Oh Deer

I was walking back to Jackie-land (my stu-stu studio) at around 9:30 pm on Sunday night in DC – when all of DC is tucked away in apartments and condos most likely larger than mine. I’m only a five minute walk from the metro, but much of the sidewalk I tread to get home is lined with bushes on one side.

Bushes can be scary at night, especially if you’re a woman.

I walked passed one guy who seemed sketchy, after which I was slightly on edge and hypersensitive to sounds around me.

Just before my apartment building, there’s a mini-forest that leads into Rock Creek Park. This is cute during daylight hours but freaks me out at night.

As I’m walking past said forest, I hear a rustling in the trees. So, like any good potential victim, I stop (instead of continuing to walk at a brisk pace) and try to see the cause of the noise.

Deer.

Three of them. (Well, maybe two, but it was dark and I was scared).

Deer, just steps away from Connecticut Ave. in the middle of a major city. Yowsa.

The deer and I made eye contact. Their antlers were huge, so I pondered if I was staring at reindeer.

Then, fear found me and concern, too, that the deer would want to eat me. So, I ran as fast as I could to the front doors of my apartment building to the tune of a, “Please don’t eat me. Were those reindeer?? Please don’t eat me. Please.” internal chant.

I’m a yogi. I chant.

Then I called my mom to tell her that I thought I could have been eaten by deer. Story of my life. She told me she had to run to the supermarket before it closed because she was dying for a Hershey bar. Story of her life.

I Found My Hair Twin

Here she is. Now if only I had her waistline.

And nose. Story of my life.

I Sniffed Elie Wiesel’s Coat

Elie Wiesel - Holocaust survivor, Nobel Laureate, author of 40 books, professor, and political activist – spoke last night at the synagogue where I work. I was responsible for coordinating the event – yowsa.

After schmoozing at a pre-reception with big donors, Mr. Wiesel headed to the green room (my shared office). Mr. Wiesel asked that I track down his coat (somewhere in the building) and have it ready for when the program ended so he could leave right away (he made a wind sound, like, “phhhzzooop,” to convey the speed at which he wanted to exit). He had a flight to catch; I get it.

I found his coat and carried it to the room through which he would be leaving. In that little room I had a moment where I thought, “Oh my God. This is Elie Wiesel’s coat.” The man who recently went to Auschwitz with Oprah. I wonder if he wore this coat with Oprah. What should I do?

I sniffed it – no smell.

I held it up to get a good look – nice coat. Burberry. The name Elisha Wiesel (a Yiddish variation?) was embroidered on a petite label, sewn just above the tag on the inside of the coat.
Should I try it on? No, no.

I placed it gently on a chair and resumed rational behavior.

Just before he went on stage, I asked Mr. Wiesel if he would mind autographing something for the synagogue. He didn’t mind the autograph, just the fact that I mispronounced his name. He corrected my stress on the “W” by saying, “VEE-zull.”

I meet an icon and the strongest memory I’ll have is of him correcting my speech. Story of my life.

I said, “I’m sorry, Mr. VEE-zull.”

He said, “Hmmp, VY-zull?” as if he wasn’t even sure if it was pronounced VEE-zull or VY-zull. What was certain was that the letter “W” should not be pronounced in the way an American, native English speaker (like me) would intuitively say it.

On his way out, I handed Mr. Wiesel his coat – no “thank you” offered (yes, I expect everyone to be gracious) – and didn’t utter a word or a “W.”

Brazen Breakup Prose

I've been busy writing this and this, so I haven't had much time to chronicle the absuridty of my life. I'll be better; I promise.

So as not to leave you holding your breath (right...), my sister decided to borrow my bike (that I never use) and ride it - in our apartment building - along the carpeted hallways - at 11:55 pm on Sunday night. We're bad. We're so, so bad.

A Week in the Story of My Life

Monday: Hosted an event at work for an author/environmental activist who gave up riding in cars for 22 years in favor of walking and also took a vow of silence for 17 years. Being a walker myself, I asked him which shoe he most preferred. He gave me a long answer.

Tuesday: I went to the press-only sneak preview of a new exhibit at the National Gallery of Art. I am not a member of the press. My badge read, "PRESS."

Wednesday: Attended a networking breakfast at The Caucus Room. I left feeling like I was a super delegate.

That same evening I went to a reception in the Capitol, where I felt certain that, indeed, I was a super delegate.

Thursday: Over dinner, my friend told me that she got a $15,000 bonus. The check was in her purse. I told her that I got a $2,000 bonus at my last review. She paid for dinner.

Friday: I berated my co-worker for tapping his fingers on his desk. Thoughts of a corner office with a door and deadbolt abound.

My Words Are Like a Gypsie

They keep on moving. Check out my post on Brazen Careerist.

Warning: The post does not include the words, "Story of my life." I know, it's rough, but there's a time and a place for everything.

Words Travel

Mine do, at least. Check out my first post for the website about a superhero whose domain is love or the lack thereof (appropriate for me). If you come across any interesting articles or news about love/dating/relationships/smooch-material, do pass on. Story of my life musings to come soon.