Taxi Woes

From the moment I walk into the office in the morning to the moment I leave in the afternoon, my day is typically spent sitting behind a desk. Not counting my trips to the break room, bathroom, and my walks outside, my ass is pretty much glued to that chair from start to finish. For someone like me who likes to keep busy and stay on the move, you can imagine that this can get pretty unbearable at times. You can also imagine that when my office needed someone to run a simple work errand, I jumped on the chance to get out of the office like a frog jumps on a lily pad.

Typically, when our company needs to do business in other parts of the city, the offices we need to visit are pretty accessible as most of them are near metro stations. But of course, the office I needed to visit was no where near a metro station. If I had tried to take public transit, it would have taken me over an hour each way via train, bus, and on foot. That seemed a bit excessive - especially since I was only picking up a few things and wouldn't be at the office long at all - so to keep things simple, my boss kindly offered to pay for a cab. It would still be a 20 minute ride, but that was much better than an hour. "It'll be easy," he said. "Nice and simple," he said...

I knew I was in trouble when I got into the cab, gave the address, and the cabby said, "Where??"

No, he wasn't asking because he didn't hear me. He was asking because he literally had no idea where I was talking about. You have got to be kidding me...

Not only did he have no idea where he was going, but he didn't even have a GPS in his car. So, while he grumpily called his taxi buddies to help him out (it turns out they weren't very helpful, either), I pulled up the address on my phone and told him where to go. When we got to my location, I asked him to wait and told him I would be about 10-15 minutes. "Fine," he said, "I'll wait 15 minutes." When I came out (right around 15 minutes later) he said, "I was getting impatient!" What are you complaining about, jerk? I'm paying you aren't I?? Once again, you have GOT to be kidding me. At that point I didn't even bother having him drive me all the way back to my office. I just told him to take me to the closest metro station and I would get back from there. I didn't care that I had a rather awkward box to carry and had to now traverse the city in heels (thank goodness they weren't super high heels) -- no more crazy cab rides for me.

Sadly, this is not the first poor experience I have had with a DC area cab. When I was still living at home, there were a couple times I got home late and had to take a cab from the metro back to my house -- 5 minutes away -- and the cabbies didn't even recognize the streets I was mentioning. Sigh....

Maybe it's just my imagination, but shouldn't a cab driver know the streets of the city s/he is driving in? Are my expectations too high? Maybe I'm comparing too many of my taxi experiences to the awesome taxis I took in Spain. After all, I never took cabs on my own before living overseas, so my first experiences with taxis were when I was living in Valencia -- and I have to say, Valencian taxis are pretty awesome.

While I didn't take them all that often, Valencian taxis never disappointed me. Whether I had just missed the bus or didn't want to walk back from my friends' apartment at 3 AM, they were always very handy. They were relatively cheap, efficient, and the cabbies always knew where they were going. On the rare occasions they didn't know where they were going, they had a GPS to help them along the way (fancy that, modern technology...). And for the cherry on top, the cabbies were always really nice and were so much fun to talk to in my spotty Spanish.

When I told a friend about my varying cab experiences, she mentioned that good taxis aren't just a European trend - that New York City is another place where cab drivers actually know where they're going. It turns out that once again, my expectations really aren't too high. DC transportation is just terrible as usual.



Disclaimer: Yes, I realize this post is the epitome of First World Problems. I know that there are many more worse things in the world that could happen (and are happening) than me having a bad taxi experience. Just trying to keep things a little more light-hearted.

Praying for Boston

Ever since yesterday's horror in Boston, I, like everyone else, have been trying to make sense of it all. At this point I haven't been able to process it long enough to turn my thoughts into words. So for now, I'll keep it very short.

I did not personally know anyone at the marathon yesterday. But as a runner, I feel like there is an added level of sadness on top the typical whirlwind of emotion. The running community holds a very unique and special bond, and to see that community attacked hits a certain core. Not only is it painful to see the runners that have worked so hard be affected by it, but the spectators as well. Runners need all the support they can get to push through their races, and spectators pour out all their love and support to cheer on their loved ones. It breaks my heart to see so many wonderful people affected by this tragedy, and my heart truly goes out to the victims, their family and friends, and all of Boston.

While I may be struggling to find the right words to express this sadness, I found a few things on Facebook among my running friends that seem to capture a runner's sentiments quite well:

And finally:

"If you're trying to destroy the human spirit, marathoners are the wrong group to target."

Since all of these were found on Facebook, I do not know their original sources and am unable to cite them. 

Building a Nursery

Planning. Shopping. Building. Organizing. All essential to designing a proper nursery. We had a lot of work and research to do, since it turned out that we would be welcoming 7 new members to our N1109 family.

You read that correctly...SEVEN. SEVEN BABIES.

Baby plants that is.

Ha HA! Gotcha! Get it? Babies live in nurseries...plants live in nurseries...baby plants...oh goodness I crack myself up sometimes.

Okay, let's face it, even I have to admit the cheesiness of that introduction and the lack of cracking myself up. But it was still fun, and I just couldn't resist. And this weekend we did in fact welcome seven new plant friends into our borderline urban/suburban home.

Saturday afternoon Maura and I got back from our respective activities and were trying to figure out what to do with the rest of the day. She was feeling crafty and I was totally game, but we just weren't feeling inspired. We sat at the kitchen table, each gazing into our laptops, begging Pinterest to give us a fun, crafty idea that we could finish in a few hours. An hour and two chocolate milkshakes later, we still had nothing.

Then out of the blue...herbs! Let's grow herbs! I don't remember who came up with the idea at the time or how we agreed to pursue this particular project, but we both decided that we really wanted to try and grow herbs in our 11th floor, downtown Rockville apartment. After all, we all cook with them enough, why not? After a bit more online price-checking, it was time to begin our mission. THE mission. Soon we were in the car and on the road to stop number one: IKEA.

Yes, I said IKEA. Before we could buy the herbs we had to be sure we had a place to put them. C'mon people, keep up with me here.

I have to admit, I have actually never been to IKEA before (strange, I know, but true). And may I just say, that place is HUGE. It was fun at first, winding through the pathways and seeing all the fun furniture, but after a while it got a bit overwhelming and claustrophobic - even more so with all the Saturday afternoon idiots wandering around. We weren't having much luck finding a suitable and affordable table for our babies, either.

Then, ironically enough, we stumbled across a well-priced baby changing table that would have served our purposes wonderfully. I actually thought it would be pretty awesome slash hilarious, having a changing table as a plant nursery. But just then, Maura found a nice looking shelf that seemed like an even more perfect fit that we just couldn't say no to - of course, she found it on her phone and it was at Target. So, after driving 30 minutes to get there and wandering around for almost an hour, we left IKEA empty-handed and headed back to our own neighborhood to buy our shelf.

Next stop was Home Depot (side note - I can't help but laugh about being excited to go to Home Depot - my dad dragged me there countless times as a child and I absolutely despised that store. Now I was happily prancing in to buy plants). We wandered shyly into the nursery, not too sure about what we were getting ourselves into. We gathered a handful of herbs that we thought we might use the most and Maura bought some seeds for some extra flowers. After grabbing all the necessary pots and soil  (which turned out to be for "in-ground" use - oh well, we'll see how that turns out) and nervously telling a store employee that we had absolutely no idea what we were doing, we checked out and rolled our new family members to the car.

Both of us were oddly terrified as we walked out of that store:

"I hope we don't kill them all"
"What are we getting ourselves into??"
"OMG WE HAVE NO IDEA WHAT WE ARE DOING"

Clearly neither of us are ready for human babies yet.

After picking up Chinese food and bubble tea, we came back to the apartment and built our shelf/nursery/plant holder. We then proceeded to make a mess in our kitchen as we attempted to put our little babies in their new beds A.K.A. pots.

"Need some more dirt?"
"Is this enough dirt?"
"This dirt is getting everywhere."

Dirt. Not soil. Not possibly the wrong soil. Just dirt. Two giant green thumbs right here. It was awesome :)

This is how the final set-up turned out:

We plan to fill all those shelves soon. And that black trash bag is holding the bag of dirt.

It's only been a few days, but I'll let you know how our babies are doing as they hopefully grow and don't die!

Side note 2: We actually have eight plants total now. My Opa saw my apartment for the first time and brought me a lovely orchid. Our family just keeps growing!

Returning to Morrie

Over the years, I was always a pretty good student. Not "top 5% of the class" good, but I always did well. I finished my homework, studied for my tests, and did the best I could do. But just like every other student, I had my moments - I procrastinated, didn't put full effort into some assignments, and sometimes I didn't even care enough to finish them at all.

This is what happened when I had to read Tuesdays with Morrie.

It was back in high school, sophomore year if I remember correctly, when I was assigned to read Tuesdays with Morrie. I remember starting it and actually enjoying it, but somewhere along the way I got too busy. I probably had too many assignments at once, got involved in marching band, and spent too much time sitting in the front hall with my friends after school. I started it but never finished. I'm pretty sure I skipped a good portion of the middle and read the end so I would be at least a little better prepared for my test. That's all Morrie was to me - another test to study for.

And yet, it was one of the few books that I kept from high school. It even made it onto my bookshelf (rather than tucked away in a dusty box). After all, I had enjoyed those parts of it that I did read, and I knew I wanted to come back to it some day to finish it.

That day finally came about 8 years later.

When I went to pull it off my bookshelf, I realized that the only thing I remembered was that it was about a man dying from ALS, or Lou Gehrig's Disease. As I began reading the first few pages, I was reminded that the story was also about a former student (the author, Mitch Album) that went to visit his old professor (Morrie). Mitch was a man that had gotten caught up in being successful at work and didn't have time for much else. I have to admit, I was wondering how I would be able to connect with the story. I thought it would be an entertaining read, but it never even crossed my mind that it could hold something even more valuable than a story line.

As I made it through the next couple chapters, I began to realize that Morrie wasn't scolding or lecturing a workaholic on his lifestyle choices (something I almost expected); he was simply trying to teach him the most important things he knew with the limited time he had left. The final lessons that Morrie gave Mitch are lessons that everyone can benefit from - lessons about life, love, and being the best person you can be.

While my situation in life is very different than Mitch's was at the time, I saw how Morrie's wisdom could be applied to my own life. Things I could improve on, others I think I might be doing right, and still others that I had never even thought of before. As I saw this more and more throughout the book, I realized that Morrie wasn't just teaching Mitch - he was teaching all of us, sharing his final thoughts and wisdom with a dear friend that he knew would be able to share them with the world.

Interestingly enough, there is at least one thing that Mitch and I have in common: we both spent years away from Morrie, but still felt drawn back to him. Mitch always said he would keep in touch with Morrie after college, then lost touch for 16 years until finding out Morrie was sick. I always said I would re-read Tuesdays with Morrie, but it still took me 8 years to do so. I point this out for two reasons. First, I think it's an interesting parallel. Second, I think it just goes to show what a wise, compassionate, and special person Morrie must have been. No matter how long it's been, people are always drawn back to him - and he is always there to welcome them with open arms.

Image from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tuesdays_with_Morrie

(New) Easter Traditions

Let me start by saying Happy Easter, everyone! I hope you all enjoyed a wonderful day with family and friends. I know I did! And now I'd like to tell you all a little bit about it...

Easter: Part 1

Before we actually get to Easter, let's rewind a couple days. This year was the first time that I participated in the full Triduum and went to mass each day: Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil on Saturday. I also attended something called Tenebrae on Wednesday night, which I have to admit I had never even heard of before a friend invited me to go. As much as I would love to be able to explain what all of this is in simpler terms, I'm not the greatest at explaining Catholic rituals and traditions just yet. I've only recently started to learn about and understand some of them within the last couple years, so I'd like to try and widen my own knowledge a little more before I try to explain it to others. In the meantime, here's a link that you might find helpful in learning more about it all: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07435a.htm

Participating in each part of the Triduum was a really great experience for me. Not only was everything beautiful, but I realized that I've reached a new level of maturity and independence in my faith. My faith has evolved in more ways than I can even begin to explain, particularly within the last few years. But there was something about this decision - the decision to participate in the masses and other scores of traditions that come with the Triduum and Holy Week - that felt particularly special. I can't exactly put my finger on it, but whatever it is, it's pretty cool.

Easter: Part 2

Obviously the most important aspect of Easter is what it celebrates - Jesus' resurrection. But there's always another part of holidays that's pretty big and important as well - family time and fun.

When I was growing up, Easter was always part of the family beach trip over spring break. As that tradition has sort of ebbed out as we've all gotten older, Easter now involves a smaller and different crowd, my future step-family. We're all pretty much grown up as well, but that doesn't mean we can't still be little kids with Easter traditions.

My future step-mom has been having Easter egg hunts with her kids their whole lives, and the tradition lives on - despite the fact that her kids are in their 20s and in high school - and will continue to live on as long as possible. Last year, I was lucky enough to be a part of this little event for the first time and let me just say - I never knew Easter egg hunts could be so intense.

The eggs were scattered all over the yard and house, and me and my four future step-siblings plowed over each other as we raced to get as many as we could. This year was no different, minus the fact that my future step-sister couldn't make it :( Competition raged, particularly to find the Golden Egg (that was actually blue) that had a $20 bill in it. Game. On.

Let me just say that, growing up as an only child, it's a bit of an adjustment getting used to having siblings. When I was growing up, I didn't have an older brother knocking me out of the way to steal an Easter egg - and now I do (I also didn't have the same older brother trying to invade my section of cookie dough with his cookie cutter at Christmas time). I didn't have siblings to compete with for the most eggs, to compare candy swag, and to trade Easter egg silly bands with - and now I do. But while it's certainly a new adjustment and I have to embrace my competitive side a little more, I absolutely love it. We may not have grown up together, but when my future family and I get together we're just a bunch of big kids having a great time and enjoying holiday traditions - and lots of tasty food :)