Rule Breaker #2

About a month ago I was standing on the platform waiting for the metro. It was after rush hour and trains weren't running so frequently.  Slowly, the platform filled with those of us in office attire, clearly working late, dog-tired and ready to get home. I was standing close to the edge, nose in a book. From behind me I hear the click of heels as another approaches the platform to wait.

It took me a minute or so to realize that the clicking of heels never really stopped, they simply turned into more erratic footsteps.  Without turning around to stare, I turned slightly to get a glimpse of the woman behind me.  She was a white woman in her mid-thirties, wearing black pumps, nylons, pencil-skirt, and a button-down shirt. She had ear buds in; an ipod in one hand and a blackberry in the other. Aside from her fancy footwork, she looked like just another government worker.

But no. She wasn't just another drone. She was a dancer! Despite the crowded platform and, oh yeah, the proper metro etiquette, this woman was getting down... and getting awfully close to the quickly gathering commuters.

It was hilarious. After a couple of stolen glances, I just turned around to watch. I think the best part was that she was so involved in her blackberry that she didn't have any idea that she was making a minor scene. 

Since living in a city and crossing paths with many people that one may not encounter in a small town, I have become much more aware of breached social norms.  

The most obvious offenders are the mentally-ill, typically homeless individuals who rarely turn my head, but instead stir the unanswered questions:  Who is looking out for you? Do you have any family? Why aren't we, as a society, providing for you?  

There are those that I see everyday who tug hard at my heart-strings, like the old woman at Metro Center and the gruff, clearly schizophrenic man, near Dupont Circle. I forge unlikely and completely fantastical relationships with them, planning the conversations we would have if I had the guts to talk to them; picking the hotel room I would rent for their hot shower and comfortable night's rest. But there are others for which I feel less sympathetic. Like the guy I pass almost every night after work that asks me for money. Maybe I should give up the grudge, but one night last summer when I lightly shook my head for lack of spare change, he yelled after me that I was a bitch and that my ass was big.

I don't stare, laugh, or shake my head at these individuals as they shatter social etiquette, I am sure many of them are simply unaware of these rules. But I do have to hold up my jaw or stifle a giggle when seemingly normal people completely disregard accepted behavior.

Rule Breaker #1

There is a girl in my neighborhood that frequently walks her dog down the street just outside our building. She is a twenty-something white girl who dons a ponytail, a beagle, and ear buds. My first encounter with her was from our third floor window. Ryan called me over to gape. Oblivious to the world, she walks her dog while belting out whatever song she is listening to. The hilarious part is 1. She is so loud we can hear her from our third floor window and 2. She is a terrible singer. Terrible.

I have seen her on other occasions, accessorized the same way (ponytail, dog, ear buds.) I've actually walked right by her. And she sing sing sings.

Check back soon for Rule Breaker #2.

I did a most unexpected thing on Saturday; I watched Little League.  It was the most beautiful day --- blue skies, 85 degrees.  As I walked toward the park I was secretly hoping to see a game, so I was quite happy to hear a small crowd cheer at the crack of ball-against-bat. I took my seat and watched the 'Orioles' play the 'Yankees.'

The players were so cute. They seemed to be between the ages of 10 and 12.  Some children were very tall, while others so tiny. The players ranged from the competitive and hot-tempered kids, quick to shout commands to the less experienced players, to the meek and mild-mannered kids who would likely rather be home reading.

Two players were hit with pitches. One in the head.  His helmet was knocked right off of his head. His first instinct was to cry. His face scrunched up, you could see he was in pain. But he immediately thought better of the tears and tried to tough it out.  Then, all of the coaches surrounded him and his face scrunched up again.  In the end, he fought off the pain and surprise of getting hit in the head and he took position at first base.  Watching this I realized that I was fighting  back the tears too!

A hot batch of crawfish, a beer, and the bayou.

While we were in New Orleans, there was a pirate conference going on.  That's right; a pirate conference.  So, the streets were filled with pirates, many carrying their very own pewter steins.

You must be a freak when the pirates start taking your picture.  Yes, that is a man with a cat on his shoulder.

Music in the streets of New Orleans...

As expected, it took us some time to recover from our trip to New Orleans.  Though the atmosphere of the city is relaxed, from the moment our feet hit NOLA ground, Ryan and I do not stop.  Please check back tomorrow for photos.

Tomorrow we leave for New Orleans. Last spring, when we visited for the first time since Katrina, the trip was an emotional one. Almost three years had lapsed between the storm and our visit and we spent much of the time picking through the remains of our old neighborhoods, old hangouts, and old memories. We marveled at the places that had come through with barely a scratch, and lamented those that did not survive.  This time, we trek back to build more memories in a city that we love.

Ryan and I have made this visit to New Orleans an annual priority.  While young, we hope build upon this tradition for years to come.

When I returned from my trip to Connecticut, I returned to an apartment building with no elevator. There was a bright yellow warning sign affixed to the door announcing this outage was indefinite. This wouldn't be such a problem if we didn't have a geriatric pup who is very afraid of descending stairs.  It's not so much that he can't do it, it is that he believes he can't and so he trips and falls every time.

Because Ryan can pick him up with no problem, he had been carrying Salinger up and down all weekend. But when Monday morning rolled around, I knew I would not be able to carry him down three floors.

Luckily, a friend of Ryan's also has an elderly dog and she'd been trying out various shoes that would help keep her dog from slipping. Just a week earlier, she gave Ryan a set of shoes (called PAWZ) to try on Sal. The shoes are made of a thick balloon-like material.  They stay in place, as they are tapered at the top, so the dog will not trip over the shoe itself (we have had this problem.)  PAWZ are not meant for long-term wear, as, obviously, a material like this doesn't let their feet breath.

These shoes are miracle workers!!  It only took minutes for Sal to get used to them, and once he realized he wouldn't slip, he was easily running up and down the stairs.  At first he was a little embarrassed, so I had to tell him how great he looked in his new kicks.  Here he is looking shy in his new shoes: