Chemical soup - 1/21/2009

So, our legs (and arms, and butts, and backs, and...) didn't make it back from Belize unscathed. In fact, the angry legions of bites numbered in the many of tens, nearly a hundred. Each. To stop the (MADNESS!!) itchiness, I applied, nearly constantly:

prescription-strength hydrocortisone

Sting-eze

triple antibiotic ointment

lotion, lots of lotion

Benadryl anti-itch

and took:

diphenhydramine (generic Benadryl - turns out, you're not supposed to take the pill form in addition to the topical Benadryl. Oops, oh well, still didn't make the itching stop)

loratadine

pseudoephedrine (why not?)

And you know what? All that, and it didn't matter. I scratched at those little, and not so little red welts during the day, in my sleep, ALL THE TIME, until they broke and bled. And then I SCRATCHED SOME MORE. I'm simply, what one would call, highly allergic with erm, reactive skin. Also, low impulse control. I expect the scars will last a long, long time :(

Seething

I hate being painted as the bad guy, especially when the accuser is, basically, delusional.

Others may take affront to people being wrong, say, on the Internet, and yearn to correct them. I take a more global vision - I'm offended by people who are wrong in the world and long, strain to FIX THEM to my liking.

I read a lot of fantastical literature and always imagined that the lessons of extraordinary honor, valor, courtesy, and the responsibilities of gentle rulership had sunk into me. Now I fear that, if I did have the run of the world, my dictatorship would not be quite as benevolent as I'd thought...

We were there - 1/20/09

Yeah, a while ago, but BLTN

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Before we ventured out into the cruel, cold morning (HA! Barely! It was really still night!), I thought furiously about what coat I could wear to afford me the most protection from the elements. I thought that the perfect coat would be long (i.e., cover my bum), windproof, dark so it wouldn't dirty easily, and have a hood. I reviewed my outerwear collection, but couldn't think of a single coat that would meet those desired characteristics, so wore my long, white peacoat and a wooley hat. No sooner than we'd arrived at the Metro when I saw someone wearing this actual coat:

Mine of course, was safely tucked at home, warm and roosting in my closet, alongside this coat:

Bah and fie!!! I am not going to brag about my wardrobe inventory skills for awhile...

I took pictures of the mobbed train cars and almost literally suffocating underground Metro experience, but they were a) depressing and scary and b) not good pictures. Suffice it to say that I've never been so sorry to be short in my entire life. I actually appreciated my, um, sturdiness, though, because it enabled me to hold myself upright several times when I could have been bowled over or shoved aside. Reaching the outdoors was another experience in mob surfing:

Our spot wasn't so bad, because it was so damn far back, but it was still a mite crowded. Getting in and out of these bathrooms was quite an interesting experience, especially while inside and listening to/feeling people clamber all over the top. I made the mistake of using the first one at a human traffic juncture. I was shut in for a short period because I couldn't get the door to open into the pressing crowd. That was unpleasant and more than a little disturbing.

These pictures also represent most of the sum of our views. We weren't really able to see the jumbotron to follow along the celebration, and we weren't really able to hear, so couldn't tell what had happened. Mostly, we just drifted around, exclaiming about the masses of people, chatted with out-of-towners, cheered when others cheered, and were very, very cold.

It was a neat day.

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Those folks at the American History museum sure work fast. I guess they knew that, with all the people taking refuge in the museums during the inauguration, people might want to see some indoor acknowledgement of the day.

I wonder if they unveiled the new entry after he made the oath, or just kept it up all day like a done deal.

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Swagalicious.

Murphy's law, swimwear edition - 1/19/09

Blast from the past - originally written in late January 2009

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Turns out, the only time of year there aren't tons of bathing suits in the stores is the week before you want to go on vacation in early January.

Sure, my makeshift bathing suits worked out really well (plenty of support for swimming and hiking!), but I was really annoyed to return home and be told that bathing suits were released in all of the department stores the week I left. Also, I found out that Target (the one! place I didn't check) has suits year-round. Of course, Target! I almost literally kicked myself.

Guesting

Granted, I'm a pretty picky, anal person that likes to get her own way. That said, I do think there are basic rules of self-conduct for house guests. I tend to note behaviors in three broad categories:

a) outright bribery

b) appearance of helpfulness

c) charming amusement

a) What can I say? I'm easy. Bring me flowers, crappy chocolates, a bottle of cheap-assed TJ's wine, a tin of sardines, or a colander, and I'm yours. It really isn't the value of the gift, but the thought that counts. It does occur to me that this system could be abused by trash pickers and people trying to clean out their cupboards (Hey, let bring her this old can of pickled eggplant!; Oh look, a sock on the ground, she'll love it!!), but this policy hasn't burned me yet. I am also susceptible to dinners out or food brought back to the house.

b) No, I'm not the best housekeeper in the world by a long shot, but those who at least attempt to help maintain the present state of cleanliness are greatly appreciated. I consider offers to help clear the table, do the dishes, help with chores, and otherwise picking up after one's self to be a most basic form of politeness while being a guest in someone else's home. I'm not (yet) a crazy Midwesterner who expects people to disregard my declination of helpful offers and bustle about, hunting up some useful occupation while I clean. The offer, if genuinely meant (meaning, no grumbling if I take you up on it), is all I want.

c) Please entertain me. Or at least talk to me. It's nice when my guests interact with me so I feel less like a B&B keeper or superior, familiar servant, and an actual friend. Being (or at least trying to be) funny and/or interesting, and interested in the host, is a fundamental requirement of a good house guest who hopes to remain friends in the hereafter.

The rare, prized house guest contributing in all arenas pretty much receives an on-the-spot repeat invitation. A nice, normal visit may consist of one or two of these pleasing, qualifying behaviors. Woe, however, to the person who exhibits none of these marks of grace. Especially upon multiple occasions. Particularly when the visits result from begging favors of the host, rather than following an expressed invitation. That person is saving money on hotel fees at the cost of potentially losing a friend. I admit that thinking through and redefining these rules for myself has caused some introspection and I vow to do better as a guest in my own travels.

Incidentally, the thank-you note is a nice touch, but is not a make-it-or-break-it affectation for me. I came late to the world of thank-you notes, and thus am more sensitive to those folks who don't understand the joys of gratuitous thank-you-noting.