Sunday, October 30, 2005

If saleswoman has ever said, "Sir" to you, you might be a lesbian…

Today I got called “Sir” for like the 1000th time in the last 5 years, and it just made me want to rant a little. Why can’t a sales woman get someone’s gender correct?…They are supposed to be professionals in giving people what they want right? I want to be called “Ma’am”, “Ms”, or nothing at all if they can’t seem to figure out my gender presentation on a given day. Just don’t call me “Sir”!!!

I really don’t get mad at the sales women…they are often will dressed (for what ever their targeted clientele is) and polite enough, but they just have to think for a second, rather than speak as they catch my 5’13” frame in their peripheral vision. I mean ok, I know I am big, and I know I am a little butchy at times too. But, come’on, I have tits with nips that look like those damn “machine-gun jumblys” in an Austin Powers flick if I don’t wear a padded bra…And even then, they are still 38Ds when the nips were not at their usual position of attention.

Does anyone else just get tired of their laziness?…If they are going to be so apathetic maybe they can work in fast food, and call me “Sir” there, at least I will get what I expect for a $5 transaction.

I can only expect it to be worse tomorrow, because it will be Halloween...I can already hear myself saying, "This is not a costume," at least 20 times.

-K8

Thursday, October 20, 2005

The bigger they are, the harder…


Monday, October 03, 2005

Finding a nice rental in DC is only slightly easier than putting a man on the Moon...

Finding a place to live in Washington DC is a chore to say the least. In my neophyte DC experience, I quickly learned why I was not going to be moving into a $400 shared apartment…

  1. I might have to use my kitchen counter as a night-stand because some people think it is ok to rent out their dining room as a “room”.

  2. A room for this rate might only be big enough for a twin bed if you are looking in Adams Morgan…and the twin bed will fill the entire space

  3. For $400 your closet will be a hanging rod slung between the walls of your room.

  4. Rats pay at least $500 a month for rent so they can have some personal space.

Obviously since I chose to live in the city, I was going to have to spend some money. I set a limit of $600 a month and the shared places started looking a WHOLE lot better…some even had a door that you could close, which is expected other parts of the country, but shouldn’t be expected here. Frustrated beyond all reality I raised my limit to $900 per month and then I started to find places I could call acceptable.

Walking into one place that was going for $550 a month, the young man, David, greeted me saying, “There have been some changes since we spoke on the phone at 9am. Please sit down. Would you like a beer?” I quickly decided this couldn’t be a good omen, but I asked what the changes were. David quickly explained that his boyfriend got kicked out of his apartment because the boyfriend’s roommate didn’t pay the rent for the last few months, and David would be leaving the house I was now looking at to live with his beau. The whole 1300 square foot, two bedroom place with hardwood floors would be mine if I wanted it; all we had to do was call the landlady, and it was mine for a paltry $850 month! I said I was in…I mean, how could I not be!!! This was the deal of the year in the DC burbs, and I wouldn’t miss it, plus I had a place to park my car, and could be within walking distance to mass transit.

We called the landlady, Ms.Creek, and a lovely and pleasant voice came through the phone. By her manner of speaking I guessed quite accurately that she was in her 80s. We spoke for a little while, with David, her, and myself on the speaker phone. Ms. Creek said I could move in on Oct 1 when David moved out (a little more than three weeks away), and that I would only have to pay a $500 deposit…I couldn’t imagine a sweeter deal! On top of it all, 10 of my friends from the rugby team lived in the neighborhood, so visions of dinners and barbeques were already dancing through my head. Ms. Creek told me to give her a call in a couple weeks to sign a lease, and we would be all set. I happily told Kati, who put me up in her place while I got settled in DC, that I would be moving out on 10/1.

Two weeks passed, and I called Ms Creek. This is where the walls stared closing in…as Ms Creek
failed to recognize me from our previous call. She said that I had to see the house before I could sign a lease, unless I was just plumb crazy! Crazy is how I felt, as this surreal feeling came over me, wasn’t this from an episode of the X-Files or something? Did I go through a time warp into a parallel universe where I didn’t exist? I explained that I had in fact called her from the living room of the house with David, and she remembered talking to him, but not to me. After some more discussion she finally agreed to set up a lease signing in a few days.

A few days passed, and I called Ms Creek again…She asked who I was, and I explained again that I was the woman she was to meet tonight to sign the lease. She then proceeded to tell me she had set the lease up for David, and she would have to re-write it and get back to me tomorrow.

The next day I called her again, and it only got worse. Ms Creek now remembered some people who wanted to rent the house 3 years ago, and she had promised them first shot at it if it became available. I was PULLING MY HAIR OUT!!!!!

Three years ago!!! I thought screaming only within the confines of my mind. What the hell happened to our discussions, why had I not been informed about this at the time of the first conversation? I then realized that I was dealing with an elderly woman who was probably suffering from Alzheimer’s Disease, and shouldn’t be pushy or argumentative. I let the place go, crying a bit when I realized I would have to start the whole search process up again.

