WordNerd glares at her watch, then at the wedding website RSVP page, then at the slackers (who are mostly her co-workers who swore up and down they’d be at the wedding come hell or high water). Glares at watch again.
They have until 11:59PM. Then the nagging commences.
Thanks to 1,300 member signatures and two original owners with a prevailing bid, the Rock Creek Sports Club will stay open and there will be no anguished scramble for another unpretentious, well-run and friendly gym. There will be no trips to the L.A. Fitness in downtown Silver Spring. We’re staying right where we are. Additionally, the original and now current owners have pledged to make improvements on the RCSC with input from the membership (PDF).
Make that three key things that happened, and this is that third thing: L.A. Fitness withdrew their bid for the Rock Creek Sports Club membership. With 1,300 people pledging to terminate their contracts immediately, is it any wonder? There was no possible benefit to obtaining the membership after we showed such strong unity. Whatever profit L.A. Fitness might have been hoping for was a non-starter from the get-go; there’s a reason I didn’t choose L.A. Fitness in the first place. IP felt that same. Others felt the same and weren’t afraid to express it.
So congrats to us, the members of the Rock Creek Sports Club, and a hearty yay to the original owners, Marc Tascher and Paul London, who had the prevailing bid last Friday and had their bid accepted in bankruptcy court today. I’d like to say back to our workouts, but apparently there might be a celebration first. That’s cool—at least we know the gym will still be there when we’re done partying.
P.S.: A small clarification—a few people addressed me as IP when commenting on this story here or in other spaces. I’m actually WordNerd. IP’s my fiancé who contributed to the last post. And we both love the gym! We’re happy that we’ll continue to be fellow RCSC members with all of you!)
A double citation! IP’s citation-happy heart will be pleased to see these once he returns from his travels to the far off region of . . . the Midwest. You have to understand: this is the humor I live with. If he blogged, I have a feeling he’d become a DC Blogs/Express favorite. He’s constantly cracking me up with dry observations and a debonair wit that’s hard to resist. Last night he had me in stitches discussing Del Boca Vista retirees who get bored with the sun and work for the New Republic’s subscription renewal department.
We’re glad to have provided some laughter to DC Blogs and Express readers who might have needed it after the events of Monday and the details that were revealed on Tuesday.
Going back to the citations—I’m consistently amazed by how the Express always messes up one or two details in my posts. In this episode, we find out that IP is just my friend. The emerald ring on my left hand and the men’s wedding band I’m about to order say otherwise.
I explained the difference between Jon & Kate and Octo-Mom to IP over email. When he finally got them sorted out he wrote:
Why do I feel as though natural selection, which has served us so well for billions of years, has now finally failed?
Oh, too true. Too true.
Exiting Bethesda station yesterday, my BlackBerry finally attained a signal and proceeded to go nuts. It practically danced in my hand as IP and I boarded the bus that would take us home, family, friends and co-workers all demanding to know that we were all right. All told, it took us 40 minutes extra to get home which, given the magnitude of what happened, wasn’t a long time at all. We’ve endured longer delays just sitting in Metro Center.
When I had entered the system shortly before 5pm, I knew something was up on the west side of the Red; announcements were being made about Friendship Heights. Getting to Metro Center, I was greeted by a hoard of people waiting for trains. Very little information was being conveyed at this point (around 5:30pm by now) at Metro Center. Being underground and without Verizon phones, IP and I had no idea what was going on; we thought there was just a derailed train right outside of Fort Totten. We wondered why they didn’t just single-track on the unaffected side. We debated whether or not to go to Fort Totten via the Green line and then take a bus home. From the sound of it, we’d be stuck at Fort Totten. We decided to walk to Union Station to see if anything had cleared up by the time we got there; right before exiting Metro Center, I had a sudden stroke of genius brought on by the fact that something about the situation wasn’t sitting right: why not take the Red line in the opposite direction and then take the bus home? It had the potential of being quicker given that we had no idea what we’d do once we got to Fort Totten (though I’m unsure we would’ve gotten that far even on the Green).
