life lately | march

March was the month that changed my life. For the rest of my life, I'll remember sitting in a crowded movie theater on March 14 and opening the email that said, "Congratulations," and it held my hand and opened my palm and placed into it my whole future, bright and open and so full of possibility. So much of these last few months has left me feeling stunned, feeling almost numb with unbelievability. Nothing that has happened is believable. It's funny, too, because it is believable. There is a part of me - that since the day I sat in the information session for Georgetown's international relations master program last fall and heard a fellow applicant mention she was applying for the Rangel Fellowship, and I played those unfamiliar words over in my head and on my tongue, that knew it was my destiny. Isn't that crazy? I can't believe I'm putting it in words. I daydreamed about that destiny until I laughed out loud alone in bed so many nights I can't count them because I've never been the sort of person to believe in destiny and fate like that. But it felt destined. It felt right through my core. I think now, now that it's becoming reality - now that I'm only 5 short, short, too short days from leaving my beloved job to embark on this crazy adventure that is this Fellowship and grad school in the fall - now that I know the rug isn't going to be pulled out from under me, and it's not all just one of those late night daydreams - I really see now that it wasn't destiny so much as a good fit. A perfect fit. I've dreamed of a life in the foreign service, I've planned it out, I've known for a while that it's in my blood. That kind of unsettled life is what makes me feel the most settled, the most content, the realest version of myself. This was the month of finding out the stuff I'm made of, and it rocked my world, it rippled through me in waves until I had to believe it - I did it. I'm here. My future is mine.

1&2: 2014: The Winter That Never Ended
3, 4, & 5: March was the month of Theo. My brother took him down to stay with my mom at the end of the month, until Zan and I can rent his condo and find a place of our own that allows dogs. And boy, did Theo and I live up every single last day together. We found a new favorite trail. I can't wait until we're reunited. My life is incomplete without him.
6: I moved! Matt and I said goodbye to living together. From a studio apartment where we shared a bed in LA to the slumlord in Bloomingdale all the way to the tree-lined streets of Cleveland Park, we were in it together until we met our matches. I found this note from my mom written on my old bible. I couldn't throw that old thing away because that note. And isn't her handwriting gorgeous?
7&8: Ellie came to visit! I talked a lot about her being there for me when I found out about Rangel. That's another friendship that's for the ages. We meandered around Georgetown after dress shopping for a girlfriend's wedding next fall and found ourselves planted on the giant green adirondack chair.
9: Zan and I celebrated our two year anniversary on Mach 24. Last year I made him a chocolate peanut butter cake; this year we booked a trip to Costa Rica. He's alright, y'all.

thanksgiving

One thing that Zan's family and my family have in common: the men are the chefs. In Georgia, my cousin John fries the turkey for Thanksgiving every year. He injects a cajun seasoning into the old bird, and man oh man, it's crispy and juicy and has a kick to it, and I look forward to it all year. My brother makes the pies, a turducken, and last year a ham, too. In Zan's family, he and his brother can seriously cook. Zan grills better than anyone I've ever met, and Ben commands a kitchen. I've had little tastes here and there of Ben's cooking, but for Thanksgiving, I got the full treatment. He and Zan's sister-in-law hosted Thanksgiving at their newly purchased house in Petworth, and I couldn't stop swooning over Katie's eye for decorating and Ben's food.

My mom was up here this year, too, and she was so nervous about meeting Zan's family for the first time. I was nervous leading up to her visit, but the day of Thanksgiving, I wasn't at all. My mom has this gigantic personality and outrageous sense of humor. When she's at her best, she is a riot and at her worst, downright lovable. It's hard not to like my mom. Zan's family seemed to completely agree, and the mixing and mingling of families was a success.

I'm so grateful I got to bring my mom into the folds of my life, show her where I live, and introduce her to a family that feels like my second. It was a good one, this Thanksgiving.

casa fiesta de cinco de mayo!

I had an unopened bottle of Don Julio tequila that Zander and I brought back from Mexico, and I knew what I had to do with it: pitchers of Corona-ritas for Cinco de Mayo. Since Cinco was on a Sunday this year, Matt and I opted to host a brunch party. We made chilaquiles, queso (the recipe), and churros, while Zan manned peppers, onions, and chorizo on the grill. Friends brought chips and guacamole, salsa, and even homemade Mexican chocolate sorbet. We downed mango bellinis, too quickly forged our way through the tequila, and there are still a dozen Mexican beers in my fridge. 

Melanie sent me links throughout the week leading up to the party for everything from churro popcorn to a DIY photobooth. I knew I had to have a photobooth after I saw that, but I didn't have time to find the materials I'd need for the fringe. Zan came to the rescue with a simple way to hang a blanket we purchased in Tulum on a brick wall in Matt's and my apartment.

Matt made a last-minute trip to Party City for props - 'staches, maracas, a miniature sombrero, and a big 'ole colorful one. Zan brought over his oversized straw sombrero to complete the looks. Matt and I took a "family portrait" with Theo. That dog sure knows how to rock a mustache.

My old college and DC roommate (so much history!) came into town with her boyfriend for the weekend, and man oh man it was so good to see them. We had a great turnout for the party, and it was such a great time with so many wonderful friends that we've already started planning a bigger, better photobooth party for next year. 

It was a lot of fun incorporating some of the culture (cough tequila) Zander and I experienced in Mexico into a celebration with friends here at home. The occasion also inspired me to do what I love possibly even more than taking photobooth pictures: travel-related research. Here's a short overview of what Cinco de Mayo is really all about and why we (yes, we Americans!) celebrate it. 