I guess I was lucky to find out that the landlady wasn’t all there BEFORE I got into dealing with her under contract. Who knows when she would forget that she had cashed my rent check, or that I was her tenant and belonged in the home as she dialed 911 for an intruder or something of that crazy nature. I could have ended up defending my right to reside there on a monthly basis, and keeping track of all interactions made the deal seem like I ended up lucky not to get into it.

So the search continued after I told Kati that I might have to be there a couple weeks into October. I was not happy to do this since I was living in her home at Kati’s good graces, and would not want to ruin a friendship over it. She was disappointed for me, and that I would still be in her basement, but she quickly put on a cheery face, and said “Something will work out.” I went to play rugby that weekend, and something did in fact come through that weekend, but as I made the appointment to see the place, I found out that a lack of communication in their household kept them from renting to me until Dec 1, and I would go insane if I didn’t have a roof over my head until then.

Digging back into the papers, and the internet, I came across a room for rent in a “recently refurbished home”. I looked at the price, and laughed as I saw that it was way to low for the large master bedroom with private Jacuzzi bath in an 1800 square foot central DC rowhouse. I sent an email to the landlord, expecting it to be gone, or for the price to have been incorrect. I quickly search a few other adds, and came up with my house hunting list for the night. The first place in the U St district was nice, but the roommate I’d be sharing with was in recovery from methamphetamines for the second time…I didn’t want to make up one day wondering why my cutlery was gone, and my roommate had not slept for 3 days. The second place was $850 for a room in what was described as a mansion, and in fact was, but the men you lived there had not cleaned house in more than a decade (dust all over their collection of 10000 teddy bears), and my eyes teared-up from the stench of 4 huge dogs, who where their children…I got out quickly hoping the stench wouldn’t remain on my clothes. The last place of the evening was nice, but the girls who where renting the room would be choosing their roomie from a list of the 15 people who dropped in…I never won a pageant, and I wasn’t going to be getting this room either.

Upon getting home, I received a reply for the crazy man renting the Jacuzzi room. It was 10pm, but he was at the place supervising the finishing touches of the remodel, and I was welcomed to see it immediately. I sped over there, half expecting to be mugged or something heinous upon my arrival, but I was not harmed, I was just in shock.

The landlord led me through the house, which was exactly as described, and into the master bedroom upstairs. It was gorgeous, and I said to myself, “Self, you have finally found a place to live!” I moved in 3 days later, and the first thing I did was get naked and jump into the Jacuzzi.

Every night after rugby practice is going to start with a nice soak with the jets in full blast!!!

-K8


Tuesday, September 27, 2005

Last year lost

Ok, so I am not the smartest lesbian on the block. I let my hypochondriac/psycho-somatic then partner drive me up a wall with her non-participation in our relationship, and run up $1000 in charges on her cell phone (my account). Despite, the stupidity of letting this happen, I continued the situation for several months before I gave up on her, and moved to Washington, DC.

Now that I know EXACTLY what I don’t want in a relationship, I will avoid such traits like the plague, and NOBODY will be on my accounts from here on out.

I regret letting the blog-juices stop flowing for almost a year, I was a moron…hopefully I am over it. My life as a soup sandwhich should be over for the time being.

But, what did I learn:
  1. Nobody’s online profile will tell you enough about a person to jump into a relationship with them in 3 weeks.

  2. Going from dating to relationship in 3 weeks is VERY lesbian, and not very smart.

  3. People who have a string of injuries/surgeries/sicknesses are not good candidates for a relationship with an outgoing athletic woman.

  4. Being with someone who is only partially out of the closet, and thinks it is fine to live in Virginia sucks.

  5. Virginia Sucks

  6. Richmond Sucks (minuse a hand full of good friends)


Tuesday, November 30, 2004

And the winner is...

No, maybe this should be titled, "And the big dummy is..."

Well, I've gone and got myself nominated as team lead for Team 1 of this years edition of DC Furies "The Game". This is good, and bad, but I guess I need to explain a little bit about "The Game"...In a nutshell this is a game where the players have volunteered to maintain/increase their fitness levels during the traditional off-season of rugby in the US, by posting their workouts to the other competing players...Yes I play rugby, yes it is a tough sport, yes it is tackle, no we do not play with the boys.

"The Game" requires all participants to work as a team to encourage individual fitness. Points are earned for the team via every exercise activity an individual on the team participates in...You can get .5, 1, or 2 points for every activity you do (sometimes their are bonus points), and you cannot get more than 2 points in a day or 11 points in a week (unless you get bonus points). Each team has 6 members, so each team maxes-out at a top score of 66pts a week.

My job as the Team 1 Capi-tan is to egg-on, goad, encourage, and drive our team to getting as many of our 66 pts per weeks as we can...So this is how I suddenly see it...

Driving to DC for weekend workouts: $20 (and I thought I was going to save money in the off-season HAH!!!)

