I heart D.C.

Washington, D.C., is my new favorite city. There's just something about the natural beauty of the place combined with its almost breathtaking history and significance. We just missed the annual blooming of the cherry blossom trees, but it almost didn't matter - the place was still gorgeous. And though I was only there for two extremely short and jam-packed days, I've decided I want to live there. For real. Yes, it's just a fantasy now (the cost of living there being what it is), but I feel it's one that may have some roots in reality.

My best friend, recently heartbroken for the second time in a year, has decided to move back to Kansas City, to "heal her soul" among other things. While in D.C., we came up with an evil-genius plan to move somewhere exciting after she's been in Kansas City for a year. I'm (we're) thinking that place could be D.C. Probably, this is just a pipe dream. Probably, the logistics of moving there would be too complicated. Probably, I won't even want to think about being that far away from my family. But "probably" is no guarantee.

I'm a very decisive person, and one who is extremely quick about her decisiveness. I know what I want, and I usually find a way of getting it. I want D.C. And I have a little over a year to figure out how to get my butt (and Ashley's) there.

I missed you, too!

Work has been an absolute bear. And if you know me at all (from this blog or in real life), you know how I feel about bears. They only exist to torment and maim, draining all life from their terrified victims. And those claws. Dude.

I hate excuses, but I'm going to make a big one here: I haven't posted for over a month because of work. I spend all day at the computer, writing, editing, and doing other things that have to do with writing and editing, and when I come home at the end of the day? I. Do. Not. Want. To. Write. Another. Word. Plain and simple.

But now that I'm finally getting some breathing room at work, I decided it's time to come out of retirement. Don't hang up my Blogger jersey just yet.

So enter a list of stuff that's happened while I've been in absentia, because I can't exactly just dive back in here with a real post or anything. Sheesh. Baby steps.

• NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP, BITCHES!!!!!!!!!! I've never been more proud of anything or anyone in my whole life. Those boys deserved that. And Roy, I forgive you. I guess.
• The boyfriend and I booked a vacation to Puerto Vallarta for mid-June. Sort of a last hurrah before he leaves for South Korea. It will certainly be bittersweet, but in the absolute best way. Beach? Sun? Ocean? Mountains? Bottomless margaritas? Check, check, check, check, and check.
• As a natural consequence of booking a beach vacation, I tried on a bikini from last year. And, you know, I knew I was more wobbly now than I was even a year ago. What I didn't realize was that the wobbly bits weren't just in select places. My entire body was a wobbly bit when I looked in that mirror. So I started exercising. Yes, you read that correctly. I've worked out more in the last two weeks than I have in the last year.
• I also said I was going to eat healthier, but a girl can give up only so many vices.
• Bought quite a few items of clothing and at least two pairs of shoes. See above re: vices.
• Got a raise.
• Enjoyed the change in weather by going to lots of happy hours with friends.

Hmmmm. That's all I can think of right now. Enjoy your weekend - I'm leaving tonight for Washington, D.C. Update upon return, I promise!

Losing battle

This first full day of being 24 is kicking my ass. There's the aborted trip to the vending machine for M&Ms (they cost a freaking DOLLAR? And wait, they're all GONE?!?), the really supremely bad hair day, the sweaty palm syndrome that seems to be here for the long haul, and the hour-long excursion to the DMV that went shamefully bad (I need proof of U.S. citizenship? Whaaaaa...?).

So the beginning of year 24 looks like this: I'm an illegal driver with frizzy (yet limp) hair, sweaty palms that can barely grip the wheel, low blood sugar, and zero patience.

I'll make it home from work without getting pulled over, right? RIGHT?

Age 24: 1

Kaitlin: 0

Alphabetica: A

Well, I crawled out of my cave this morning and discovered the temperature to be a balmy 64 degrees. Such a happy reprieve calls for storytime.

I stole this idea from City Wendy, who ripped it off from Amy Krouse Rosenthal's Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life. But it's a good one, I promise. The idea is to write snatches about your life prompted by single words as determined by the alphabet's progression. Here we go, starting (obviously) with A.

A: Academics

The bar was always set a little higher for me. Maybe because I had proven myself as far back as preschool. Maybe because I was born first and inherently expected to set an example. Or maybe because I was, simply, a girl. It doesn't really matter which it was, what matters is that academics became my priority. Anything less than a B was unacceptable, and even that was dipping a little low.

Though my parents always expected me to do my best, and though I certainly felt great pressure to succeed, I never resented them for it. Probably because I didn't have to try very hard. Had it been any other way, I'm sure my resent would have been palpable.

But instead, I sailed right on through. In elementary school, I was in the highest reading groups and won the school spelling bee. In high school, I was the curve-setter, enrolled in numerous AP classes and graduating in the top 10 percent of my class. I was a Mt. Oread Scholar in college and did well to balance my schoolwork with my, ahem, social obligations. On the whole it was, for lack of a better word, easy. I got high grades without really taxing myself, letting projects and assigned reading idle in my backpack until the night before the due date. All to good results.

But there was one falter in my stroll through the park. It came during my junior year in high school. I was never cocky about my academic prowess (to anyone but my brother, that is), but it nonetheless came as a shock when I couldn't for the life of me grasp the concept of chemistry. It just. Wasn't. Making. Sense. And though I wasn't failing, I wasn't passing with the flying colors I had become so accustomed to. So, with my parents' urging and assistance, I got a tutor.

I don't remember how many times I went over to her house for chemistry lessons. Only that I completely wore down the erasers on my pencils and had to endure the cloying smell of whatever she had cooked for dinner for the hour I was there. She wore baggy sweatshirts and her glasses hung in a chain around her neck when they weren't perched on her nose. But with her help, my grade slowly crawled back up, though I don't think it ever hit the mark I wanted it to. (To be completely frank, math and science have never been buddies of mine. But it was chemistry that bogged me down the most.)

