Posted by: enette | July 7, 2009

Street Fashion Advice

I literally received fashion advice from the street yesterday while on my way to work. This lady, who I have no term for because she neither fits the description of a beggar nor a homeless person, asked me if I ever wear heels.

She was sitting on one of those low metal fences that border trees planted along pedestrian paths and holding out a paper cup when she called out to me. I’d walked past her several times before. She always sat in the same position, clean-cut, seemingly able-bodied and with a pleasant look on her face. I gathered after the second time that she wasn’t just taking a rest early in the morning with a cup of soda.

After briefly trying in vain to understand the picture presented before me I replied politely, “No.”

The lady then told me I should try 2 and 3/4 inch heels. She emphasized that they should be precisely that height. I tried to quickly accept the advice and move on but she wouldn’t let me. So I started explaining to her that I can’t walk in heels, to which she said that I should wear them out when I go clubbing and get used to them with some alcohol in my system and then I would be able to wear them to work. It didn’t sound like a great idea to me but I said my thanks and went on my way as she shouted after me, “Remember, 2 and 3/4 inches!”

This morning I saw her again. This time she was running late and had only just got to her “office” with her bags (only three of them, which looked just like they could be a work bag, a work-out bag and a handbag). She pulled out one half of a pair of gold pumps to show me what I should be going for and said, “I haven’t worn these out yet but see 2 and 3/4s”

I said, “Ok cool,” as if I was really going to go out and get a pair and then told her to have a nice day, wondering how much she made everyday in her paper cup and picturing her partying in those gold shoes.

I don’t know if I’m afraid to bump into her again wearing my flats or if I’m so intrigued by her story that I’m going to have a proper chat with her next.

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Posted by: enette | April 29, 2009

Ronald McDonald’s House

My idea of going out for a drive isn’t speeding aimlessly down a highway but cruising past big beautiful houses. I admire them and dream of living in one someday.

Ronald McDonald has a giant house in DC. It’s got a game room in the basement, a living area with a tv on every floor (I think it’s about three stories tall), a kitchen with both an electric and a gas stove, and an elevator! You don’t have to be rich to live there, just be from out of town and have a sick kid in an area hospital.

I know this because I was there some weekends ago, thinking I was going to help clean up a needy family’s yard. But when I arrived and realized this house,already spick and span, was the assignment, I was disappointed. The weird thing about volunteering is you want to do as many chores as you possibly can, when in your own home you’d avoid them like you would worms frying on a sidewalk on a sunny day.

There were so many volunteers that day that the entire job was done in 45 minutes when we’d all alloted 3 hours for it. Still, the house with comfy couches, pillows all in order, colourful building blocks in their rightful boxes, giant soft toys with big smiles on their faces, all looked so sad.

Maybe it’s because on most days, the building and all its luxuries can barely bring any comfort to the parents who sit around sickly, waiting on news about their ill children. It’s one house I’d never want to live in.

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Posted by: enette | April 22, 2009

Me Time Is So Last Year

In January, I did some volunteer work for the first time. It was part of my new year’s resolution to make everything I do count–no more filling up time slots with meaningless activities.

I went to an orientation with Greater DC Cares, a non-profit group that basically galvanises volunteers to a more effective way of reaching out to the DC community. There are different levels of commitment and also leadership training. I decided to take it one small step at a time and so picked something off their monthly calendar called Books to Prisons to do one night.

A small group of maybe 10 of us gathered in the basement of a church where there was a mini library of donated books. We were supposed to read letters sent by inmates to the organisation requesting books, get those books or similar ones to send and also include a letter if we could.

The idea of sharing what you felt was a great read with someone who had no other means of entertainment seemed quite cool at first. Then it became a burden when you realised this was all they were getting for maybe a couple of months and if they didn’t like it, that would really suck. But there were so many letters to answer and not a huge variety of books to pick from that you really stopped thinking about it so much.

Reading the first few letters made me choke up a little. I have never known anyone who has been to prison before and reading a personal letter saying “i am incarcerated…” is kind of shocking and sad at the same time. I didn’t think about the crime that led to this but the idea of being imprisoned, stuck in a cold hard place surrounded by strangers. It was slightly comforting though to know that some had heard of the program through another inmate, they had a friend at least.

There was also the matter of writing a letter to these strangers. What in the world do you say to someone who is stuck in prison and wants some reading material that might help them when they get out? My first letter was so incredibly idiotic. I said “It’s cool what you are doing with your time in prison.” COOL?!! UGH!! I am such an idiot. But I didn’t want to waste the limited letterheads so i moved on. It got easier as I did. I concentrated on their choice of books and apologised for not being able to get exact requests and said I hoped they liked the selection. Some of the inmates asked for tons of books but because the organisation, which is independent of Greater DC Cares, was running at a deficit and postage was their main expense, we had to try and keep the parcel weight under 2 lbs.

