Both of us having attended RSCJ Sacred Heart schools, a colleague and I were excited when we read that a Potbelly close to Catholic University was offering a papal shake with part of the proceeds going to support the university’s campus ministry programs. … Continue reading
Guys. Stevie Wonder came to DC. He performed in a park on the edge of the city and there were free donuts (random) and water bottles (critical). If you don’t know this yet, Stevie Wonder is a boss. The guy … Continue reading
Dear friends and other favorites,
It has come to my attention that there is a new trend going around amongst the kids these days, that of the informative Life Update Group Email.
After reading five of these from various friends and friends of friends, I could no longer resist. Obviously I had to write one of my own. Please, Felicia. Step aside.
Hello and welcome to the group email. Some of you work with me and see me on a daily basis, but obviously I felt you’d benefit from hearing these tidbits anyway. Please, hold your comments to the contrary.
Back in August I impulsively deactivated my facebook. DON’T WORRY. THIS DOESN’T MEAN I’M DEPRESSED/KIDNAPPED/HEARTBROKEN/ANGRY/DEAD. I know some of you were concerned. Upward of 10 of you emailed/texted/called to ask about my whereabouts and mental condition. Alas, nothing exciting to report. I just got bored one day and decided I was done. I know. Snooze.
But there are OTHER exciting things happening!
1. I bought a house!*
*Clarification: Mama and Grandmomma and I bought a house. (Small disappointment, my various Get Rich Quick schemes haven’t worked out yet. This is because I actually don’t have any. But I need one. Trusted Advisor Friend Kelsey says the key is to win the lottery and/or become a housewife but sorry to report neither of the two have happened as of yet, and besides that I plan to make a gazillion dollars on my own, no need for housewifery, please.)
Anyway back to the important stuff: The house is by the ballpark on the waterfront. It has four stories including the basement and my floor has a sitting room, a bedroom, and huge windows with arches. We move in late May. Mama may still do my laundry because I’m 26 and still not self-sufficient. I survive on crackers and granola. We’ll get to that later. Holla.
I am working in business development!
This probably has a few more exclamation points than are rightfully due, given that I spend eight hours a day (ok, seven and a half – gotta leave time for lunch) cold calling people and talking to them about Contactually even though they’ve never heard of it and apparently don’t even have five tiny little minutes to see how much more money they could make if they just implemented follow-up systems (brokers are busy yo). Surprisingly, I don’t mind the cold calling aspect, although getting verbally destroyed via Ringio and a headset is not always the most encouraging way to start or end your day. I try to call people in the South because they’re super nice (sorry, stereotypes, it’s true). For example, one guy told me he wasn’t interested in Contactually but he was going to take my call because I was “remarkably aggressive.” Another guy said my persistence was “appreciated” but “daunting.” Listen. I’m polite but numbers have to be made. Peoples gots to pay the bills. Also, administrative work is boring. Emails are also boring. Ima talk to you on the phone whether you like it or not. Haiii.
70% adrenaline from dance remixes/cold calling/potential major deals
20% necessary administrative things
10% total terror
For real, sometimes I love sales.
Mostly I love sales.
Ok, I love it.
IT’S SO HARD THOUGH.
Side note (important): My colleagues are awesome. No but for real. Like I would marry all of them, even the girls. We just came back from a three-day company retreat west of Charlottesville. There were campfires, discussions about hair wanding, breakout sessions to evaluate company values, and serious amounts of alcohol. There was also a concert that pretty much nobody truly enjoyed except for me. I thought it was awesome. And my colleagues, because THEY’RE awesome, said, “This show is for Lizzie D.” That’s what they’ve called me since Day 1. We hang out after work, because we’re friends at work and we’re friends for realz.
Here’s an example of a custom rap Kelsey and I made for our colleague Jimmy. It’s biographical.
Also, side note dos, once Kelsey and I were out brainstorming about how we could better train users on the product, and we found what we thought was an abandoned item, and because we know “see something, say something,” we called the news and ended up getting interviewed. (We got interviewed about something else but that’s not the important part. The important part is Kelsey was on the news!!! (They cut me out. Bai.))
Also, side note tres. We have dogs in the office. And lots of snacks.