The ride on the west side of the line was slow; at Farragut North we were held for about 10 minutes. The operator told us there were situations on both sides of the line; trouble outside of Friendship Heights and a “black, black” situation going on outside of Fort Totten. IP and I furrowed our brows at each other, while others around us heard the situation was “black box.” “He’s not saying ‘box’,” IP hissed at me. At around Friendship Heights, a guy sitting in a seat nearby us exclaimed and held up his BlackBerry. “This is what’s happening,” he said, eyes wide. I only caught a brief glimpse of the picture, but it looked like the side of a Metro car had collapsed in on itself. It must’ve been the grainy quality and the distance, but my first thought was that something must’ve hit the train on the side, not that one train was on top of another.
At Bethesda, we exited and a bus appeared almost instantly. We were ferried home without charge, my BlackBerry buzzing impatiently the entire time. My boss left me a message; a co-worker shrilly demanded that I call her immediately; my Big Brother A left me a collected message, his voice typically drawling, asking me to call our mom when I got home. (Big Bro A and my dad were the only ones who remained pretty calm; I last talked to Big Bro A at 4:55PM; the accident happened shortly thereafter. Both he and my dad knew there was no way I was anywhere near those trains, just stuck underground. My mom recognized that side of the line as ours, so she appropriately freaked out, but she didn’t sound half as bad as my co-worker did.) My sister sent me a text. Another co-worker left a message on IP’s cell; when I explained to him that I had included it in the emergency contact info for me at work, he mused that he should probably do the same, then asked me to text her. When we got home, there were more messages and phone calls; I recognized my supervisor’s number, my brother’s, and my dad’s. Messages kept rolling in well into the night; I sent back responses as soon as I could, letting people know we were okay. My little brother called, on his way back from Florida, to make sure I was okay; I told him I was and told him to drive safely.
Today I was told to work from home in order to avoid what would be a hellish commute. A friend of mine gave IP a ride into town—while it would’ve been great to also have him telecommute, he has a conference he has to get to today (to whip some reticent people into shape). And now here I sit, drinking coffee, writing and reading the news, feeling pretty loved. I was nowhere near any danger, but many people were concerened. For this cynical, hard-hearted chick, it was pretty touching.
Thoughts go out to those who lost loved ones, and speedy recoveries to those who were injured.
Admitting that your first thought when you woke up this morning was how the weather was going to affect someone else’s wedding (someone who you might have met once before, but who you don’t really know, and of course you’re not invited to that wedding). And no, it’s not me. This is why I don’t really participate in message boards anymore, choosing instead to leave random snarky comments (and probably the reason why I don’t have more female friendships—I go from quiet to cynical in .5 seconds).
My first thought this morning? Wondering if I’d be hung over, and also wondering how it is we’re going to get everything that’s on our list done today.
Note to . . .
Wedding website visitors: Please RSVP already! I see you, lurking around the Online RSVP page, so just go ahead and do it. Oh, and those who keep on telling me that they’re “going to RSVP tonight!”? Put up or shut up. You have 11 days, people.
DC Blogs: Thanks for the link! However, IP is right—where were you when we really, really needed you to give us publicity about our gym potentially closing? Ah well, but I knew that as soon as I hit “publish” that the post would be noted by either the Express or DCBlogs; call it blogger’s intuition.
Paper Source: Can you please provide me with a tracking number for the paper that you owe me? You know, since you sent me the wrong paper to begin with this week? Not that I can really work on escort cards now, but I’d like to know it’s on its way.
Dress designers: What is up with all the frilly, appliquéd, too-short, bubble-shaped, ugly-patterned dresses? Even a simple white sundress has been hard to find. I swear I’m not going to find anything to wear to our family dinner. Dammit.
MIT students: You’re pretty damn funny. And you gave me great dirt on Mathgeek. Feel free to drop by for waffles or hamburgers anytime.
Hampton Inn: Thank you for providing me with access to the room block, people’s reservations, and the ability to cancel out people with the push of a button. So. Very. Tempted. Must. Not. Do. It. I. Suppose.
The NHL: Posing the (probably fake) Stanley Cup right behind players as they accepted their awards is cruel—it’s even worse when you’re Red Wings forward Pavel Datsyuk and you have to accept two awards in its vicinity. You mock us! We will not be mocked! And Vegas for the awards? Call me stodgy and old, but the awards ceremony should always be in Toronto. Alas, they’re in Vegas again for the next two years. So, so wrong.
The Weekend: You took way too long to get here. Good to see you again, old friend!
