A Popstar's Panties

So. Selena Gomez.

Oh, you haven’t heard of her? She’s actually a huge star. Her show is called “Wizards of Waverly Place” and she has 2 albums out, including the songs “Natural” and “Who Says” (which you’ve probably heard before). Oh, and she starred in the recent movie “Monte Carlo.” Not to mention, she’s dating the Biebs.



Slammin’ body, huh?

Still don’t know her? This is probably because either 1) you’re not a ‘tween or 2) you don’t watch the Disney Channel.

To be completely honest, I do watch Disney (even if I still can’t tell you exactly what channel that is in the District). Even then, I wasn’t exactly thrilled when my parents told me that we were going to go see Selena in concert on my birthday. But sometimes, that is what being a big sister is about.

And…I actually enjoyed this concert. Despite the screaming prosti-tots and the opening band with a confusing name (doesn’t “Are you ready for All Star Weekend?” sound more like a pump-up for an event rather than for a band?)...despite this confusion...I enjoyed myself. Selena did a medley of Britney Spears songs, which was a throwback to my younger years.

And I can’t lie…but sometimes, looking like a twelve-year-old comes in handy. Like when you’re surrounded by them and screaming for a Disney superstar.

At least I wasn’t one of those six-foot-tall girls slathered in makeup that my dad and I were making fun of.

Either way, the concert ended up being pretty enjoyable – and my little sister was actually ready to leave before I was.

I was too busy being a little philosophically enthralled.



When Selena came out with her rockin’ bod and glittery, breast-enhancing Rockette garment, I paused for a second. She was cute for an eighteen-year-old. Honestly, I've watched her on those kids’ shows and unashamedly wished for a body like hers.

And being only 8 rows away from the stage itself, I was able to see Selena up-close. Her body was great. But not worth it, I think, for the hospital stint she had a few weeks back due to malnutrition.

And her skin was fine, but not perfect like it always is on T.V.

Her hair, in her opening number, was curled to perfection, tickling her cherubic face. By song #3, though, the Florida humidity had gotten to it, and I thought to myself, “Even Selena Gomez sweats. Her hair sticks to the back of her neck, too.”

And Selena herself noticed it. Despite being from California, she mentioned to the audience, “I don’t know how you all do it in this heat.”

Well, Selena, we do it like you do. With a natural cooling system that causes us to look a hot mess.

And get this:



Can you see it? Look at the center of the picture, towards the left. Her panties are showing. In front of a packed amphitheater, Selena Gomez showed her panties off to the world.

And even though she’s dating Justin Bieber, last year’s pop sensation…even though she has 2 albums and she has a music tour AND a hit T.V. show…

Even though she has her own fashion line at Kmart and 92% of the ‘tweens who watch the Disney Channel wish that they looked like her…

She wears yellow granny panties with a blue lace frame. And sometimes they stick out of her shimmery, glittery, fit-for-her pants.

She can for sure pull off wearing little more than a bra and yoga pants in front of a crowd of 5,000 people. But even she can’t help it when her malnutrition causes a little wardrobe malfunction. And she wears normal-people cotton Target brand panties. Just like the rest of us.

And that’s the way the hippo heckles.

Orangutans Are Skeptical of Changes in Their Cages

Oh, hey. I have a new current city: Boynton Beach, Florida. Yeah, that’s right. Some brave chick got on a plane without blogging a sob story about it first. ☺

I was too busy basking in my good luck and my current love of the District to concentrate on being terrified. And you know what? I didn’t crash and burn. To be honest, I was a little superstitious – maybe because I wasn’t so afraid of the plane this time, something bad would happen? …Turns out that’s untrue. Again, let me make this wonderful point: I’m alive!

Back to my good luck and love of D.C. I had the amazing opportunity to spend a few hours of a wonderful (if rainy) day at the National Zoo with my friend Shannon! I know her from undergrad at UCF, but her mom and brother reside in Maryland. Luckily, she’s such a good friend that she braved District traffic to pick me up at my apartment and drive me to the zoo.