3. (Work was point #2.)
Pietro is the boy I’m dating. I told him I was going to feature him in this email and he was ok with it, so that’s one reason we’re dating, because writing epic emails and texts that include exaggerated stories in all caps is a fundamental part of my daily activities schedule. SorrysorrysorrymylifeisridiculousandIjustreallyliketexting
Here are four more reasons we’re dating:
Wait, first, important detail. Pietro and I met over gchat. Omg I swear it wasn’t a random chat room. Awesome work colleague Satyam mentioned Pietro back in June. “You’re crazy,” he said. “HE’S crazy. You need to meet!” What instigated this was one night I went out to a show and then had a whole lot of energy afterward, so I came home and sat on the floor and listened to music for three more hours in the middle of the night. “That’s exactly what Pietro does!” Satyam said. Side note, Satyam also once pronounced me the craziest person he knows. He also said if he could choose any one person to smoke weed with, it’d be me (“If you’re like this normally, imagine what you’d be like high!”) Two of my other colleagues seconded this. Clarification: I do not smoke weed. That said, this is quite an honor.
Pietro and I have an uncanny number of things in common. We’re not going to go into them because while I’m sure you’re enjoying this long email, I know you’ve all got Starbucks runs and HBO show binge watching to get on with, but just trust me, when I first met Pietro, I was like wtf is happening, this is weird.
The first time we hung out I almost died. I was gonna get to this later but I might as well get to it now. Winter in DC this year was ungodly horrible. I am allergic to the cold. YES THIS IS A REAL THING. And no I can’t live anywhere south of here because there aren’t any major cities with transportation and I need activities and I CAN’T DRIVE. This is qualification #2 for dating me: You have to either drive or enjoy walking seriously long distances across the city, sometimes at 2:00 in the morning.
Anyway, we went for a walk around the monuments at 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning, I can’t remember which. It was so cold that I couldn’t move my hands and when I got home I had to sit next to the radiator on full blast for hours. Literally hours.
Another time I woke up and the cold weather had caused my face to break out in hives. (THIS HAPPENS.) I walked around all day in sunglasses, even indoors. Pietro thought this was ridiculous but he still wanted to go out with me, the crazy kid. So there was that.
I can’t remember what the original main point of these paragraphs was but the overarching point is that Pietro is great and if you haven’t seen me recently it’s probably because I’ve been spending ungodly amounts of time in Virginia. Now, listen. Anyone who knows me knows that I make it a point, literally a point, not to ever leave the District. It’s far. Also the buses out there are confusing. And the streets all have names and not numbers and I get lost. And there aren’t as many activities. So going to Virginia with any frequency is a pretty big deal. Seriously. Ballston. Holla.
4. Other Things
I continue to navigate adventures in many other areas. For example, I continue to be challenged by properly using the toaster/oven/microwave (the burn struggle is real). I also spill water on myself on average three to four times a week. #get it
Here are some things I’ve been doing:
I crashed a kayak into a tree but didn’t drown
Mama and I went to Puerto Rico, where it was beautiful and hot and there were lots of interesting activities like kayaking in the largest bioluminescent bay in the world. Mama put me in the back of the kayak because I had once, when I was 12, kayaked up Tomales Bay and almost to the Pacific Ocean. Unfortunately this does not mean that I had any kayaking skills whatsoever, so the very first thing that happened in this bay in Puerto Rico was I crashed straight into a mangrove tree. We had gone on a night with no moon so we could see these sparkling underwater creatures, but consequently this meant we could see nothing else. For example, I could see zero of the twenty kayaks in front of me (I was last in line). Nor could I really breathe because a grove of mangrove trees is still and hot and there are lots of mosquitos and the roots are snarling about the entire bank. I crashed so many times that my kayak become known as “DC.” I’d crash and someone would shout back, “Is that you back there DC?” Yes of course it’s me, sorry the instructor had to tow me back all the way to shore because I didn’t have enough arm strength, people have different skills, ok? Some people are really good at kayaking. I’m really good at talking on the phone. Boom.
