't push it all the way up and lock our arms anymore.

And we are all scrunched up like sardines since there are so many people. My group gets positioned next to -The Boys. And The Boys are raising barbells with giant weights on the end - and they are struggling. It looked something like this:

 
GIFSoup

Except I never saw someone actually crumple to the ground, but I definitely did see them violently shaking at the top of their extension before throwing the giant barbell down. I started practically running in scared circles trying to make sure I didn't end up underneath them.

But then I discover I'm able to lift more weight than half my group, and I immediately start feeling competitive. I hear myself beg my instructor to allow time for me to try  just one more rep with heavier weights.

Oh my gosh. They don't even have to bite my neck, I'm willingly turning myself into a CrossFit vampire not 10 minutes into class...what is wrong with me?! Do they pump Addiction through the air vents here? No wonder people push themselves so hard they get injured all the time...

We moved onto the "WOD" (Workout of the Day- cult speak, clearly. I bet I'd get a tear-stain tattoo on my cheek if I ever complete one successfully. Or at least some kind of honor patch on the back brace I'd inevitably end up in...). It was called "Fran," and I've gotten about three different explanations for why WODs are named after people, so I'm just going to believe that they are named after people who died attempting them.

During the WOD, my group ends up practically laying on the floor under the barbell contraption. Rings had been suspended and we were to pull ourselves up using the rings. But because the class is so packed, we end up smooshed against some of The Boys again. And one of them started doing some type of pull-up move I've never seen before. It was as if he was doing The Worm in mid air. It looked like this:


GIFSoup

And he was doing that right above us. Like, I totally watched him nearly kick my partner in the face while she was doing ring pull-up things.

But ... he was fit. And shirtless. And I finally gave up and just blatantly stared at him, analyzing all the body art he had on his torso. (I'm sorry, if you don't want to be unabashedly gawked at, then don't look that good shirtless. The rule is simple.)

And at that mesmerizing moment, I may have been close to becoming a CrossFit convert....

...but then it was my turn to lay on the floor and attempt to pull myself up on those stupid rings and I snapped out of it.

I started by foolishly asking the instructor about "proper form" for these pull ups - HA! I'm surprised he didn't laugh right in my face, because he knew what was about to happen. By my third rep, I was doing any kind of motion I could to get my body anywhere near "off" the floor.. This is how it's supposed to look:

This is more like how mine started to look:

You know how children who don't want to move will just go limp and you try to pull them up off the floor but their heads just lay there in an awkward angle while you tug at their arms from above? That's pretty much what "form" I had at the end holding on to those rings.

At some point, my contact lens slipped off my eye during the last rep. Even my eyeballs were working in this class. I had to walk back out past the MMA testosterone ring again to get to the ladies room to fix it, and that's when I realized

-I could no longer straighten my arms. I was walking like a T-Rex and I couldn't control it.

...I won't be joining a CrossFit gym anytime soon.

I mean, I'm glad I "get" the culture a little bit now, and I did enjoy it, but I think if I decide to join a fitness cult, I'll look for one who's members are just really devoted to time in the steam room, or the juice bar. A Spa cult, really. Until I find one of those, I'll stick to my running.

http://www.quickmeme.com/meme/3p7e68

(just teasing, CrossFitters! Please don't kill me. Because I know you can with your bare hands...)

Pearls and Muscle Cars

I spent the first 13 years of my life growing up literally in the middle of an orchard in eastern Washington State. I was around nature worshippers, migrant workers, and Germans who wore lederhosen in the Bavarian sister city Leavenworth, a couple miles from my house. 

My family moved to eastern Tennessee when I started high school and they remain there to this day. There, I was around guys similar to the Duck Dynasty boys or something out of Varsity Blues. Whereas some of the girls went on to be college cheerleaders, models and debutantes. I'd say overall, we were more red-neck than Southern Belle, but there was a bit of both.

And now I've lived in DC for the last 10+ years, where the currency is power and connections, and everyone drives a Mercedes, Audi, or BMW and likely has a career in government/politics. 

I'm a hybrid of all three places now. 