Shannon is, in fact, such an awesome friend that she even conceded to wearing elephant ears with me for a picture. She’s moving to Korea in 3 weeks to teach English to some lucky middle schoolers for a year.

I wish that I was brave enough to do that. But maybe by spending a few years in D.C. and at law school, my bravery will grow – and I will be able to travel the world and affect it positively then.

I had 3 favorite animals of the day at the National Zoo. Number 1 was this llama, who sat underneath a constant spray of water. He was soaking wet, adorable, and reminiscent of Peru.



Next up was the panda, who I didn’t get to see on my first zoo adventure with my family, as she suddenly decided to take a nap when we were about 5 people away from gaining admittance to her little area.

And my third favorite animal – this alligator snapping turtle. He looks like a dinosaur. I love him.



Oh, there was also this huge turtle who was being given a shot. Apparently, he was not the most intelligent turtle, because he kept stretching out his neck whenever the zookeeper held up a large red buoy. I honestly thought that he would eventually recognize that the buoy was plastic, and therefore not a desirable food source. …No. He liked it.



…Something tells me it’s all happening at the zoo. I do believe it. I do believe it’s true.

And here is my favorite pretty picture of the day:

Despite the rain, a little boy and his mom can still have tons of fun:



And that's the way the hippo heckles.

A Day of Patience

Today was a valuable day for the new girl in the city. Though she still loves the District’s public transportation, she has come to realize that taking the Metro over the weekend requires a combination of patience and never-ending reading material.

Today was my first time volunteering through the organization Greater D.C. Cares. D.C. has a really great volunteering scene that’s super easy to get connected with. It’s as simple as registering on the website and signing up for a volunteer event.

For my first event, I chose something called Park View FUN Saturdays. Every Saturday, a group of volunteers and a group of kids living in Park View get together and enjoy 4 hours of fun – whether it be a field trip to a local museum, crafting, or playing basketball in the community pool.

My volunteer activity was metro-accessible according to the website, so I signed up for it knowing that I don’t have my own method of transportation here. Over the past few days, I’d heard from the locals that the Georgia/Petworth metro stop isn’t quite the safest place for a pint-sized chick to hang out. This made me nervous.

And I got to thinking. Isn’t it funny that I could spend 4 years in Orlando and rarely think about my safety driving alone on a road that looks like it belongs in a ghost town…and I spend 7 days in D.C. and suddenly I’m terrified of this metro stop that’s rumored to have crime?

I began my metro adventure by waiting 30 minutes for my red line train to come by. Apparently on the weekends, the metro typically undergoes some huge renovation, forcing the trains which normally run in opposite directions to run on the same track. Delays, delays, delays.

As I made my way through the underground world of the District, I began to notice that the closer I got to Georgia/Petworth, the more of a minority I became. And I began getting more and more nervous.

…This is something that I would like to condition in myself. Fear. I had absolutely nothing to fear. I made it to the Park View Kids Zone without a hitch, and met only kind, smiling people on my ways there and back. Though I remained vigilant on both journeys, keeping certain to hold my purse close and being extra conscious of my surroundings, I had no reason to fear the people around me. Why fear them? Because they might be of a different social status? (Not so much. I’m now in major debt). Because of their race? That’s silly. I’m currently reading “The Day Freedom Died,” by Charles Lane, a book written about the Colfax massacre. The mass murder of a group of former slaves who attempted to fit into a post-Civil War society. Reading this book has reminded me just how much I despise racism.

I never, ever want to catch myself being racist again. Being vigilant, yes. I should be vigilant everywhere that I go, no matter which circle, city, state, country, or continent I’m in. But being racist? That’s not an attractive or even human quality.

Because of a block party going on in Park View, not many kids showed up. But I did meet a few girls, particularly “Purple,” who I really enjoyed getting to know. Her birthday is only 5 days after mine, and she’s turning double digits this year!



After volunteering (and waiting another hour to catch the red line on the metro back home), I decided to take a little walk in the 108 degree weather. Every time I had to stop at a crosswalk, my black flip-flops literally started burning my feet. This incidence has never occurred to me in Florida. I am confused.