I recorded a Taylor Swift song with a trash bag and tweeted it at her
Wait, for real. I was sitting on the floor (see the pattern here) playing my ukulele la la la la la AS ONE DOES, singing “Blank Space,” (Please, let’s not pretend we don’t all love Taylor Swift. I tried pretending for a while I didn’t love her but then I realized that I DID, and I EMBRACED IT.) when my mom walked in and started shaking a trash bag as a percussive instrument. I continued singing, she continued shaking, I couldn’t keep it together, and BOOM: Legendary recording. Kelsey told me sometimes she invites celebs over to her house for pizza via twitter, which I thought was a fabulous idea, so obviously I tweeted this at Taylor Swift immediately. She didn’t respond, but I’m sure she saw it. Probably bookmarked it and plays it every day. I know I do. ❤ you Taylor
I’VE BEEN BOLLYWOOD DANCING
Ok, small confession: I really want to be a movie star. Next best thing: Dance star. Combination: BOLLYWOOD dance star.
I found out that Bloombars was hosting a bollywood dance class (“No experience necessary”) every Thursday from 6:30-7:30 pm. I went. I learned. I danced like a NINJA. Jen promised to go with me and she did NOT, but I still love her and send her a shout out for occasionally cooking me dinner, because as previously established I cannot feed myself.
Kyle came to visit
Where you been brotha! Kyle moved to Atlanta but has promised to come back to DC as soon as possible. Chicago is another option, but I told him it’s too cold there. I will die, for real.
Lizzie left me a voicemail
The other day Lizzie saw me walking on the sidewalk, and instead of saying hello like a normal person, called me five minutes later and left me a voicemail. “I think I just saw you walking along and eating an apple.” She was right. It was me.
I went to a medieval knights show … in the mall
Guys, this is real. You can go to the Arundel Mills Mall and between the shoe store and the Chipotle there’s a huge event space called Medieval Times. It’s inside the mall. Like, literally, you go in, go past the Sunglasses Hut and a jewelry store, and then there’s this huge kitschy medieval archway where when you enter they say, “Welcome, my lady,” and give you a colored paper crown. You can then take a photo with a falcon and watch guys throw lances and fake joust on real horses. It’s mostly filled with middle schoolers and Renaissance enthusiasts but there’s also a few normal people (maybe two or three). A woman comes around and tells you she’s your wench for the evening and serves you a whole half a chicken (no really, she comes around with a bucket filled with halves of poultry and puts a whole leg and thigh and god knows what else on your plate, plus a hunk of bread and half a baked potato and some other things that by the way you must eat with your hands (don’t worry there are moist towlettes).
My grandfather and I sang a song together
It’s “This Little Light of Mine,” but every now and then my grandfather throws in a “Hallelujah,” and because he’s 91 years old, it’s very sweet. For those of you who know my grandparents and have asked about them, or who know of them because youknow how much I love them, they are doing fairly ok. My uncle comes every day and serves as their personal Top Chef, and even though my grandmother is losing some of her sight and my grandfather some of his memory, they are still mostly happy, most of the time, which personally I don’t think is a bad place to be. You’ve got to live a full life so that by the time you get to 91 you know it’s been worth it. This is what I think about every day when I’m exhausted and I’m out until 2:00 in the morning. So little time. You’ve got to use it.
And on that note …
This email is long enough. I have to get cold calling.
But as a parting list, I leave you with some things I will be looking to do in the upcoming months, should any of you want to join:
- Tennis – Now that the weather is better, I will be playing tennis. I am not a varsity athlete, let’s get this clear from the start. However, I can play a solid match, so if you want to play, let me know, I’m down.
- La Ti Do – I am still at La Ti Do most Mondays, mostly because my friends are insanely talented and there’s nothing I love more than a night of musical theatre. Last time I was there I practically started crying from complete and total admiration of them, ask David Landstrom. Truly. I don’t know a more talented and dedicated group of people. Also, thanks to all of you who saw me at the Helen Hayes awardsand complimented me on my mad dance skills. Second also: Sherry Berg, you owe me attendance at a klezmer dance classat the JCC, YOU KNOW YOU DO. (Everyone else is also invited. It’s dancing and clapping in circles and doing a fairly sexual move called the “camel.” (Not kidding.))