Lately my patience is being tried by parents who talk too much about their kids. I don’t know what it is—a few months ago IP and I were advertising our babysitting services on this blog, but when it comes to some acquaintances’ kid talk, I really am getting very annoyed. Maybe it’s because my inbox is constantly flooded with pictures and videos I don’t want to see, article write-ups about the kids’ teams I don’t want to read, entreaties to buy yet another stale cake I don’t want to purchase, and rants from parents about their ineffective school boards I don’t want to hear. Whenever anyone starts in on this at work, I just want to stomp my foot and yell, “Enough! I don’t care about your kids! Please be quiet, please at least ask me how my weekend was before launching into how many birthday parties you took Junior to, and please don’t tell me that I’ll do this when I have kids myself. I think I’ll make a Herculean effort not to. Because you? Are boring the living daylights out of me on an everyday basis. I will try not to do the same to some poor, unwitting soul in the future. Get a blog.”
Look, I get it: Parenting is a huge responsibility (it’s one that I’m not sure I’m cut out for), and I give kudos to people who throw themselves into caring for their children (note: I can’t give kudos to just any parent because most people can have sex and procreate, but not all of us are good parents). I understand that people talk about what’s on their minds; I totally understand that parents are constantly thinking about their kids. But is it really too much to ask for people to diversify their conversation with books they’ve just read, news they’ve been following and other sundry matters? I’m serious when I say get a blog. The reason why I have a blog is partly to write, partly to blab; not everyone wants to hear about the minute details of my existence, but if you choose to read it, thanks. If not, that’s okay since I blog for me. I really wish my acquaintances would do the same with their kid talk: become mommy and daddy bloggers.
I know this may ruffle some parental feathers (after all, you’re probably just proud of your kids, which is cool), but understand: the stuff that I hear are trivialities: how Hannah Montana tickets were acquired, the various outfits that were purchased for a one-year-old, how a seven-year-old threw a tantrum at a team practice, how the kids are learning how to swim. All of these stories have me falling asleep at my desk, head lolling forward as I try to listen. I think I could stand it if it happened once or twice a week. But every single goddamn day? For more than three years now? Any topic gets boring when you discuss it every single goddamn day, especially for the past three years.
I’ve longed feared becoming boring, and my current observation is that some of the parents I know can be very, very boring. Please mix it up, people. We child-free people aren’t necessarily pining for chubby-cheeked kids of our own, nor are we jealous of the stories you regale us with constantly. You are not burrowing an idea into my mind, that of desired and impending parenthood; this actually makes me averse to wanting to have a kid because I don’t want to risk becoming just like you. Which is what’s said to me: “One day you’ll be just like us.” Hell to the no. Even if I have a kid, I make this solemn promise to myself: while my life may be consumed with little Princess’s hockey games and Dom’s improvised chemistry sets, you will not hear me talking about it at work all that much. I will seize the opportunity to talk to adults about other matters. Detailed discussions of cartoons that my kids like can be a conversation that I will actually hold with my kids, not my colleagues and friends and acquaintances, especially not my poor, bored child-free colleagues and friends and acquaintances whose eyes are rolling to the ceiling during lunch.
In the meantime, I think I need to invest in some glasses like these, except I need them in brown:
IP and I have under two months until we get married. My blog is again being dominated by wedding posts. Coincidence? Well, I figure if I can’t vent/rave about the wedding here, I can’t do it anywhere. Y’all are jus’ jellus, anyway.
Kidding! Besides, it’s a good way to get my mind off the Wings. Oh, Wingies . . .
Anyway, the planning is steaming along. IP and I are handling this like pros (and as I am one when it comes to this kind of stuff, I would hope so). The one big last check left is finding IP’s wedding band, which we will be doing so shortly. My band has been ordered by my wonderful husband-to-be. Both of us will be picking up our wedding attire this coming weekend. RSVPs are slowly but surely coming in (and I have to admit we’re both a bit disappointed that some cool D.C. people won’t be there, but with the economy and the timing of the wedding, we understand), and decisions are being made quickly.
I get to spend next weekend hopefully doing some DIY projects, including creating our table names/numbers and working on our escort cards. Obviously we can’t add names to the escort cards just yet, but my idea involves a) escort card stock and 2) awesome Mexican tile-patterned paper (this is where the “hopefully” comes in; Paper Source sent me the wrong paper). I had wanted to get actual Mexican talavera tiles and put names on there, but that proved to be a bit cost prohibitive given 1) shipping and b) the need for our own centerpieces. Let’s just put it this way: we have reason to be concerned with our site’s banquet coordinator. Thank the FSM for our forethought in hiring a day-of coordinator who gets nothing but rave reviews from brides in Michigan. I am so happy to be working with her.
