the real sisterhood of the traveling pants

Last Friday was my first real teacher paycheck. So naturally, my roommate and I went shopping.

I ended up getting a pair of pants from Gap (where else) and was excited about them but not at the point of "I want these in 8 different colors" yet. That was, until this morning.

The Starbucks on 25th and Charles, inside Safeway, has become a regular morning stop for me. Yes, I know it's cheaper to buy a coffee maker and do it myself, but honestly I've had one before and I just don't take the time to make coffee in-house. And since switched to americanos, it's significantly cheaper than my white mocha days. But I digress.

So I was scurrying back to my car this morning, beverage in one hand and keys in the other, when my foot slipped in one of the 100 or so potholes in the parking lot and my coffee flew everywhere. Including all down the front left leg of the new pants. After a few choice expletives about the lost caffeine and $2.10 down the toilet, I turned my attention to cleaning myself up for school. Going back home to change wasn't an option, so I blotted what I could from my pants. And then, a magical thing happened: the coffee disappeared.

I can't explain it. It's like the pants whisked the stains away into a secret stain bank that I'll have to deal with before I die. But it's like nothing ever happened. No wetness, discoloring, not even a drop of scalding water on the skin underneath. For a stain-susceptible woman like myself, these pants are a godsend. Oh yeah, and they make your ass look fantastic.

Gap. Wide leg trouser. Dark charcoal. Go get some.

west coast is the best coast

I think I've grown up taken for granted that any store available in Washington state obviously existed everywhere else in the country. I still remember when a friend moved to my elementary school from the Midwest and had never heard of Albertson's. I mean, where else do you buy groceries?

By now, I obviously understand the concept of regional chains. But never could I have prepared myself for the realization today that a beverage, made by a national bottling company, might be a foreign concept on the east coast:

No one here has ever heard of ruby red squirt.

This is my go-to beverage in almost any situation. I've been known to pour it in a Nalgene and take to a morning class as "juice" for breakfast. It was not uncommon at high-stress points to see me take down 2 or 3 in one night. And since my air-popper got here yesterday, I thought what a perfect Thursday evening: self-made popcorn and a light, refreshing fake fruit soda? But no, not a drop to be found. My roommate from Massachusets has never even heard of Squirt.

Another dream lost to the wind.

my sleep partner

For the past month, I've been sleeping on a high-quality air mattress, because I didn't have time/a vehicle to go shop for a real bed. The air mattress actually was not bad; I rarely woke up sore or had a restless night. But it was time for the upgrade to the beds of big kids.

Like any good 21st century shopper, I scoped out prices and information online before I hit the sales floor. I already knew which store I was going to, so I was reading through their tips section about shopping for a new mattress. One of the key questions that kept coming up had to do with my "sleep partner." What my sleep partner's space needs were. What his/her comfort level was. To make sure if I did indeed have a sleep partner that I was getting a large enough bed for the two of us to sleep comfortably. And then, once I finally got to the real store and told the friendly but indifferent saleswoman that I wanted a full-size bed, she replied "oh, so it's just for you then?"

Well, I did consider the needs of my sleep partner. His name is Manuel. He's about 10 inches long, fuzzy, with two ears and he smells real good. He's the rabbit that Alyssa sent me for my birthday/graduation/moving across the country comfort gift. He's been in my bed with me ever since. Manuel and I discussed it, and he had the perfect answer for a sleep partner's needs: "Your comfort level is my comfort level." So semi-firm, full sized mattress and box springs it was. And my sleep partner will have plenty of space, thank you very much. If he doesn't like it, he can sleep alone on the air mattress that will now go in the closet.

we hold up half the sky

This post is a little past due, but what can I say, school starts tomorrow.

I feel like over the summer I sort of fell out of my zealous pursuit of women's issues. I tended to gravitate towards articles on education or basic current events. And then the New York Times snapped me back to my proper place.

(Tangent: I've realized that a lot of this blog is a reaction to things in the Times. Interesting).

Their Sunday magazine last week was titled "Saving the World's Women." The multimedia package includes stories, videos and photos about the struggles of women in several countries, including Pakistan, Burundi, and Afghanistan. I've blogged in the past about several of these issues, but I give the Times major props for devoting such a large project to the topic.

Also of recent interest to me was Sec. of State Hillary Clinton's recent trip through Africa. A Washington Post article published before her stop in the Congo detailed the horrors of rape spreading through the war-torn country. The article even goes as far as to suggest that U.S. intervention in the country is making the problem worse: we back the increased miliary efforts, which in turn means more soliders "not so much hunting rebels as hunting women."

Many people still fail to see the connections between the Congo and Uganda to the post-Rwandan genocide. And even though some justice is being sought in that country, it's still to be seen what sort of long-term social and political effects will come about. Hopefully we'll see more productive solutions applied to the supposed end of the genocide in Darfur.

nugget

For the past week or so, I've been experiencing an odd phenomenon. Between about 3:10 and 3:45 every morning, I wake up for no reason at all. It usually lasts about 5 minutes, during which I check the time on my phone, look out the skylight in my room to try and guess the next day's weather, and ponder a nugget of information that's usually stuck in my head.

I try to tell myself that this is my brain's way of decompressing from the day before. Maybe one of these nights I'll come up with a magical invention or solve some world issue. But so far, the only tangible thing I've been able to remember was the night I had Rihanna's "Take a Bow" stuck in my head. Clearly helping the world's issues.

move part II: the economy

It was really interesting for me to be taking a macroeconomics course during the economic crash last fall. I would walk into class and hear "the DOW just lost 800 bazillion points" and I had a bit more hope that I would understood what that meant before I left class (this hope usually wasn't converted into reality, but I tried to stay optimistic.) And I knew that a lot of the problems were cause by people buying things they didn't actually have money for, and banks giving money to people to buy things they didn't have money for.

But this also meant that when I went to purchase my first-ever vehicle, it was damn hard to get someone to finance it.

I ended up having to have my dad co-sign the loan, but the risk rate is still based on my non-existant credit score, so my intrest rate is a little outrageous. Even though I'm a college graduate with a more than decent-paying job, with not a penny of debt to my name. I was told I would be better off buying a brand new car. But I DON"T WANT a brand new car, because that would fall into the "buying things I don't have the money for" category. Someone needs to explain to me how making an informed decision and getting reasonable car screws you over.

But yes, I bought a car (pictures coming soon). 2002 Honda Civic EX. Dark blue. Sun roof. Compared to Paco, this is like heaven. Sarah and I drove out to the mall in Towson (the ritzy Baltimore suburb to the north), and part of me wanted to just drive forever. Me, the open road, my best friend, and Jason Mraz live. The perfect Sunday afternoon.

the move: part 1

In the past 72 hours or so, I've gone from living out of two large suitcases to being almost settled in a new city 3,000 miles away from "home." In the process of reaching this settling point, I've been making some observations about the twists and turns of what can at times be an incredibly tiresome and expensive endeavor.

Today's discussion: the shit box.

Most of you are probably familiar with the shit box. We all have them, whether it's from a move, from a hectic lifestyle, or just from having lazy organizational skills. It's that box (sometimes drawer) that holds all the miscellaneous stuff you always say you will need but end up not really missing if you don't know it's there.

My shit box contained all the stuff I couldn't fit in my suitcases that I'd accumulated over my summer in Philadelphia. Some of it my mom sent, some I got the week between Induction and Institute, some just appeared I think from the shit fairy. The shit box even had to be brought to Baltimore by a friend with a station wagon, because the combined shit boxes of me and my roommate were too much for one vehicle (I mean that in the most endearing way possible).

So I got the box back today, and eagerly opened it to start sifting through what I knew to be invaluable items in my Harry Potter-sized apartment; I should've known better. Though I appreciate having my printer and some books back in my possession, I'm not sure if the reflective ruler, empty manila envelopes, or single piece of striped ribbon belonged on the must-keep list. It's been less than two months and already the very large box is overflowing.

Guess this means I need to pick which drawer of the kitchen is going to become the shit drawer so I can put the ribbon in it.