Being in DC, particularly in the Republican circles, means I'm often around what my friend R and I refer to as: Pearls.

A Pearl: A girl with perfectly coifed hair, preppy clothes, and a constant string of pearls. You can't walk around Capitol Hill or the White House without running into a quintessential Pearl. They know which fork to use at dinner, and they would never do something like Tough Mudder for fun.

Nothing's wrong with being a Pearl, some are very nice, and occasionally I play the part of a Pearl myself. And you can look and act like a Pearl, but still have...edges. It's the real Pearls that don't appear to have edges, that I have a feeling might be secretly horrified by many things about me, such as the fact that:

-I like dirt
-I sang in a rock and roll cover band
-I shoot guns
and
-I like Muscle Cars

I also really enjoy irreverent humor, sarcasm, and I flaunt my embarrassing moments like some people flaunt Ivy League degrees (because, come on, wouldn't you rather hear about someone splitting their pants open than hear about someone's Ph.D from Yale?...)

And I also find it fun to display the Washington Hippie or Tennessee Redneck sides of myself in doses, along with the more-formal Pearl side. Which can backfire or be hilarious -like the time I showed up to a fancy Department of Homeland Security event and had my car valeted in front of the nice hotel where it was being held. My car? A Mustang. As I was standing around with former political officials, one of them spotted the car off to the side and blurts out in disbelief "who brought the muscle car?!?"

When I proudly informed him it was mine, we both giggled for awhile.

Life doesn't have to be so serious, you guys.

Anyway, a couple weeks ago, I attended a recruitment event for The Junior League. And it was in Georgetown, (AKA the preppiest part of D.C.) which made me feel like I probably needed to channel my inner-Pearl. 

I brought reinforcements.

My friend Cherilyn is also from the south and also assumed we should lean debutant-esque for the day. And as she gets in my car, she's on the phone with another friend and laughingly explains that, she's now "sitting in a Mustang...in pearls." and we both giggle picturing ourselves pulling up to the Junior League in this car.

We arrive at the event, and at one point I glance over and notice not one, but two Louis Vuitton bags down the row I'm standing in:

Ah, Georgetown...

Cherilyn and I start walking around and looking at the building, and we glance out the front window and see the Juicy Couture store across the street. Cherilyn jokes that she bets no one in this room shops at Juicy -

"well, except you..." she clarifies, since I had just exclaimed that I wanted to stop in there for perfume on the way home....

We start giggling and feeling out of place again. 

But things turned around and we met a lot of lovely, nice ladies at the event. We even met one girl we instantly clicked with because -- 

she had edges.

She irreverently informed us of how she accidentally ended up with her husband:

"Well, I first met him in a bar. I thought he was married, he thought I was white...."

She also immediately blurted out that she thought we were going to a strip club when we mentioned "Frozen Hot Chocolate" (as in, the dessert we planned to consume at Serendipity after this event.)

We love her.

We eventually leave and continue our Debutante Day in Georgetown by strolling in a paper store. Yet, instead of fancy, calligraphied note cards that a self-respecting Pearl would send out to thank someone for attending her political fundraising gala, we end up with?

A package of pop rocks and a Star Wars thumb-wrestling kit.

We are sucking at being Pearls right now.

Later, as we were strolling by the pub where JFK proposed to Jackie (The Pearl), I realize I'm outside an iconic Georgetown establishment, wearing appropriate attire, but holding Pop Rocks and a Juicy Couture bag. I feel like this is the perfect diagram of my personal life in D.C.:

One part Pearl; nine parts Hot Mess.

We jump back in my Mustang and head back home to take off our lady dresses and get in sweat pants. I love playing Georgetown for a time, but then I need to go makeup-less and laugh until I snort unattractively at something. 

As we ended our day, we crossed the bridge leading out of Georgetown and came across an accident where two cars had hit each other.

...They were both BMWs.

