Tutoring

Yes, the title of this post is rather bland. I can't help it. My mind is fried. 

You see, somehow, through some twisted cosmic intervention, I am tutoring a girl in sixth grade math. Me. Sixth grade math. 

I have a complicated relationship with math. My parents were always very set on it's importance. They spent many hours trying to convince us that we had natural talent at the subject, and Claire and I spent many hours figuring out new hiding places for the flash cards they'd try to make us do. Any success we had with math--a fair amount of it, I might add--really has to be attributed to my mother. It helps that she's a genius, but it's really that she would sit down with us no matter what the hour, and by GOD we were going to finish that problem sheet even if it kills us. 

She got me through 1st grade subtraction and 11th grade calculus. Not many moms can help their kids with calculus, but mine can. Totally feminista, right? 

Anyway, I decided that math was dead to me the moment I found out that IC accepted my calc and stat AP credits.   Then, suddenly, I needed to remember how to do simple things like divide decimals. 

Needless to say I felt rusty. I could feel the cogs in my brain churning. It was unpleasant. I think every little wrinkle in my brain was screaming, "What is this crap? Give us more theory! We like theories! Let's structure a paper instead! PLEASSSEEEE?!" 

But no. We had to finish that workbook, even if it killed us. 

Once the session was up, though, I wandered brain-dead into the kitchen and started brewing coffee...mainly because its currently illegal for me to consume anything more appropriate.

I'm Officially Turning in to a Crotchety Old Person

I announced this to my parents, who responded--per usual--by rolling their eyes and sighing, "You're eighteen." 

Which is the rational response. That's true. But, you see, I have been complaining about things far beyond the sullen-teenager spectrum. Oh, yes. 

I am that person that gets annoyed at tourists on the Metro. I NEVER wanted to be that person. I get off for my internship at Woodley Park, which happens to be the zoo stop. Meaning, there are a lot of fanny-packs and A LOT of people who stand on the left. 

Now, listen. I've been riding the metro my entire life.  My Dad's a metro pro.  Any time we were on there, there is no way he put up with any of that crap with us.  We stood on the right. We walked on the left. I am pretty sure that at age five I thought you could be arrested for standing on the left. 

If I ever enter local politics I am totally making that into law. 

I'm nice about it. I'm not exactly screaming, "MOVE!" and drop-kicking people. I'm non-confrontational, and I'll say, "Excuse me!" cheerily and then, in the interest of their cultural education, throw out, "Left side's for walking, right side's for standing!" as I speed down the escalator. Most tourists at Woodley are clinging desperately to the rail, because that escalator is crazily long and steep.  But I grew up at Wheaton, running down the longest single span escalator in the Western Hemisphere. My dad walks down it reading a book. 

Okay, he's a little crazy, but seriously. Suck it up, tourists. 

See what I mean? 

Crotchety. 

Relaxation, Happiness, and Friends

It's almost impossible to describe how much fun I had this fourth of July weekend.  Claire, a few of my friends and I headed up to Otis for a few days of trying to tan and playing in the water.  We all were in desperate need of a break, seeing as we literally picked Claire up fromher organic chemistry final exam on the way. Sometimes, pictures are just the way to go.

Here are Some Thoughts

1. I wish I had figured out how to open the hood of my car before taking it to get the oil changed today and before I got laughed at. I obviously suck at fulfilling any sort of feminist stereotype. 

 

2. I think my shoulders honestly don't know what hit them with this swimming thing. They were seriously dropping f-bombs at me during practice. 

3. Today, I was one of those obnoxious people on the phone at the supermarket, trying to figure out what the heck I was supposed to buy. Sadder is that I was only buying two things, apples and swiss cheese. 

4. I love watching The Deadliest Catch  because all of it looks so awful, terrible and miserable that my life feels gloriously blissful in comparison. 

5. I have caught a few snippets of Wimbledon this year.  I love watching tennis because it's something I cannot do.  At all. I'm better at tennis than I am at soccer, but I've still physically injured others will attempting to act like a Williams sister. 

6.  I am never, EVER going on a boat in the ocean. It's just not happening. 

7. Um, I'm sleepy. 

I've also just uploaded pictures, so let me just say for the record that I crucially miss these people: 

but love hanging with these!

No Hillary Sighting, But Still an Experience

For my internship sometimes my boss sends us to random events she's notified of to rep the WIFP. They're not mandatory, but I like to go.  And by "like" I mean, I am aware that I totally should. That's why I was down in Dupont Tuesday, and why I explored Foggy Bottom, the State Department, and many metro stations yesterday. 

I got down to Foggy Bottom insanely early because, as I've noted before, getting anywhere is just insane at this point. I miss the Wheaton station.  It's totally a "don't know what you've got till it's gone" type of thing. It's so absurdly convenient. Anyway, so when I finally got to Foggy Bottom all the way from the Rockville station, I had some extra time to kill and did a little exploring.  I then realized that it was 90 degrees out, and I didn't want to look like I'd jumped in a pool while wearing professional attire, so I grabbed lunch at the GWU Pita Pit and admired their air conditioning. 

I then met up with other intern L and we found the State Department. We had both been convinced that we would get lost trying to find it. For once in my 18 years of existence, we were incorrect. Mainly because we had to make absolutely no turns to get there. The lobby was right off 23rd street. 