I walked around 10 blocks to a hardware store, where I bought spray paint for my newest art project: to fix a beautiful bookshelf to better fit my space.

The reason why this book shelf is beautiful is because it was free, from my generous downstairs neighbors in the process of moving out.



Now, I know spray painting indoors is discouraged, but there was no way I was getting that baby downstairs and out the back door by myself. So I opened the windows, cranked up the fan, held my breath, and got to work.



After finishing my three-hour-long spraypainting project, I successfully found my way to a nearby bar, where I helped my gorgeous downstairs neighbor celebrate her twenty-fourth birthday. Happy Birthday, Ashley! 



And here I am at 1:00 a.m., after a great day and night, showing off my awesome ability to walk home by myself at night without getting lost.

Here are some pretty things I encountered today:



A student brass band jamming out in public on Dupont Circle (check out the little guy on the right!)



I got to eat my first yellow cucumber!



This sculpture is awesome. It’s either a wombat (woo!) or a dog…but no matter which way your creative mind leans, the figure remains an adorable animal created solely from recycled objects.

And the next requires no words – just saw it walking towards the hardware store and had to stop and admire from afar.

Diggin' Dupont

*A.S. (In my head, I see this as being the opposite of P.S. Antescript?) I believe that I love this city. Never in my life have I been told that I am pretty or cute so much. Today, my cashier at the grocery store told me that I have a beautiful smile. Which just made me smile wider.

I would like to start this blogpost off with a claim. I claim that I will be in bed, tucked in, hugging my fat dolphin and ready to go to sleep by 12:00 a.m. I’m volunteering for 4 hours tomorrow with some rambunctious little ones in the sun…and I feel as if a LOT of energy will be necessary for that playtime.

In order to stockpile a good amount of bubbly, fun-loving, bursting-at-my-seams energy, I spent today checking out some local hotspots in the Dupont Circle area of the District.

My lovely day began by putting my three-day-free pass to the Ritz Carlton fitness club (The Sports Club LA/Washington) to good use. Ashamedly, I will admit that I skipped my free use yesterday. But my feet hurt after the 6 hours of walking I did at the National Holocaust Museum.



Here I am, unabashedly adorable with raccoon eyes (thank you, tight goggles), after swimming 20 laps in the curiously small lap pool. I can tell you now that I will not be purchasing a membership to the Sports Club LA. Why not?

Well, I refuse to pay $145 a month for a mediocre gymnasium with a sub-standard pool (AKA not Olympic-sized and not large enough to hold its membership). Oh, by the way, $145 is the cheapest membership and doesn’t include use of the squash courts.

I then went home and made a delicious lunch. I tried adding something new to my typical turkey-and-lettuce sandwich: raspberry preserves. Delicious.



Yet, though it was delicious, about 2 hours later I decided that I was ravenous (probably all of the calories burned at the gym, which I knew that I would no longer return to and therefore decided that I needed to put it to good use for the last day I had with it).

So I went to a place that has been recommended to me by a few people called Kramerbooks & More. It is not only a bookstore, but also a bar and a café. Apparently, the “literati” hang out here and purchase slightly overpriced food. I understand why, though, because the food was absolutely delicious.



I got this crazy pizza with mushrooms and delicious herbs. I feel as if it was crazy because it was a pizza on matzo. I have never before had a matzah pizza. (Apparently, you can spell this word 2 ways, according to a quick Google search I prefer matzah, but my computer yells at me when I type it that way).

I also had an impulse book buy, since I was in a bookstore, and purchased a huge book about King Henry VIII’s 6 wives. A review will be following, I’m sure. In about 3 years, when I’ve finished law school so I have time to read the book.

After my second lunch, I met the amazing girl who lives in the apartment one floor below me, Ashley. She pointed out a few of the good hotspots in Dupont that I will have to try out, and then took me to Maddy’s Bar and Grille for a drink. I told the bartender to give me something fruity, and he gave me something called a “weed peach.” To me, this sounds sketchy, but it tasted delicious, so I didn’t question it.