I also signed off each letter with only my first name. It probably would’ve been better of me to print my full name but I was paranoid too since I’m pretty sure I’m the only person with my full name. I know, there is so much inconsistency in all of that, I’m sorry.

Anyway, I went home hoping I’d at least eased someone’s boredom.

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Posted by: enette | April 16, 2009

Enette vs Roach-Enette:1, Roach:0

I discovered a giant roach under my toilet bowl a couple of weeks ago and FREAKED THE HELL OUT. In the absence of pesticide, I picked up the longest thing I could find–the toilet brush–wrapped it in a paper towel, stuffed it in my right running sneaker and because it wasn’t a far enough reach for my comfort, I threw it at the creepy crawly. Twice. It didn’t move. Seemed to have been dead already. Now I had to remove the body. Ugh.

I couldn’t bear to grab it even if wrapped in a thick paper towel so I tried to think of any tools I could turn into giant chopsticks. But first I had to get it out from under the toilet bowl. I threw some tissue over it and used the toilet brush to pull it toward me but only the paper moved, revealing the larger-than-my-thumb insect. I screamed! Did it move?! Ahhh!! It felt very stupid hearing the echo of my helpless yelps in the empty apartment, it’s a little like if a tree fell in the forest and nobody heard it fall, did it really fall? Well no, not the same but you get what I mean.

I tried to psych myself up: Come on! This is part of independent living! You’re a strong single girl! Dealing with stuff like this will make you tougher!(Really? THIS is my training?)I realised the irrationality of my fears when telling myself how stupid I was being and how big I was compared to the older-than-dinosaurs species did not work. I was trembling with the fear of removing a dead roach 1/7432094324039284935436th my size. I needed another plan.

There was a guy I knew who lived in the same condo as me. I hadn’t spoken to him in awhile but this was an emergency!

[Blah blah introductions]
Me: I have a problem…
Mario: What? Tell me, tell me!
Me: erm, there is a giant cockroach in my bathroom and I’m really really scared.
Mario: Is it dead?
Me: Yes, but I’m too scared to get rid of it!
Mario: Ok, let me give you the strength, I will talk you through it.
Me: No, no, I’ve tried, I just can’t do it.
Mario: Ok, but I will be back from work only at 8.30pm (it was 6pm) so you will have to wait.
Me: That’s alright, thank you, thank you!!

After we hung up I decided I should probably just make myself some dinner while I waited but I couldn’t bear to leave the crime scene. Every two seconds I’d peak to see if it was still there. I paced up and down. This couldn’t wait, it had to be removed now! I decided the concierge was my next best option.

[same conversation as Mario with college-age boy on duty]
CAB: er, I can call maintenance for you
Me thinking: ha! he is probably just as scared as I am!
[on the phone with maintenance muffled at first]
CAB: Yes, a cockroach. Yes, she wants it removed. Yes.
CAB: He’ll meet you upstairs.

[Upstairs, letting my friend, Leah, comfort me over the phone with worse stories of rat encounters. Then there's a knock on the door]
Maintenance man (old, possibly russian dude): I’m not paid to do this! I’m an engineer!
Me: I know, I’m sorry but I’m very very scared! I’ll give you a beer!
Maintenance: I don’t drink.
Me: oh. [quickly leading him to the toilet]

The old man gets on his knees and grabs the dead creature with the paper towel barely covering it and proceeds to walk out of the apartment with it. I thank him profusely.

Me: Is there anything I can do for you? (like he’d just saved my life)
Maintenance: No, it’s ok.
Me: Thank you soooo much! Have a nice evening! (as if walking about with a dead cockroach in hand could ever be a great start)

After that I called Mario and told him he didn’t need to come anymore but we could go get drinks. I was so relieved I tell ya. Now I need to get me some tools so that if it ever happens again, I can handle it myself!

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Posted by: enette | April 16, 2009

Welcome!

Hello readers old and new,

The very first entry to a blog is always the most awkward to write and that’s what’s taken me so long to get started. I’ve been blogging since 2003 on Livejournal, locking my journal for “friends only” access so there’s a little bit of stage fright now that I’ve decided to open the door here.

It’s like, you’re coming out of nowhere, nobody knows you, most of them don’t care and there’s so much pressure to give a really great introduction that will set the tone for your entire blog. It’s crippling!

But I’ve decided to embrace the awkwardness, as is evident in the title here and this weird letter addressed to imaginary readers that is echoing into the quiet of my work area. Soon though, there will be many not-so-awkward (hopefully) entries to follow. Here goes nothing…

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