- Mother Moore would like to announce she’ll be hosting monthly dinners at the new casa. You’re all invited. If you want to come, let me know. Or text her. I know you’re all friends with her on Facebook anyway, friend stealer. (<3 u mother bird, thanks for always leaving me dinner on the stove)
- Any events any of you want to go to, ever, I’m in. My average sleep hours per night are averaging around five these days, which is not ideal headache wise but certainly serves my social schedule well. Andrés says hanging out with me requires almost a full day of energy reserves, so prepare yourself well kids, prepare.
Ok lovers, I’m out.
Happy almost Friday, see you all soon I hope, let me know you’re alive.
Back in August, I went back to my old stomping grounds of San Francisco for a work conference. There, in addition to all the other oddball things that were – let’s be honest – par for the course for the city (10:00 pm runs for banana creme pie, elaborate mini golf in a bar, Japanese karaoke … the usual), I found something truly extraordinary. Prepare, friends, for a gem of the universe called Morning Gloryville.
This (because don’t tell me you’ve guessed what it is — you haven’t) is a sparkle-filled, legging-wearing, high energy dance party. Oh, and one detail: It starts at 6:30 in the morning.
6:30 IN THE MORNING. Normal people are sleeping at this hour. Or at the very least showering and putting on makeup. They are not dancing.
But at Morning Gloryville, they are. My friend Lindsay and I arrived in a cab, stressed and thinking we were late, only to be greeted by a cheery woman in pigtails. “You’re here!” she gleefully exclaimed when we got out of the car. She gave us both hugs. I thought Lindsay knew her. Nope.
Inside, a shirtless man with angel wings checked us in. “You need more glitter,” he said, looking at me. He gave me a sheet of gold stars to stick on to my face.
The interior was a huge warehouse filled with fresh-squeezed juice, homemade muffins, and at least a hundred and quite possibly more people dancing. Everyone is in crazy colors and things like zebra patterns, and everyone is rocking out. Heads nodding, hands jiving, legs pumping. A woman is hula hooping in the corner, and a man has climbed atop a spotlight box in the center of the room and is in his own zone. Everywhere there are balloons, and everywhere there is glitter. It is amazing. It’s not even like a real place.
Morning Gloryville … Pf. Whoever thought of that, serious props. And oh, one other thing: Please come to DC. Government workers need dancing, too.
My friend Tara Trinity is truly one-of-kind. I honestly know no one like her. She’s vivacious, supremely talented, and game for anything. Literally anything. This girl has more fun than anyone I know. She loves her life.
We’re friends because we’re both loud, restless, and high energy. We’re easily bored. We love to dance. We love meeting new people.
Tara called me one Sunday afternoon and asked if I wanted to come with her to the middle of nowhere in Virginia to drop off her son at his father’s. I went. It was a beautiful afternoon. We blasted merengue from the car with the sun roof open. Afterward, I convinced Tara to go to a klezmer dance lesson with me at the DC JCC. Dance lessons are free every Sunday night. This, in my view, is a serious find. I love dancing. I love music. I could even go so far as to say I love klezmer. It’s high energy, it’s emotional … You get to clap and stomp your feet. I mean really this is the ideal activity for someone like me.
In any case, Tara was not especially excited about going, but she went, because that’s exactly how Tara is: She’s never one to turn down an opportunity to do something new. And obviously, being the very talented artist she is, she was far better at it than I was.
Afterward, we found it was raining outside. Tara drove us home. We joke we’re secret best friends because we’re more or less neighbors. We sat in the car talking when we got to my house. “Oh! I have something you should listen to,” said Tara. She had met these English boys in Miami and they had sent her a playlist of a bunch of Euro house (of course – this would happen to Tara). On it was a Zwette remix of a Tom ODell song that would in a span of two weeks garner more plays than any other song I had listened to that year.
“Isn’t it good?” She asked. We sat in the car, listening to the song. The rain pattered quietly against the windshield, like the beat of the music.
I don’t see Tara as often I should, especially given that we live right by each other, but when I do see her, it’s always amazing. There are always magical moments like that. She has such joie de vivre. It’s infectious. I could only be so lucky to live my life to the extent that she lives hers. She is a very special friend.