I also realized just how lucky of a girl I am. I don’t KNOW know many people in D.C. yet, but I have a few old friends that have moved here before me and sort of know their way around. One of these fabulous friends is Brenna. She and I met up after my weed peach experience and went to a cute yogurt place called Mr. Yogato.



There are quite a few ways to get discounts at Mr. Yogato’s. You can answer some trivia (and risk adding 10% to your bill if you answer the question incorrectly), impress someone with your Seinfeld knowledge, get your face stamped, and more.

Brenna and I chose to stamp our faces.



Luckily, it is summer and boiling in D.C. during this heat wave, so we soon sweat the stamps off. 

We also got to re-live childhood for a bit at Mr. Yogato’s, because the establishment provides some fun games for yogurt-lovers to play! It took some time, but we finally remembered how to play “Guess Who,” and ventured to try a new game, Pictureka, which was fun. And yet quite challenging for 2 law school students.



Overall, I enjoyed a peaceful, calm day which allowed me to appreciate some of the smaller things in life that really made me smile.

Here is some happiness for today:



He looks like he’s eating my head, but really he’s just giving me a fond nudge.



Saw those on the street and instantaneously fell in love with that child.

Think of All the Beauty.

I. Am. Tired.

So please excuse my might-be less-than-professional writing. I’m going to venture to tell you about my day, and everything leading up to it, despite my half-asleep status.

And the story begins:

I recently read a book that was suggested to me by my Kindle called “In the Garden of Beasts” by Erik Larson. It’s basically a novel depicting the experience of William Dodd in Hitler’s pre-war Germany. Now, what makes this book even more compelling is that it’s a new slant on a story that’s been around since liberation in 1945. We see pre-war tyranny, anti-Semitism, and free-speech-clamping through Dodd, who just so happens to be the American Ambassador to Berlin.

This book is what made me react to the Casey Anthony trial and result the way that I did: praising America rather than condemning the Pinellas County jury. For I live in a country where all are innocent until proven guilty, and I steadfastly believe that that is a gift that should not be criticized. I cannot imagine what Hitler’s pre-war Germany must have been like precisely because I live in America, where my speech is my right and my religion is my own decision.



I celebrated my citizenship by going to the National Holocaust Museum in D.C. today. I arrived at 9:30 to wait outside for a timed-entry pass. The museum opened at 10:00, and luckily, my pass was for 10:15, so I basically went straight into the permanent exhibit.

I have spent a lot of my life studying the Holocaust of my own accord. I am not sure why I find it so fascinating, but I always have; I remember being 13 and learning about Dr. Mengele, who performed heinous experiments, or “studies,” on sets of twins. I remember seeing pictures of emaciated, spiritless bodies stacked into ditches. Of Gestapo leaders holding a gun to a live man’s head and knowing that, seconds later, his life was eradicated by a bullet.

So, to me, the Holocaust museum wasn’t particularly staggering. There are a few moments when I did have to hold my breath, though. When I walked through a cattle car with two tiny windows that let in negligible light and tried to imagine myself stuck within a heaving mass of 99 other people, all sweating, all stinking, all crying. When I saw some pictures of experiments on living humans done to concentration camp victims. When I met a survivor and she handed me a picture of her six-year-old little brother who managed to survive the horrible journey in the cattle car only to be sent in a long line of humans, some young, vibrant, filled with vitality; some old, wise, and filled with memories – to be gassed.

When I saw the exhibit below, of personal artifacts – prosthetic limbs, mainly – that were brought in suitcases by these people who believed, due to Nazi propaganda, that they were being relocated - for some reason, that hit me as being exceedingly real.



Photography inside of the exhibits is not allowed, so this isn’t the best picture. But walking into this portion of the exhibit also affected me:



The poem on the wall reads:

We are the shoes, we are the last witnesses.
We are shoes from grandchildren and grandfathers
From Prague, Paris and Amsterdam,
And because we are only made of fabric and leather
And not of blood and flesh,
Each one of us avoided the hellfire
– Moshe Szulsztein, Yiddish Poet

I entered the museum at 10:00 a.m. I left the museum at 4:00 p.m.