The briefing was interesting, as a rep from the OAS detailed the changes and developments of US relations with the Western Hemisphere. Per usual, this ignored Canada. Because seriously, when you're dealing with Cuba and upheaval in Honduras, someone has to get ignored. Canada is usually a good candidate for things like this. I'm not so sure how valuable the information will be for the WIFP, but whatever. I got to wear a pass that said in big letters, "ESCORT REQUIRED" and got to explore the depths of the State Department. 

And by that, I mean I got to see the lobby and like 3 different hallways. And a set of stairs. Therefore, totally worth it. 

The conference room they put us in had tables set in a square with U.N-esque microphones at each place, which was pretty snazzy. Totally inexplicable, however, was the insane number of huge fake plants put in the center of the tables. It was like there was a forest in the conference room.

Also interesting is that they sell bouquets outside the state department. I am not sure if this is solely in response to Hil's broken elbow or something, or if state department workers are just constantly in need of a cheering up. Even better was that the labels on the types of bouquets were "Fancy" and "Extra Fancy." 

That is my type of description. I am obviously meant for future employment in the federal government. Or the floral business. 

It then took me over 2 hours to get home. Awesome. 

Now, I'm off to do my mother proud and shove things around in my room so that my floor is visible. 

Everything I've Done Ever That I've Failed to Report in a Timely Manner

Okay. My life. I don't even really know where to begin!

Claire and I hit up the Fray and Jack's Mannequin concert with some of our favorites...geez, I don't even know when anymore. A short while ago. I did, however, realize that there is a really strange trend going on with my concert-going experiences. EVERY SHOW I've seen, or will see at Merriweather has had a performer with the initials JM. John Mayer, Jack's Mannequin, and Jason Mraz. Weird, right?

I informed Claire of this excitedly, and she responded, "Um, so?" I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who cares about these types of things. 

Last weekend the fam hauled up to Massachusetts.  The weather was gross, but that didn't stop us. I'm determined to finally get up on slalom this summer, so I spent Friday morning out in 60 degree weather on the lake, regretting my goal-setting as I plunged into the icy cold water. 

I also got to drive my Dad while he skied.  If there's one thing I've effectively absorbed from my paternal side of the family, it's the ability to maneuver all types of water-crafts. I can park that jet-ski like nobody's business. I guess this is cosmically supposed to make up for the fact that I am terrible at driving a car. I've always been better in the water. I'm better at swimming than walking. I've never fallen on my face while swimming. 

Let's pretend that makes logical sense and move on, shall we?

This week has been chock full of insanity, and it's only Wednesday. The Red Line crash makes transportation crazily difficult, especially as I'm heading downtown basically every day this week. Yesterday I attended a clearinghouse on women's issues and got to talk to many really cool professional women who are dedicated to making a difference in our democratic society. It was all very grown up and everything.  I would have felt very mature except for the fact that in getting there, I got wickedly lost in Dupont Circle and had to call my Dad like three times for him to direct me there. 

Someday, I'll have a sense of direction. Someday. I had even map-quested the walking directions before hand, and I still got lost. 

Sigh.

To keep in the theme of me being lost, today I drove myself to the most random pool ever for a B-meet. The GPS I was using gave me totally different directions than the ones I'd written down, and as I started to pass farms (yes, FARMS!) I began to get suspicious. I thought perhaps I was being directed to the wrong location, like another state or, because of all the trees, Narnia. 

The GPS was not wrong. I actually arrived at my intended location. Early. I didn't even have to use my written directions!

Can those engineers at Claire's school please shift their research foci to something like, I don't know, teleportation? Because I would totally appreciate it.  

Goop. Really.

I had been avoiding this for a long time, but I finally decided I should check out Gwyneth Paltrow's "lifestyle" advice blog, GOOP. Yes. That is what it is called.  A real blogger would do some research and find out why the HELL its name sounds like a Robin Williams movie, but I am really just writing this because I am bored and there is very little interesting about my life right now.

You see, I thought I should check this out, because I think Gwyneth and I have a lot in common.  We are both blondes. We are both relatively tall. My mother also appeared in the Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants 2.  Yeah, Blythe Danner is an Emmy and Tony award-winning actress, but because I have an aversion to research right now, a low-grossing sequel that I TOTALLY SAW is all that is coming to mind. I will probably not marry the front man of alt-rock group, because I am still under the impression that men that wear tighter pants than I are gay. I will probably not name my child after a fruit. Instead, I will choose a terrible trendy name that my parents will totally hate, like Madison. 

Despite those minor differences, I was sure I could learn from GOOP, because I am an impressionable young teenager, and I am supposed to model myself after those skinny beautiful people on-screen. 

I automatically LOVED this website because it has an annoying but calming intro. It encouraged me to "nourish my inner aspect." 

No. Just no. What does that even mean?

Exploring the site, Gwyneth shares a lovely cookie recipe that she received when her BFF Kathy Lee Joel and her charming husband "William" came over for dinner.  Yes, in Gwyneth Paltrow's world, Billy Joel is William. Seriously. In another section, she directly asks me if I am "stuck in a feedback loop of tension and unrest." Obviously. I then get the details of her post-holidays detox diet. Which I needed. Um, gross.

So in the end, I think I am a better person for having explored GOOP. I think I've written the longest post ever on this blog, and it wasn't even about me. It's about someone who writes an advice blog...someone who thought making Shallow Hal was a good idea. 

In the world I actually live in, today I hung out with the friend I've had since second grade and went to swim practice. It doesn't provide for extremely entertaining blogs, but I'm pretty sure friend A is way more fun to hang out with than William Joel.