It is fall.

Source

That is all.

I'm a Knitter.

My mom started knitting a couple weeks ago on a whim.  Her sewing machine is packed away, awaiting their move, but she still needed something to do with her hands so she booked a class and started knitting.  She's really gotten into it (though I've yet to see pictures of anything, much less a finished project) and I thought, well, I can do that!  Plus, everything on Purl Soho makes me want to die of happiness, so what the hell, I decided to go for it.

Hurricane Irene was set to blow through here over the weekend, so I made sure to stop at Barnes and Noble and the library for books and magazines.  I picked up Interweave Knits, Knit Scene (a bit strange to me, but maybe I just didn't get it?), Last Minute Knitted Gifts, a Christmas knitting book (never too early!) and the Ultimate Knitting Bible.  I read them all and realized I have no idea what's going on.  I know what needles are.  I know what yarn in.  Besides that, I may as well be blind.

After deciding I'd be confused forever, I went to my LYS yesterday to pick up yarn and needles in order to familiarize myself and perhaps make friends instead of feeling scared.  Little did I know I'd become a knitter an hour later.  Even though there was a party going on, the owner offered to teach me right then and there, and off I went, with some size 8 circulars and worsted wool.  I cast on about 30 stitches (is it cast or casted? It seems weird to say cast in the past tense), knit, purled, knit and purled.  And then I went home, after meeting all these fertile Jewish women and their talented fingers.  As soon as I got home, I messed up a row (exhaustion and excitement overload?) and then did better.  Though I'm sure there will be comments when I go back for my follow up lesson.

So now I'm trying to decide what I want to make.  Scarves and blankets most definitely.  Does anyone have any blog recommendations?  I'm a little over seeing people only sew for their children (so, so over that, actually) so any young, "hip" knitters who don't make dumb things would be great!

Here are some pictures:

Learning in the store

On the kitchen table

Our first hint of fall?  Taken last week - today it's only in the 70s

Northwest DC from Rosslyn

Wherein I Discover I'm Boring

I don't normally read New York-based magazines or newspapers (besides the Style section of the Times, and I read that online on Monday mornings), because I've never been there, I'm not familiar with the area, and I cannot lose the label "outsider" plastered on my forehead.  New York, to me, isn't like D.C.: besides the obvious, on a personal note, I would read the Washington Post daily because I knew the area.  I visited, I was a former resident, and it felt more like home than my physical address in Jacksonville.  I mean, things change (as we can all tell), but that's how it was for six years.

Just stick with me through this.  I'm trying to wade through a lot here, and if you give up now, you're gonna miss out.

Six years, you guys.  The better part of a decade, stretching from high school to post-college years.  All I wanted was to move back to D.C.  I would visit in the fall and spring and just want to smell the concrete and feel the wind whipping between the buildings.  I would step on the Metro and feel like I was a local, even though I was only in town for a weekend.  I thought, that's my answer!  That's what I need!  Everything will be better!

Why didn't I see that as my first mistake?

Sometimes my obsessions turn unhealthy, as this one did.  As soon as we crossed the Maryland state border, this fixation rotted in my palm.  Since moving here, I've had an endless string of drama, mostly internal but also concerning Nick: our flus, his unemployment, nonexistent college degrees, break-ins, two kidney infections, bank account overdrafts, armed robbery.  Not to mention the unreliable landlord (and even less reliable electricity and air conditioning) and our complete lack of friends or family close by, or even within short driving distance.  It's been eight months without sleep and with constant nausea.  Every week brings a new issue and a new breakdown.

After the armed robbery outside my apartment last week--the final straw in the recent outbreak of crime, we heard the woman screaming while making our dinner--I lost all sanity in regards to our living situation.  I had previously told my landlord we'd stay for 2012, as our lease ends on December 31.  I soon realized I couldn't live here, in a place that disregards safety to the point where I no longer am able to go to the grocery store by myself because two men with a shotgun are free to confront me at the car door.  I don't want to live like that.  We pay too much for me to resign myself to hermithood.

So we set out on the apartment hunt.  We have very specific requests: our budget is $1300 (and that's maximum--we currently pay $1250), we need at least 800 square feet, and we want free laundry on-site.  This is all what we currently have.  However, Washington, D.C's metro area had different ideas.  We've contacted five apartments since Saturday; all have come back as scams (if you Google "D.C. Craiglist scams," you'll see an example, though two of the apartments were also on Realtor and Zillow).  This is incredibly discouraging and disheartening.  I feel as if I'm not important enough to be safe in my neighborhood because I can't afford it.  Forget that we have good jobs and we pay taxes and we take care of ourselves; because we can't afford $2300 a month for a one-bedroom apartment, we deserve to be robbed as we carry in our groceries.