Then I needed some happiness, so I went to the Dupont Circle Park to read a book



Ironically, the book written by Jaycee Dugard, the girl who was kidnapped at age 11 and found at age 29.

I feel as if I learned some important lessons today. As my horoscope said I would. I learned never to underestimate the small, ugly men. So many people underestimated Hitler – so many Americans underestimated Hitler. We can’t just blame it on the other countries.

I learned that I am not brave.

People like Hannah Senesh are brave. In an act of Palestinian resistance, she joined the Army and parachuted to her native home of Hungary, hoping to infiltrate the Nazis and bring relief to her fellow Hungarian Jews.

She was captured by the Nazis and was tortured, but remained respected in prison because she refused to reveal details of her mission to the Nazis. She was sentenced to death.

She wrote a poem while in jail, the end of which goes:

I could have been twenty-three next July;
I gambled on what mattered most,
The dice were cast. I lost.

After I read this, I thought for a second. “What would I do?” I wondered, if people I could relate to were being tortured, systematically mass-murdered, and persecuted for no real viable reason? “Oh, I would do something,” I thought. I wouldn’t just stand by and watch a genocide happen. How could the world ever do that again?

But then I look to Somalia, and I know. I know that I am not brave.

Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame
Blessed is the flame that burns in the secret fastness of the heart
Blessed is the heart with strength to stop its beating for honor’s sake
Blessed is the match consumed in kindling flame
- Hannah Senesh

I do remember what Anne Frank said, too, though. “In spite of everything, I still believe that people are really good at heart. I simply can’t build my hopes on a foundation of confusion, misery, and death.”

“Go outside, to the fields, enjoy nature and the sunshine, go out and try to recapture happiness in yourself and in God. Think of all of the beauty that’s still left in and around you and be happy!”

Happiness I saw in Dupont Circle today:







And that’s the way the hippo heckles.

Representation Restricted

I had a master plan last night. It involved going to bed early and then waking up at 6:00 to head to the local Georgetown DMV (official District resident, anyone?)

If by “going to bed early” I meant going to bed at 2 a.m., then I succeeded. I don’t even know what I was doing. Watching T.V.? Checking the G.W. Facebook boards?

So my 6:00 wake up plan was shifted to 7:30, but not to worry; I took my first public bus ride on the Circulator (which I’m now in love with: only $1 fares and it saves me a LOT of blocks of walking!) successfully, and made it to the DMV with 20 minutes before opening time to spare.

And over 20 people were in front of me.



I can’t say I wasn’t nervous. The DMV opened at 8:15. I was praying to get out of there before 10 – IF I was lucky.

Lo and behold, the District seems to be quite the efficient place thus far. I was out of the DMV with my new license by 9:00 a.m., and it actually took me longer than most people in for the same thing because my license got stuck in the printer. (Oh, Murphy’s law. Now that I have a Murphy bed, do you have to follow me everywhere I go?)

Either way, I can’t say I wasn’t surprised by my pleasant experience at the DMV.

After the DMV, in city style, I took the Metro to the Tenleytown/AU stop to go to The Container Store, where I was offered a job for my intense excitement about organization. (True story).

I also bought a sweet bag made by the Baggalini company. They tend to make super lightweight, water-resistant bags with tons of secret compartments for women’s things. I have learned while in D.C. that having a large, comfortable bag is essential. Where else can you put your book, your money, your Metro card, your water, your sunglasses, and any purchases you might make along the way?

What do boys do in this city?

Then, I walked home from the Metro, and paused to look at this plaque underneath a tree:



I’d been seeing a lot of D.C. license plates saying “Taxation Without Representation.” I figured that this was some corny remembrance of our Declaration of Independence days, being in our nation’s capital. But no. It’s an ironic statement representing the residents of the District of Columbia, who have no voting rights in the U.S. Senate and have a delegate in the House of Representatives…who can’t vote on the floor of the House.

