Not Dead

That's right.  I still exist in the blog world.

Last winter, I posted something along the lines of "Just walked twenty miles with bare and bloody feet, uphill both ways, and still don't have a job. But don't worry, DC- I'm back".  And then I stopped blogging for a year.

There are many good reasons for why I spent a year convincing myself that I do not have time to blog- but let's face it: I have time to blog. 

Except right now I'm sitting in my office (it's 1:30 on a Saturday), eating Raisin Bran and Sour Patch Kids, (because I missed breakfast and lunch. And I think we all know what I'll be eating for dinner...) and if I don't finish my work by tonight's deadline, it's going to be a very long night.  So I don't have time right now.

To my three marvelous readers, rest assured that I will make time this week to write.  I need to get stories out of my system, and you need to to hear about how I almost got locked in an abandoned building, ran another marathon, was nearly kidnapped/taken to chil-fil-a by a creepy van-man, survived yet another hurricane, was pursued on bike by a man who wanted directions/a lot more than directions, and ate an entire jar of Biscoff spread in two days.  It's been an exciting 10 months.

I love to laugh.

Is it weird to laugh by yourself?  Laughing isn't a group activity, right?  Then when do I always seem to be telling myself, "come on.... hold it in... don't do it! Don't let out that huge burst of laughter that you are DYING to release because you just saw a middle-aged man in an alley, behind a dumpster, doing tai-bo in his underwear!"  My personal pep-talks never work.  I am that crazy girl who walks around the city, by herself, laughing hysterically.  And don't think that I'm some mean person who finds joy in other people's misfortunes- I tend to be cracking up because I've just spilled juice in my lap.  Or I've just stepped into a puddle that I thought was an inch deep but turned out to have the depth of a small harbor.  Or I've just been pooped on by a large bird. 

Or maybe it's a combination of the three. 

There's nothing worse than getting on the metro during rush hour, stressing over which individual you are going to choose to be your seat-partner for the next 40 minutes (do you go with slightly creepy businessman who looks like he might fall asleep and trap you next to the window, or do you choose the attractive but oddly-smelling Occupy protestor who just may start a 99% chant in your ear?), committing to the seat, and then realizing, once the person starts laughing hysterically at what appears to be nothing, that he or she may be certifiably insane.

Unfortunately, I have become that person. Not the person who is regretting the decision to ever step on the 5:00 train (believe me, that stage has come and gone. I'm way past the whole "I'm too mature for this laughter" act)- I am the one who is shaking uncontrollably because of the conversation I've just overheard on the platform.  Or something I read earlier that day.  Or something someone once told me when I was fourteen and I just remembered how funny it was. I no longer have any shame for personal public laughter.

So next time you find yourself scanning the walls for emergency exits because the person next to you is demonstrating signs of mental instability, be careful.  Either something hilarious is going on in their head- or you are just really funny looking...

(this picture is a great example. I went into this restaurant, sat down under this picture, and smiled- while my friend stood 30 feet away and captured this moment on camera.  Everyone around me wondered why I was smiling at nothing... Do they not realize that Ramses is the bestttt?)