Okay, I lied. I don't love anything more than taking photobooth pictures.

old rag mountain | shenandoah national park

I did two crazy things while hiking Old Rag this weekend:

1. I threw a temper tantrum near the peak.


2. I ran the last mile.

Forget the first one, forever. (Let's never talk about it again, mmmk?) But did you read #2? I ran the last mile of the 9 mile hike that is Old Rag. As Liz Lemon would say, "I want to go to there!"

Wait. Wrong catchphrase.

"WHAT THE WHAT?!" There it is.

I can only claim temporary insanity (Zan would beg to differ on the "temporary." See: crazy thing #1 that I did).

So here's what happened...

Zan and I had reached the assumed summit and were starving and half-dead, ready to set up camp for lunch. We’d managed the 5 mile ascent without breaking off our limbs. We’d traversed the uneven terrain and navigated the extensive class 3 rock scrambling section leading to the top. We’d done all that without collapsing even once (there was that one rock that I hallucinated to be a bed, but that’s neither here nor there). We scrambled to the tip-top of a super duper high rock and took in the 360 degree view. For 20 seconds.

Snap.



Snap.



I took two photos, circling and cheerily announced, “Ready for my sammie!” and began the slow, painful descent to a sitting position, before I realized no one was listening. I think a few kind tree branches leaned in, lending a leafy ear. Zan was 20 feet ahead, hiking onward.

I called out. “Zan! (Zan! Zan!)” I yelled three times to create my own cool mountain peak echo.

“Where ya goin’?” I was casual, cool, laser eyes locked into the back of his pack, that held my sammie.

Grunt. Gruntgrunt.

Yes, I nodded. Sure, I see. He saw a higher peak that way (point). This isn’t the summit.

I grunted back.

“I don’t WANNA go. THIS is the summit. UGHHH SAMMIE GIVE ME SAMMIE.” Grunt. Grunt.

(Our communication talents are unique and should not be tried at home.)

He had the sammies, and so what could I do? I gave a reverential salute to my perfect peak and the breeze hugged me in return. We scrambled, climbed, scraped hands, skipped rocks, held on to branches, scooted through crevices...





...and finally arrived where Zan had grunted and pointed – to the “summit over there.” It was an astounding… clump of barren, brown trees obscuring the view on all sides.****



I HRMPHD, loudly, in his direction.

Zan HRMPHD back.

We HRMPHD and HRMPHD.

Two hikers passed us, probably thinking, “By golly, those two need a sammie.” That’s what I was thinking.

You know that point when you’re too tired to see the solution that’s right in front of you? We were so ungodly far beyond that point.

He grunted.

I grunted.

I broke off a branch and threw it.

He tore off the tree trunk and chucked it over the edge.

We beat our chests.

I cried.

He cried.

We slept standing.

We woke still furious.

We sighed.

I finally regained enough energy to properly stomp my foot.

I whined. “I just need a hug.” (And a damn sammie on a beautiful overlook, but I kept that to myself, in the name of compromise and conflict resolution. I truly handled the argument like a totally sane adult.)

We hugged.

I checked the time.

4.5 minutes had passed.

We walked back 50 yards, and alas, a perfect picnic peak shone bright and glimmering in the afternoon sun and we had a wonderful, quiet picnic... and then I played like a 4-year-old on the rocks and made Zander take 100 photos of me doing so.





Ahem, where was I?

Oh right, the time I ran a mile on a 9 mile hike (I thought we promised to never talk about that other thing?!).

We reached the fire road, finally, oh god, after Zan had destroyed his tendonitis plagued knees, and my body could not take one more single step downwards (seriously, I’d rather climb up than down any day any time any where – YOU NAME THE PLACE). The fire road is 2.5 miles. It’s the longest 2.5 miles of anyone’s life, or at least the lives of people who are not in spectacular shape and are very tired after summiting Old Rag.

This is the road that never ends... yes, it goes on and on my friends!

I made it through the first 1.5 miles without too much of a problem (except for a desperate need to pee that ended in a trail crouch - high five to all women!). We reached the trail head, were in the home stretch, had only a mile to go, and the damn fire road, it had the nerve to veer downhill. I don’t know what came over me. It was too much to place one foot in front of the other, baby step like, so I slowly picked up my pace until I was jogging.

It felt so much better to jog downhill than to walk. So I kept jogging.

And when the land flattened out, I kept jogging.

And when the trail turned into the paved road leading the way to the parking lot, I didn’t stop running.

A man walking his dog, white beard and all (does Santa have a mountain home in Lurray, Virginia?), laughed as I ran past. “Didn’t get enough of a workout on Old Rag?!”

I kept running, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”

Then I was at the parking lot, and then I was at the car, and then, I fell down beneath a tree and fell asleep for 100 hours.

Okay, that happened 3 hours later at 7pm at my house.

But I did take weird photos of myself, in my deathlike state, post 8 mile hike, post 1 mile run.



Zan caught up after walking like a sane person, looked at me lying pathetically immobile on the ground, shook his head and said, “You’re crazy, and I love you.”



 ****I’d like to note that no matter what Zan says, we did not find the true peak 10 minutes after our lunch, and there was certainly not a sign leading that way, and it was definitely not an even higher, better view-affording outlook with picnic spots. NO MATTER WHAT ZAN SAYS.