This is because D.C. is not a state, but rather a federal territory.

Crazy – residents of D.C. couldn’t vote for the president until 1961, when they received 3 electoral college votes.

Also, fun fact. Vincent Gray, the seventh (and current) governor of the District of Columbia, is an African American who joined the Jewish fraternity Tau Epsilon Phi…and became president of the fraternity. TWICE.

Anyway, I am now tired because of my distinct inability to fall asleep at a decent hour. But it’s comforting to know that I’m an official resident of The District.




And that’s the way the hippo heckles.

I Spy a Monetary Demise

So my second real day livin’ the city life will officially be over in 34 minutes. I have to say that I do feel pretty wonderful about my life decision to go to law school, specifically G.W., and to move to this incredibly cute/beautiful/spacious/practical/central apartment.

I slept in a little bit today, then woke up and putzed around for a little bit – remembering that I want to keep this apartment clean so that it always looks this gorgeous. I left at around 1 to go to the International Spy Museum. Man oh man, that was a fun place. At first, the museum seemed like it might be a little hokey – you had to pick out your own spy persona and memorize it throughout the journey – but it was pretty awesome. And also really interactive – especially the first half, which shows you spy equipment and teaches you some spy lingo – really great for the whole family. I definitely think that my sister will love it.

My favorite, of course, was the second half – which detailed great spies in history.

All in all, it took me over 3 hours to go through this exhibit, and I’m definitely going to go back sometime this year. I actually am pretty proud of myself for researching this museum. I bought a general membership for $75, which allows specials like free admission for myself for 1 year, $4 off tickets for friends, and 20% discounts at the 2 restaurants and the gift shop. This originally saved me the general admission fee of $18. As a member, I also get a free “Operation Spy” tour ($14) and “Spy in the City” tour ($15) that I’m going to save and use with my sister. I’m pretty stoked about it, because I’m pretty sure I’ll end up saving money in the long run. :0)

After touring the museum for about 210 minutes, I decided to get a coffee from Panera and go to the Dupont Circle Park to drink it, where I met a friendly puppy named Ziggy and people-watched for about an hour. D.C. really is a beautiful city, and I felt so peaceful and content holding my iced caramel and stalking people covertly (a technique I learned from the spy museum).





At around 7:30, I decided to walk home – this time taking a new direction that I hadn’t taken before by myself. And this is where I ran into trouble. The Second Story Bookstore, a used book store that was having a sale on a few select items cruelly located outside of the entrance. I couldn’t avoid running into the books…reading the titles…touching them…hugging them…

It turns out that I escaped the store with minimal damage – for a history and book lover. I purchased 8 books and 2 CD’s…including books such as “Eugenics and Sex Harmony” from 1949, “The Hunt for the Dawn Monkey” (an evolution handbook), “Your Inner Fish” (also evolution-related), a collection of six Dr. Seuss books for a mere $4, and my own personal favorite, “Fromms: How Julius Fromm’s Condom Empire Fell to the Nazis.” Yes. Look that one up. It’s definitely worth your time.

I feel as if I will be spending a lot of time at Second Story Books, located less than 1 block away from my apartment.



I love where I live.

Then I came home and took pictures of my beautiful apartment before people start asking for them and before I get a little too comfortable here.





Please notice how spacious my apartment is with the wonderful addition of the timeless Murphy bed! And the bed’s built-in bookshelves give my 8 new books and 2 new CD’s a great home. :0)

And that’s the way the hippo heckles.

Metro: Convenient as Crafting:Crack.

I’m alive!

It’s 9:45 p.m. and I’m tired. Guess who I’ve been spending time with? That’s right – my family.

Actually, last night, my eight-year-old sister Mandy slept over at my new Big Girl apartment in D.C. We played about a quarter of a game of monopoly (45 minutes…yes…I timed it), had great fun pulling down the Murphy bed, and watched a bit of T.V. (“What do you want to watch?” “Anything other than cartoons.” Mandy goes to OnDemand and plays some weird cartoon called Fanboy and Chum Chum, all the while saying, “Sister, this is kind of a cartoon, sort of. Is that okay?”)