In the dense nostalgia that followed college graduation, I would look back on all my years of academics, only to realize that I was forever fleeing that at which I was best. Though I may adamantly state otherwise, I miss it dearly. School. The crackle of a new textbook, the anticipation of a test score, the harried studying. Everything. I should have been a teacher.

(sigh)

This unrelenting winter has driven me to new motivational lows. "Ennui" just about sums it up. I find myself sitting at my desk, completely devoid of any compulsion to work. I stare at my to-do list and then check my gmail account. I attempt to start my monthly report and then go to shopbop to see what's new. I'm sick of the itchy wool sweaters and the boots tucked into jeans and the long double-lined winter coats. I'm sick of staticky hair and chapped lips and using so much lotion in the morning that I could act as a melon-scented flytrap.

This hideous phase of winter, the phase where we fear there may never be an end to our icy agony, should have been over in February. That's why there's Valentine's Day, right? To perk us up and pull us out of our warm house-cocoons. And imbue us with fuzzy, glowy feelings when that witch Mother Nature isn't putting out.

I've never seen a better case for hibernation in my life. Wake me up when the word "dormant" can't be used to describe anything. And when the temperature hasn't dropped below 75 for at least two consecutive weeks. So, June. See you in June, friends.

P.S. - It's only 4:15 and I'm pretty sure I'm the only person left in the office. Methinks I'm not alone in my feelings. Now I just need to go find the cave they're all hibernating in. I bet there's beer.

Ahem

I'm feeling the need to blog, but I don't have a specific topic (or even theme) in mind. Therefore: a list.

• My friend and her mom are coming in town today, which forced me to do the spring cleaning that my apartment so desperately needed. Beware, dear reader: You might not think you're living in filth when, in actuality, your dust bunnies are more on par with elephants. Check under furniture with caution and something sturdier than a broom.
• The cleaning (followed by more cleaning) left me no time for personal maintenance. My fingernails are still bare! The horror!
• American Idol isn't really worth it anymore. If I hear one more "it was a little pitchy in spots for me, man" or "your vocal skills really are phenomenal" or "I just didn't get it," I may chuck a dust elephant at the screen. And then whine because my TV is cracked and I can't see David Archuleta sing.
• I really like the new shirt I'm wearing today.
• You know what TV show is worth it? Celebrity Apprentice. Yes, you read that correctly. Trace Adkins is my new hero. That crooked half-smile and ubiquitous cowboy hat get me every time. Not to mention The Voice.
• I'm in the midst of reading World War Z. As one reviewer said, the author "commits to detail in a way that makes his nightmare world creepily plausible..." What more could a girl ask for in a zombie thriller?
• I just replaced my antiquated (and severely limited in hindsight) Razr with a BlackBerry Curve on Wednesday. No major complaints after the 36 hours I've had it in my possession. Though if you have large fingers, compromised vision, or an extremely limited grasp of technology, stick with your Razr. Trust.
• My birthday is in less than two weeks, followed by a surprise birthday celebration that weekend. Surprise in that I know it's happening, I just don't know what the plans are.
• And THEN! How I Met Your Mother returns on St. Patrick's Day. What better reason is there to drink green beer?
• I'm going to a wedding in Columbia, Mo., next weekend. The city of my alma mater's arch rival. I'm sure my skin will be crawling for the duration. Oh, and I don't have an outfit picked out yet. It's March - you can't plan ahead for those ides. It could be 31 and snowing or 75 with a tornado warning. Never can tell.

Five o'clock is rapidly approaching. I need to beat a hasty retreat outta here. Tune in again next week.

Now what?

Okay, this is where I start to freak out. Who knew searching for an apartment would be this difficult? I've gotten my hopes up one too many times and it's resulted in the inevitable - utter lack of hope. Right now, I live in relative luxury - my roommate and I have a brand-new apartment (as in, they were still doing paint touch-ups and hanging light fixtures when we moved in), we have assigned parking spaces in a heated underground lot, the management is courteous and helpful, the location is fabulous, and we haven't had any neighbor problems whatsoever. And there's a pool, workout facility, and secure entrances.

My only complaint? I don't want a roommate anymore. I lived by myself last year and enjoyed it more than I ever thought I would. I want that again.

Hence, my search for the perfect (one-bedroom) apartment began. And, just as I tend to rush the seasons, I also tend to rush everything else - I won't need this apartment until August. Better to start early, though, right? That's what I thought.

Turns out the earlier you start, the sooner you'll be disappointed. I looked downtown first and was excited to see the abundance of lofts available, at fairly affordable prices to boot. I earmarked my favorites, looked at the floorplans with wistful eyes again and again, calculated what I would really be able to afford, and began decorating in my hopeful little head.

Ha.

That was before I read the reviews on these places. Dreadful. Horrible management. Walls so thin you can hear neighbors clearing their throats. Bums camping out in the halls. No parking. Break-ins. Pets doing their business in common indoor areas.

My urban dreams flew straight out that 7th-story loft's window.

So I turned to the suburbs. Where I found that anything even remotely decent was too far south, too far north, or too expensive.

"So move to a one-bedroom in your current complex," you say.

Double ha. The price of a one-bedroom here is nearly as high as the mortgage on a two-bedroom house. Not gonna happen.

Now, I ask you, what the hell do I do? I've looked everywhere in the metro area, including undesirable spots. And I'm stuck. And no, I can't afford to buy a house. I'm a single woman in her early (okay, almost mid) twenties. I've got a few years yet before that happens.

At this rate, I might as well move to Seoul with the boyfriend. (For those of you whose hackles were just raised: I'M ONLY KIDDING.)