The Double Glitch

I've mentioned the weird thing that happens to me and my friend Amy that we call our "6th sense." It's this weird glitch in the universe that causes things to occur in pairs around us. We'll read a word, then someone walking past us will randomly say it, or we'll say a word then the person on T.V. will say it too, etc. I'm going to name it The Double Glitch. And maybe you won't find it as strange as we do, but it happens ALL THE TIME and I think it's freaky. Like when I:

-read the word "Oceanic" in a magazine, then immediately heard someone on my television say that same word. The same thing occurred another time with the words "Dulce de leche"  -not normal words.

-was looking at my navy-colored pants in a meeting and absent-mindedly thought of the word “navy,” right when my client referred to The Navy, as in, the military branch.

-read an email where my friend made fun of his boss for using the word “sweetness,” then I immediately got a request on Facebook for some game called “"Sweetness Battle."

-was looking at a friend post photos from her trip to Romania, which included visiting the town where Dracula (or “Count Vladimir”) is supposed to be from, and then I walked down the street past a family of tourists and heard the little kid talking about Counts and his mother say “like Count Vladimir?”

-Got emails in my inbox on the same day from two unrelated people that both started with the word "Huzzah!"...

Come on, this stuff is weird, right? It’s as weird as my internal homing device, except it happens way more often.

Now, it's happening nearly daily on my Facebook newsfeed, where related things are posted - often directly on top of each other - from completely unrelated people, often in completely different geographical locations. Below are just some examples:

1. Snow and August:

2. A guy from my Iraq trip was tagged in his engagement photo and I randomly focused in on the fact that his fiancee's shoes were green, to match his shirt. That same day, another friend randomly changed her Cover Photo to her engagement photo, which was just her and her now-husband's feet. Yep - green shoes.

3. An ad for something called "The Clymb" appears directly above my friend randomly posting he'd rather be climbing than working that day (ok, maybe this one is Facebook's weird intelligent ad algorhythm, but considering they are not referring to the same thing, I'm not so sure.)

4. Completely unrelated friends, gettin' their golf on -

5.... completely unrelated friends in different states, getting their Mexican dinners on:

6. And then sometimes they are completely the opposite, but still funny.

Good Day/Terrible Day

7....again, always completely unrelated friends, sometimes in different parts of the world...

Love Eli Manning/Hate Eli Manning

8.

Love Senator Ted Cruz/Hate Senator Ted Cruz

9. And then finally, things have started mixing between my virtual world and my brick and mortar world, like when I read my college friend's post about her team in Florida, then I look up and see the guy in the lunch line in front of me, wearing a lanyard of that team. We are in D.C...:

I don't know why this happens so often, but I wish I could channel this "power" for something more useful than confused laughter. Like, when I get my pay check, why can't I immediately get a second pay check? Or when I think of the words "hot Marine" why can't I immediately get asked out by a hot Marine? I'm going to be working on this....

The Army Ten Miler

Yesterday, I ran my 7th Army 10 Miler. I'm sure you'll be shocked to learn, the race included some randomness.

First off, my friend who was going to start the race with me, had to cancel the day before. So then I tried to meet up with another friend, Laura, who was also running. 

I headed out to meet her, trying to find parking in the mall parking lot I always park in for this race. I've never had a problem finding a spot before.

Today was going to be different.

After realizing the first couple levels were full, I drove all the way to the top level, only to realize (after driving around in a panic), that this, too, was totally full.

I spot employee parking for "Nordstrom Employees Only" and feel desperate. Yes, the sign said violators will be towed, but I'm late and need parking! 

I park there.

Then I pray. A lot. 

I get out, and stretch a tiny garbage bag around my upper torso - because it's freezing outside and that's a trick runners use to stay warm until the race starts. Except they normally use bigger bags, but I didn't have any. So I just look like an idiot. But I'm a warm idiot, so I don't care - and I  try to push out of my mind the thought that I may run 10 miles, and come back to no car, due to towing. I rush down the several floors to get out of the garage and on my way to the start line -what's this I see? The garage just opened another floor? Yes, that is definitely rows and rows of beautiful, empty, non-risky spots...


Ugh. 

I begin to run back to the top floor to rescue my car from certain towing. I'm literally running, panicking, and still wearing the trash bag, which has my arms trapped. I look like those people who play soccer inside zorb balls:

GIFSoup


Or like this:

But I finally make it back and re-park my car on the newly opened lower level. Crisis averted. But now I really feel late.