The wine probably affected her.



Don’t worry, it’s just sparkling lemonade!

As a 0L, I feel as if I should be preparing for the next three years of drowning myself in court cases from 1748 that no longer apply to today’s Supreme Court decisions. I should have a glass of wine while pondering Machiavelli and typing some sort of philosophical rant about Clarence Earl Gideon.

Fortunately for you, I don’t want to do that. I want to talk about something else entirely.

Crafts.

See, after 4 days with my family, making gingerbread women that are 50% anatomically correct, hitting the National Zoo, and losing a purse in the worst possible location (The Mansion on O Street, with over 30 hidden passageways meant to twist and turn you, distorting your spatial awareness)…what did I REALLY want to do on my first day alone in the District?




Craft. I wanted to craft. To create something. As a disclaimer, I would just like to mention that I don’t particularly have any talent in the crafting arena. I basically cut pictures (unevenly), paint wooden trinkets and boxes, and now I can string beads and (sometimes) successfully crimp them to create bracelets, necklaces, and anklets. But crafting just feels great. It’s also a relatively inexpensive way to enjoy yourself without ever having to leave your home.

Except, of course, if you need to venture out and purchase new supplies. Like I did today.

Don’t get me wrong – I UPS’d a medium box filled with arts supplies I’ve collected over the years (fabric flowers, two one-gallon Ziploc bags filled with different color paints, stickers, scrapbooking appliques)...but nothing wooden to actually paint.

Come to find out there is no convenient arts supply store (think: Michael’s, Hobby Lobby, Joann Fabrics) within walking distance to either my apartments OR to ANY Metro stop. Really?

…Really. So, $50 in cab fees, 30 minutes of slight panic when I realize that I don’t know how to call a cab, and a MASSIVE supply of arts and crafts later, I can proudly claim that I have traveled to the Seven Corners Shopping Center in Church Falls, Virginia.

I’m pretty sure I will never go back. I will now be mass-purchasing at the 231 art supply stores within quick driving distance in my hometowns in Florida. Until someone decides to bank by opening a craft supply store in downtown D.C.

I would also like to mention that I successfully traversed the Metro system as well today (I even had to cross lines at the Metro Center). I accompanied my parents by taxi to the Reagan airport (also, ironically, located in Virginia), took the 8 minute stroll to the nearest (above-ground) station, and got from the blue line to the red line and ALL the way to the Panera across the street from my building.



Now, if you know me (which you should, if you’re reading this), you know I SUCK at following directions. For some reason, mental maps work just as well as physical maps for me. That is to say…they DON’T work.

Turns out, the Metro maps click just fine in my brain.



And that’s the way the hippo heckles.

Panicked about Planes

Well, the day has officially come. 14 hours from now, I’ll be gazing in wonder at the National Monument below me from the vantage point of a plane. 45,000 feet in the air and preparing for descent.


The National Monument and myself pose for a picture together.

Maybe you don’t know me very well yet, and if you don’t, let me help you get to know me better. I am short. Like, really short. Not “little people” status, but only about half an inch away. I’m four feet, ten-and-a-half inches tall. See, God built me with a purpose: to be close to the ground.

Airplanes aren’t too conducive to my main goal of constantly staying in contact with ground. In fact, I’m terrified of them. Not of the airplanes themselves. Not even of terrorists so much (although my fear did spike after 9/11). No. I’m afraid of…falling.

Of being acutely aware of how much control I lack over my own body as I plunge thousands of feet to the ground at breakneck speeds, encapsulated in a hunk of metal that will surely crumple with the weight of this fall. The impact doesn’t freak me out nearly as much as the fall, though.

I’m not sure why. It doesn’t make much sense, does it?