Beer consumption during post rugby events: $5 (unless I can swing a charity-beer...hehehe)

Keeping an entire team of six working-women going hard during the"off-season" for almost 3 months ... Priceless (if I can fucking do it!)

Now I have been a motivator at times in my life, but this calls for cheerleader style rallying skills rather than the in-ur-face, drill sergeant approach... And Barbie I am not. Good thing my teammates are not Barbie-types either, but I feel like I have to sweeten-up a lot in order to do this. I need to be sassy and fun, not butchy and direct (my standard operating mode), and I really need to stay in touch with our team, by constantly supporting those that are behind, and praising those that are having no problems at all.

For me this would all be much more manageable if I were the fitness nut I was 3 years ago (doing triathlons for fun), but I am a fitness-SICKO in recovery now, and I would much rather sit-back and tally the points than go out to earn them. That is when it dawns on me, that it was ME who volunteered to play the game, and my teammates must have chosen me as the leader because they know this is the best way to ensure I'll do my part.

Do they know me that well?? This has to be women's intuition in action, and that means I need to be extra on top of it.

So after this reasoning session, I sit in my chair and say, "CRAP!!!," as I type my nomination acceptance e-mail... Then I begin wonder what pile are my workout clothes in?!?

Oye vay!
K8 Jr





Monday, November 29, 2004

I'm not sleep-walking...

I notice some weird sounds coming from the coconut next to the beach side hammock I am laying in. So, I walk over and slap the coconut around a bit, the weird little buzzing stops, then get back in the hammock.

Later while surfing on a leaf, and simultaneously doing the limbo with twenty nameless friends, I come to consciousness hearing muffled screams to get of, "Kate, muffffff ass muffffff bed!" I am thinking hurriedly, "OMIGOD, OMIGOD!!...What do I do?...Oh shit!...What is that awful noise?... Is that the alarm?!?" I jump seven feet from the bed to the desk in less than a second, where I slap the alarm OFF button, effectively slaying the digital noisemaker for another twenty four hours (minus who-knows how many snoozed minutes).

The screams were only muffled, as I found out, because my partner was in the other room while the bedroom door was closed. Lucky for me or I might have got elbowed.

Before pointing myself to bed this evening I am asked, "What time is the alarm set for Honey?" I reply that it is set for the same time as usual. Which is followed up with the strong suggestion, "You need to get up the first time the alarm goes off, and not the fifth time."

Hmmm, now that is a concept. I quickly reply, "The alarm only went off once prior to the second time, and just before the third, which hardly counted since I couldn't remember hearing it."

"Oh, so you are a sleep-walker then?", comes tersely from her lips.

"No," I reply (with a grin that is sure to lead my way to the dog house for the evening), "I am not sleep walking. This phenomenon only occurs every nine minutes between 6:45 and the time I wake up, so it definitely has to be snooze-walking."

This gets a laugh instead of landing me in trouble...I'll have to be a smart-ass more often ;-)

Piece-owt,
K8 Jr

Sunday, November 28, 2004

11:32am is time to get up!

After staying up until nearly 3am to fix the DEL and Down-Arrow keys on my PC (yes, I have an extensive computer background too), I managed to get one sock off before collapsing into bed. I did wake to climb under the covers at 6:30, but I had to giggle at myself over the state I found myself in. I only found out about the one sock while I was climbing out of bed at 11:32am.

Now, waking anytime after 10am is abnormal for me, and sleeping-in like this usually has to be forced, so you can imagine the disturbing feeling I had when my eyes finally managed to focus correctly on the clock/radio that I presumed said nine-blurry-eight. I did not set the alarm, because there was NO WAY I would sleep past 10am, much less come close to making myself late for a cross-town rugby practice.

I jumped out of bed, tore through the clothes pile (don't all aspiring writers pile their clean clothes near the dresser, rather than in the dresser?), rummaging for rugby stuff...found shorts, found a worn out sports-bra that I swore I would trash prior to this summer, and I found some rugby socks. I slipped and tugged on the various articles half-drunk with sleep, and half-jittering from a failed adrenaline rush. After futilely running a brush through my hair while explaining that I had forgotten to mention the practice session to my partner, I threw a bandana over my head as I stumbled down the steps. I managed to get out the door and into my car just prior to 11:50.

The James River Rugby-Sevens team was as happy to see me as I was to see them, and I had a pretty good day of rugby. My wobbly knee didn't hurt much which was nice, but I am a lot slower and fatter (gained at least 5 lbs) than I was a few weeks ago...I have just returned to exercising after injuring my right MCL (inside ligament of my knee) so this speed loss/weight gain is something to be expected, but dreaded.

The bad things of note for the day were forgetting to make weekly calls to my family in California, not getting any calls from my best friends Shannon and Chris, remembering to forget to put my clean clothes in the dresser, and eating too many tacos for dinner; which by the sound of my tummy, I will end up paying for tomorrow.

Its 12:22am on Monday, I have both socks off, and my alarm is set...zzzzzz

-K8 Jr