My mother will soon be inundated with packages addressed to her but containing centerpiece ingredients. We went with a candle centerpiece that was relatively inexpensive; since we decided on going with this idea, everything has been ordered save for one ingredient; again, shipping is cost prohibitive and I’m hopeful that the Michael’s in Rockville or Ann Arbor will have those last key pieces. IP and I can drive them up to Michigan or we can (hopefully) find them when we visit next month. If we can’t, I’ll order them, but I’ll be grumbling about how save-on-crafts.com charges way too much to ship stuff.
Now we’re onto emailing our vendors and trying to tie up loose ends or lingering questions. The big one is the DJ: I’m not worried so much about what he’ll play (he seems appropriately dorky, like me!), but I do want the timeline to be understood. Since we hired the DJ with the intent that he’d do the ceremony music, too (we’re having musicians, but at another point during the wedding), I want to be sure he’s aware of that and put aside a goodly amount of setup time. I also plan on touching base with my DOC; when I met with her, she had mentioned that she had a new bride she was working with who is also using our venue. My question is whether or not this bride’s wedding is before ours. My DOC already has some take-home lessons when it comes to our officiant; she may have some input on how to deal with our reticent banquet manager.
I’ve been stalking our photographer’s Facebook group because she keeps on adding new photos from recent weddings. The photos are top-notch; not exactly the artsy style that’s being used in wedding photography right now, but they are photojournalism at its best—I won’t say much to identify our vendor, but I will say she’s trained in the field. There’s very little editing in her work, but lots of emotion and beauty. I’m half-tempted to legitimately join Facebook (as opposed to sometimes skulking around in my Fake McFakeName lurker mode) so that our pictures will be posted for future clients to see.
Last but not least, my sister has a trial with a makeup artist who more likely than not will end up working with us on the day of the wedding. I’ve seen her work and, contrary to the work I’ve seen on other Detroit brides by one particular company, does not make people look like porn stars. And that, my dears, is what I’m trying to avoid.
I suppose there’s a note to end on: not wanting to look like a porn star on my wedding day.
A new desktop background image goes on my laptop today as I sadly have to take down the 2008 Red Wings Stanley Cup celebration photo, and I don’t get to replace it with the 2009 one. IP had told me multiple times that he was in favor of whatever series outcome led to me getting the hairy, sweaty, (and sex-ay!) Red Wings celebrating the Cup off of my screen. Well, there was only one possible outcome, and it’s here. I think I’m going to pick something from Colorado National Monument, Mesa Verde, or Rocky Mountain National Park. (Funny how I pick stuff from the state the harbors a hated former rival.) But man, does this hurt!
I’ll get over it, of course, but I had been hoping for the Cup for various reasons, and the small, cutesy reason I was nursing the most was this:
See how cute that would’ve been? Major milestones for us marked by Cup wins? Le sigh. When I told this to IP last night, he mock-lamented that we were now destined for a bitter divorce. Not what I believe, obvs, but it would have been a cute story.
So congrats to Pittsburgh, who took last year’s disappointment and capitalized on it. That’s good: that’s how great teams are made. It’s what the Wings did after their 1995 loss against the New Jersey Devils. From that disappointment stems the team you see today. Detroit had a spectacular run this year, and they still have a team that’s great. Detroit’s always, always called old and on the way out by the hockey pundits, but the vast majority of the Wings seem to be younger than me these days—that ain’t old. Sure, we don’t have flashy, NHL-marketable players, but that’s okay. Wings aren’t about flash. And they’ll come back strong next year, I’m sure.
Still, this sucks. This sucks, sucks, sucks. I still love Ozzie, though; he played a hell of a post-season. He’d better get inducted into the Hall of Fame when the time comes, dammit.
Updated, 9:15pm: I ended up selecting a picture from Crater Lake to put on my desktop; it’s a great picture of Wizard Island with a motorboat streaming water alongside it. It’s an absolutely gorgeous picture and I love it, but each time I reduce my windows and see the picture, I get hockey sad all over again. :( :( :(