I don’t like being unable to control my own surroundings. I don’t appreciate when others can’t control their own bodily functions. For example, a fellow classmate submits to a seizure. I leave the room, unable to witness another body completely and utterly helpless. And there we have it; the reason I will never, ever be a member of the medical profession. In a plane, I secede all control. *shudder*

So in order to avoid a fatal heart attack due to anxiety, I do a few things prior to a flight. I take Xanax. (Recently upped the doseage, yay!) I drink alcoholic beverages. I pray. And I practice breathing.



Today, I also read a book: “Lose Your Fear of Flying” by Sonoco. I have no clue who Sonoco is – when I Googled it, it came up as a company. Enjoy looking that up if you care enough – I don’t. The book was mediocre, but actually did help calm me down a bit about the impending flight. Barely 90 pages long – if even THAT – I read it in less than 30 minutes. It was a basic run-down of how the plane functions – in super simple laymen’s terms (which I really appreciated).

The noises heard during takeoff, flight, and landing were described in detail. How exactly the plane lifts off was mentioned. Short explanations (3 in total) describing why turbulence occurs were given. And then a short section on the landing.

This was all information that I’ve heard before – since I now have a friend in the Air Force who actually WORKS on planes and has been calming me down about my irrational fears for the past 12 days. But for some reason, reading it again honestly does make me feel better.

I did have to read the turbulence part over (x3), since that really does affect my state of relaxation (or paranoia) the most. I didn’t quite feel satisfied with the short explanations, but after doing a bit of extra research, I realized that longer explanations were unnecessary because turbulence really is a simple, run-of-the-mill thing to pilots and the flight crew.



I also read a blog by Shawna Redden, who was a passenger on Southwest Flight 812 (the plane that had an in-flight fuselage rupture, AKA a big hole) that made me feel incrementally better. Even with a plane that dropped 25,000 feet in only 4 minutes and that lost breathable oxygen…she survived with a smile. ☺ Check out her vantage point of the harrowing emergency landing:

http://thebluestmuse.blogspot.com/2011/04/southwest-flight-812-i-prefer-my-plane.html

Anyway…while I’m not exactly looking forward to the flight tomorrow (especially since I recently downloaded a Smithsonian App that has previews for its TV show about plane crashes)…I’m not panicking. …Yet.

And that’s the way the hippo heckles.

Holla!

Hi, Internet!

I recently caused a bit of a brouhaha on that infamous social networking website which causes humanity to slowly devolve into hunched, nocturnal, solitary primates (a la aye aye).



Aye-Aye

Okay, Facebook isn’t that bad. (And neither are aye ayes, which happen to be my favorite animals).

In fact, I technically didn’t even cause this brouhaha. A jury selected from the Floridian county called Pinellas did, after over 35 days of a trial and a rather mild verdict for purported child-killer Casey Anthony. But I did post a few opinions on my status which happened to contradict many of the brash, emotional opinions of close friends, acquaintances, and even family members.

This caused my father to advise me on a most serious matter: “You have to be careful of what you say. It could hurt you in your future.”

Sigh. Ah, the coveted, restricted future for a hopeful law-school-graduate.

My name is Stephanie Elona Levitt. I’m twenty-one years old, born on July 28, 1989. I am both self-confident and brash, while simultaneously being uber-sensitive and and introverted. I love reading, ASL, pina coladas, and getting caught in the rain. I think that a Mandarin Chinese speaker could seduce me more than someone with an enviable grasp of one of the romance languages. I believe in a higher power, and I inwardly cringe when people order the “extra butter + Diet Coke” combination at movie theaters.

If all goes well, I will be attending the George Washington University School of Law this Fall semester for my 1L year, making me a hippo-to-be. A devil’s advocate, debate-loving, happy-to-heckle, four-foot-ten hippo-to-be.


G.W.’s Official Hippo J


So, as a result of my lovely personality, I have decided to follow my father’s advice by starting a blog. It can be an open forum for some of my stronger opinions that might not be accepted with such ardor as I would hope. (Exhibit A, Casey Anthony status, to follow).

I had honestly expected to begin this blog en medias res with a very opinionated book review, but it turns out I spent too much time expounding upon myself. Oh well…strong personalities lead to lengthy biographies.

And that’s the way the hippo heckles.