So I start to walk very quickly through the tunnel that leads into the Pentagon parking lot, wearing my tiny trash bag - which is also Febreeze-scented, to add to the ridiculousness that is me right now  - and I feel a tap on my shoulder.

It's my friend Ryan! And immediately, he explains "yeah, I saw this person rush past and I was thinking "that trash bag is too small..." and it was you!" 

Typical. There are 30,000 people walking into this thing, and I'm recognized while wearing a scented straight-jacket. 

We start walking together and head into the starting area. There, we separate, because he is in a faster corral, and I need to find Laura. 

In 30,000 people. 

I call her and our call goes something like this:

Me, staring into a sea of humanity: "Hey I'm here!"

Her: "I'm right behind the purple arch of balloons!...wait...the arch is now moving..."

Me, staring into a human sea while chasing an arch of moving purple balloons: "K....Um...Which side are you on? I'm now chasing the balloons."

Her:"Um...I'm kind in the middle..."

M: "Well I'm over by the table with water. I'm Jersey Shore fist-pumping so you can see me."

*pumps fist like an idiot*

Her: "Oh! I know where that table is. Keep pumping! keeping pumping!"

Now I feel like I'm being punked but I keep pumping my fist anyway.

We finally find each other...And then she leaves me two miles in. Sigh. (It's fine, I told her to. I'm slow, I know, save yourselves...)

But before we separated, we got to experience: The Pee Bridge

That's the area next to a bridge that has now become famous for being the spot where males realize they need to pee -- and since the whole world is a men's room, they fix that problem right here.

I trot along alone for a couple more miles and I start seeing the things that always inspire me in this race. Amputees running on prosthetics, people running with shirts in memory of old friends, and this:



Ooops, sorry, sweaty camera.
Here we are:


Yeah, that guy's doing this race in boots, carrying a giant heavy ruck sack. 

And he's ahead of me. *Sigh*

Somewhere around mile 4 - I see my old friend Jose! This is now the second time I've ran into a friend in this chaos:

(At least I was no longer wearing the trash bag.) I went on to also spot a guy from my church, and a former band mate as well. My internal homing device is still strong...

Jose and I kept each other going (OK, he had to physically drag me by my arm...multiple times...) until the end. He headed out and I linked back up with Laura:

Laura is like half my height. I TRIED to fit us both in a selfie....

Then, I get a text from Ryan, the first random run-in I had, that says some people are grabbing brunch. So Laura heads off to find her beau, and I head to brunch. 

And that's when I realize the race people are only letting people exit the Pentagon one way -- the long way -- and our trek back to our cars (and brunch) starts uphill.

This is a sick joke on people who just ran 10 miles

A guy behind me makes a comment about how cruel it is, and we start walking together. He's wearing an Army Ranger shirt and tells me he served in Mogadishu and that he's old.

He. Is. Hilarious.

We are trudging along with the masses like cattle, forever, and every few steps he announces something new:

"Everything south of my nipples hurts..."

"....In case anyone's wondering, there is no one that needs to pee more than I do right now!..."

"...I'm just gunna say I did a half marathon now, since we're walking this far..."

"...They should have another water stop out here..."

"...If the Pentagon was a square, we would've turned by now...stupid place...."

And when we came up behind some other military guys, he announced "I would start ragging on the other branches, but I'm too tired to defend myself....I'd just let them beat me up for half an hour while saying I'm sorry..."

I was sad to leave him.

But brunch was calling, so I had to go. I met Ryan's other friend Beth who was also at brunch-- and it turned out she works with the Other Goldfish Poodle. So that's now random encounter # 5, for those of you counting at home...

We had a great time together, and then Beth found out that her friend, who was also supposed to join us, was no longer coming because:

Her car got towed.

*Facepalm* Now I've come full circle to my nervousness from that morning. We end brunch, and I rush to make sure my car's ok, and then head home to shower and sit on my couch. And maybe look proudly at this a little more: