On Mischief

It's true. Sophie the diva kitten has struck again.

For those of you who don't know, Sophie is my almost-four-month-old kitten. She's the most adorable kitten I've ever seen--she has beautiful gray and light orange fur that looks like tie dye across her face and body. She is a big mama's girl and literally follows me around everywhere in our tiny little studio apartment. No, really...she actually follows me everywhere. When I sit on the couch, she snuggles up next to me. When I'm washing the dishes, she sits next to the sink and drinks water from the stream (but refuses to ever drink from her black wrought iron water bowl). When I put my contacts in in the morning, she sits on the counter and swats at the case (every...single...morning). Creepiest of all, when I take a shower she sits on the little corner ledge and just stares. I know she's starting at the water because she'll occasionally jump in--only to scurry out once she realizes she's about to be drenched--but it's still kind of uncomfortable.

Beyond also having more energy than Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blonde, she's also the most mischievous animal I have ever owned.

For example, she mysteriously hides random items in our studio apartment--yes, just one big room--and they disappear forever. Forever lost are her feather rod toy and my newest contact case. I've searched the place up and down, but they're nowhere to be found. I strongly believe she slides these items under my front door to the neighbors as exchange for cocaine that she hides in her litter box.

She has also learned to: turn off lamps, unplug my cell phone charger, let herself out of a closet when the door was shut closed, and claw her way up my entire body all the way to my shoulders in .05 seconds (this one is painful).

But I think she has struck her best move yet this evening. It started when I came home yesterday and noticed mysterious large pieces of foam scattered around the apartment. It's very strange when unknown materials surface their way into your home. I searched everything but didn't see anything she could've broken in to. Then, tonight, I heard this loud noise that sounded like she was playing in bubble wrap. I searched to find her, but she was a little ghost and invisible before she'd pop out of nowhere and attack my back as I'm crouched on the floor looking for her. I can just hear her thinking, "I'm smarter than you, you idiot!"

The noise resurfaced again about five minutes later. I heard it coming from my big couch, but looked under the couch and nothing was there. Except...oh, wait...there is something. You know that space under your couch where the springs are? It is covered by that ugly blackish fabric that looks like burlap. Well, when I look down and up, I see movement in the fabric. It's what you'd imagined if you laid under a trampoline and looked up while people were jumping on it.

The little trickster had ripped a small hole in the fabric, and was using the in between space (the length of the entire couch) as her personal secret playground/trampoline.

Exclusive shot of her private jungle...I felt sort of like paparazzi snapping this picture

I'll have to fatten her up so she can't fit in the hole anymore

How the crap does she figure this stuff out? Better question: how do I fix this hole with a fabric she won't just rip open again? I'm trying to think of a way to fix this so she can't pull out any more stuffing/foam from the coach and my place won't look like the freaking craft scrap exchange anymore.

I think she knows I'm blogging about her bad-girl ways because she's sitting all angelically next to my laptop. "What, Mom? You must be referring to some other kitty? Surely not me."

I'm just waiting for her next move. What'll it be? Jumping out the window? Hiding in the refrigerator? Learning to turn on the shower when I'm gone? While I wait, I'll go clean up the vomit I just discovered under my bed, i.e. Sophie's sick form of karma for complaining about her to the bloggersphere. Good thing she's cute.

How To: Ride the MetroBus

One of the core elements of true fauxdulthood is getting a job. And not just landing the job, but keeping it. Which means, uh, you actually have to show up. On time. Every day. Five days a week. 

In my last post I mentioned I don't have a car anymore (moment of silence for El Jeepo...), so I am now a trusty user of the Washington, DC public transportation system, better known as WMATA or simply "metro." There are two ways to get around here: the metro (i.e. the train, or "the subway" for you NYC'ers) and/or the MetroBus (i.e. the...uh...bus). I usually find myself taking the metro because I know all the routes and it's much quicker. Don't worry though, I don't want the MetroBus to feel left out, so I typically ride the bus to and from work.

The bus does have its perks. For one, it's cheaper. $1.25 per ride. Flat rate. No heightened prices during rush hour like the metro. The S2 and S4 bus routes also happen to have a stop right outside of my apartment building and go all the way to Silver Spring where I work. The bus actually drops me off right in front of my office building, which allows for the ultimate in laziness (i.e. win). 

The bus can be kind of crappy too, though. I wish someone had told me the unspoken rules of bus ridership here--it would've really decreased my learning curve. There are particular things you do--and sure as heck don't want to do--to have a pleasant bus riding experience. To explain, here's a handy dandy how-to guide for riding the DC MetroBus.

How to Ride the Bus in DC:

Step 1: Miss your bus. An appropriate MetroBus ride cannot properly begin without walking toward your bus stop of choice, see the bus you want to catch, and then watch it slowly drive away as you run up to it. You will feel like there are imaginary elves sitting in the back of the bus who laugh and point at you from the window as you stand there, watching it ride away, looking defeated.This will happen to you 2 to 3 times a week, so get used to it. Remember to look mad/pissed/annoyed/any city-like expression and curse “damn it” under your breath so everyone around you knows “you just missed your freakin’ bus!” (Note:  No one will care.)

Step 2: Wait for the next bus. Piddle around on your phone, look at the time on your clock every five seconds while thinking how late you’re going to be. Why don't people update their Facebook statuses more often to provide you with idle entertainment? First world problems, I say. Count the number of runners out at 8:15 a.m. Wow, that old man's shorts shouldn't be that short. Ew.

Step 3: Get on the bus. Finally, your bus has arrived! And you only had to wait eight extra minutes—score. Dutifully let the lady with two kids and a stroller step on the bus first. Smack your SmarTrip fare card against the card reader as you get on and survey the scene for available seats. None open in the front, naturally, except aisle seats (but who wants them? No one.) Move to the back elevated level. Seating choices: sit next to the homeless-looking man who smells like your garbage disposal, sit across from a creepy gel-haired 30-something who is already undressing you with his eyes, or retreat to the very back corner seat with the motor vibrating against your back. Motor it is.

Step 4: Plop down and avoid all eye contact with your surrounding riders. Locking eyes with someone on the bus is equivalent to getting on the bus naked. It's just weird, and you don't do it (I hope). Creepy 30-something winks at you and licks his lips. Vomit slightly in your mouth. Give him disgusted look and avoid eye contact with him by being intensely engrossed in your iPod playlist selections.

Side note: If you don't have your iPod on the bus, you might as well be a nobody. Public transportation is like a freakin' Apple commercial. I really do think Apple hires middle schoolers to come and glue ear buds insides the ears of DC residentss at night while they sleep so they will never be able to take them out.

Step 5: Move your purse onto your lap. The bus is starting to get crowded and you don't want to be that person. You know, the person who takes up two stinkin' seats because they let their purse/backpack/duffel bag take up a whole seat next to them. These people are part of the No-Regard-for-Other-People's-Space Club. And you don't wanna be a member. 

Step 6: Wonder why none of the guys give up their seats for the elderly 70-something woman who is having to stand up and hold on to the pole while clenching her walker because all the seats are taken. Give up your seat to her and look around at your fellow riders in secret disgust (especially "that guy," the one who miraculously closes his eyes and pretends to nap when an elderly person or pregnant woman gets on the bus and obviously needs his seat).

Step 7: Listen to people’s conversations. Don't even pretend to be offended by this step, because we all do it, and you know it. Of course, you still want to look completely busy/preoccupied and you DEFINITELY don't make any eye contact. I may be looking at my phone, but I am most definitely enjoying the play-by-play of  your dramatic break-up with your boyfriend this weekend. 

Step 8: Pull the yellow “stop” rope. Yep, your stop is next. The yellow rope is strung around the top of both sides of the bus. Since you're sitting in the aisle seat, you'll have to awkwardly raise your arm across your neighbor’s face to pull the rope. ("Oh, sorry, did my elbow just graze your nostril?") Or better yet, if you’re in the window seat you'll have to do the the obligatory gathering of your belongings to signal to your neighbor to stand up and let you scoot out. I’ve become quite good at this, so I don’t even have to say anything like I used to. It’s amazing how much can be insinuated by the single lift of my purse strap in this city.

Step 9: Exit the bus by squeezing through the crowd of people…so many people…why does everyone stand near the door...and then, yes, you’re free! Fresh air! Pavement! People minding their own business! No more creepers licking their lips! No more sound of the humming motor! Your favorite song comes up on your iPod shuffle list in the midst of all your post-bus-ride glory. 

Step 10: Feel super baller as you walk toward your apartment building. You can hear the bus behind you, starting to come toward you to continue on its merry way. Thank God you're off that guzzling tank, you think to yourself. You're smiling, letting the breeze hit your face and turn up that favorite song of yours. All this happens right before the bus drives by, speeds through a water puddle, and drenches you and your new H&M dress from head to toe. Bus: 1. You: 0. 

   

Adulthood vs. Fauxdulthood

Adulthood (n): having attained full size and strength; grown up; mature; a person who is fully grown

Fauxdulthood (n): having attained college degree in the past 36 months; one who lives in own dwelling with bills; having attained full-time employment; typically resides in town or city far from parental units

Your current thoughts (n): "What is this girl on?!"

I'm on nothing, actually. But that's what fauxdulthood does to you. It makes you think up weird things while you do fauxdulthood-like things, including (but not limited to): grocery shopping, paying your bills online, reviewing your 401K statement, standing in the elevator at work, cleaning your bathtub, and even updating your budget spreadsheet.  Yep, that's right. Amidst your over analysis of all your new responsibilities, you even think up idiotic terms like fauxdulthood.

"Wait, I still don't get it."

Okay, sparky. I'll break it down: faux=fake/imitation + adulthood (I refuse to retype the definition)=fauxdulthood. That awkward time after you've graduated college, get a full-time job, snag your own place, pay your own bills, have your own health insurance. So why is this "faux?" Sounds pretty damn real, right? Well, not really. Even if you are becoming an "adult," by societal standards, many fauxdults don't really feel like or want to be true adults. We equate adulthood to the likes of our parents. Fauxdults enjoy the best of both worlds: relentless post-work happy hours, wasting your excruciatingly budgeted money on cute new outfits and dinner out; going out on Saturday night and acting like you're still in college, spur-of-the-moment weekend getaway trips; still asking/needing/desperate for your parents' advice for way too many things.

I must preface this inaugural blog post with the truth: I really don't like blogging. I started a blog when I moved to DC, but couldn't get into the groove of rehashing my days and experiences (helloooo just check out my most recent FB photo album, peeps). I also considered the blogs I keep up with of those who I don't even really know. Would it be creepy that random people could read how I felt about my first day of work and what I did on Saturday night? (Yes.) So that's why I'm blogging on a topic--a "how to" to fauxdulthood, particularly in DC. Or maybe this is really just my ramblings of my life and the mostly entertaining changes this new life throws at me every day.

OK, enough with the boring obligatory introductions. Yesterday and today, I really epitomized fauxdulthood. How? Well, this case started with a dirty rug and cat litter.

I've been putting off buying a vacuum since I moved into my new place in May. I mean, really, vacuums are so overpriced. I could think of so many better ways to spend $50 (e.g. a cute new dress, five meals out at Chipotle, a round trip on the Megabus) than a freaking Dirt Devil. Besides, I had a SWIFFER (thanks, mom), so why the crap did I ALSO need a vacuum? I only have two rugs. I'll survive.

Except I didn't survive. My rugs became so dirty they caught fire and my apartment burned down. Not really, but they got really freaky dirty. Sophie enjoys pulling apart the black cover on my body pillow and depositing the fuzzy bits all over the floor of my apartment. She also likes to create a beach-feel in the bathroom (where her litter box is located) by spreading her litter throughout the room. Nothing feels better than stepping out of the shower and crunching down on kitty litter.

So I caved. I even did my research and looked up the most affordable but quality vacuums online. Target is basically the only mass retail store around in my neighborhood/in decent Metro distance, so I  went to my second home after work to purchase this item. After griping with an employee because my pre-researched selection was more expensive in the store, I gave up and bought the stupid Dirt Devil that was still on sale. I decided to embrace my true fauxdulthood (and diminish my collegiate inclination) and choose the all-black vacuum instead of the colorful magenta/purple toned vacuum that would really bring some nice color to my apartment.

What do you do in DC when you buy a vacuum but don't have a car? Duhzzz, carry it all the way home, of course! I remember daydreaming in high school about the day I would have the chance to lug home a huge vacuum cleaner box in 102 degree heat for a 15-minute walk home in an itchy dress I wore to work! I'm glad my dreams finally came true on this day.

This particular vacuum was marketed as "lightweight!" but this takes false advertising to a whole new level. The box should've read: "Made of lead! Feels heavier than your couch! BUY ME!" So I lugged the box all the way to my apartment, ignoring the stares of everyone who walked by me glaring at the box in fascination. Seriously, who knew a freaking vacuum could warrant such attention? It was like everyone walking by me was thinking, "Wowza, what is that alien-like device?" or "I've never seen a person carry a box before!" (Read: "Why the hell is that girl sweating so much?")

I finally got home and literally slammed the box down on my hardwood floor. Probably not the best idea for the new equipment, I later thought to myself. In anticipation to have the best looking floors in DC, I unloaded my fancy new vacuum, "put it together," (if you know me, you know why that deserves quotes), and hopped to it. Can I just say, da-yumm does my carpet look good.  Yeah???

Sophie thought so much too, that she decided to sprinkle more pillow shreddings on the carpet just to watch me vacuum it again. But first, she needed to examine her new kitty condo:

My fauxdulthood continued this evening when I got home from work and checked my mailbox.

The contents of my mailbox in college: Dominoes flyer, depressing on-campus job paycheck, letter from university housing about next year, and a coupon for 20% off an ASU sweatshirt.

The contents of my mailbox after college (a.k.a. today): a new copy of my health insurance card, two letters about my college loan repayments, a letter outlining my 401K plan, a utility bill, and a packet outlining health insurance plan coverage.

Cool beans. Thank God there was also a new edition of my coveted US Weekly celebrity news magazine. Otherwise, I think I'd go insane. Or, worse, write an entire blog post about a new vacuum and what's in my mailbox.