So naturally, my thoughts have drifted elsewhere.  But what if we moved here?  But what if we moved there? How much would it cost to go south about three hundred miles?  I've never been out west; why don't we see what's out there?  Nick is rooted and has trouble understanding why I ask "What if?" all the time.  It's in my blood to be discontent, to worry, to uproot at the soonest sign of a problem.  However, he also understands my very valid points: larger apartments or houses, half of what we're paying now, and we have the space for a dog (something he wants more than anything else in the world).  But until we can find him a job, we are stuck.  And we have no hope of finding our way out just yet.

Anyway, back to New York.  I came across this article on Jenna Lyons on Twitter.  I worked at J. Crew right after Mickey Drexel become the CEO, while the brand was shifting (we still had the flannel-lined chinos, but we were also carrying sequined cardigans and strapless tuxedo dresses).  I look back on that time with mixed feelings, because, while I had a lot of inner turmoil, I seriously have never dressed better in my entire life.  Forget that I was three sizes smaller and was also receiving some items at 80% off (not an exaggeration)--I looked awesome.  I'm starting to shop at J. Crew again, after years of avoiding it due to the bad management and bad personalities infiltrating the Jacksonville store, and I wonder just how a clothing company can make you feel like a better person.  I think, if I had the money (read: if I wasn't living here), I could buy that outfit  and that lipstick  and feel like the woman I'm supposed to be.  I should be confident and happy and optimistic.  And these clothes would do that, right?  They'd make me interesting, they'd give me friends, they'd pay my bills without ever taking money out of my teensy account.

Of course, this is a destructive way of thinking, but as I already said, I look to tangible items to make my happy: a new apartment, a new city, a new look.  And this article, with all its mentions of Jenna Lyons and her beautiful office with its expansive inspiration board (along with Anthropologie, Matchbook Magazine, Kate Spade ads and the women I pass on my way to work), makes me feel like an "if only" version of myself.  I'm not writing this to make myself feel better or to look for therapy, but I'm just wondering where it ends.  If we move and I have a charming little Cape Cod with enough space for those new J. Crew wool trousers (in fuschia, please), will I finally chill out?  Or will I scream at the dog when his muddy paws brush against them after running outside in the rain?  You know the answer as well as I do.

I don't think of myself as an interesting person; in fact, most of my personality lies in my hair, and that's a complete coincidence, because I surely didn't ask for it.  I don't go out on weekends and I don't ever have the time (or money, for that matter) to take a vacation.  So maybe that's why I rely on what's within reach to make me more interesting.  That sequined dress makes up for the fact that I have nightmares every night.  And that extra-wide baseboard?  Well, that's there to conceal all the dirty dishes waiting for me to take care of after we eat the dinner I cooked.

I'm within a month of my twenty-fourth birthday and life is not as I imagined.  First off, when I was a kid, I thought 24 was the perfect age to have a baby, so that's been a big change of plans--for the better, though, no complaints.  And I never thought I'd be living with someone and talking about marriage, or living in the suburbs, or just trying to make it through each day without wanting to throw my head against my desk repeatedly.  I thought that 24 would bring me charisma, talent, a big paycheck and a studio apartment.  I thought it would make me interesting, to repeat what I've already said.

However, I've come to find out I'm boring, and I don't know what to do about it.  If only I could afford that wool coat...

Happy birthday, America!

I love long weekends.  I have three days to do what I normally cram into two, Eleanor wonders what the hell I'm still doing around on a Monday (she knows her days of the week), and Nick starts to get on my nerves by Sunday night.  But no, really, they're the best.

We tried to step out of the box this weekend and not sit around for hours at a time, watching Say Yes to the Dress marathons ("we" = "I").  Saturday we spent the day in the sweltering heat, walking around Capitol Hill and Old Town Alexandria.  We really weren't prepared for the heat, as the last 90 degree day we had was in May.  It was a little rough and I single-handedly disproved the belief that women don't sweat, they glow.  No, I was sweating.  We were also verbally attacked by a Metro employee (we've reported her but have yet to hear anything back from WMATA) and dealt with really loud tourists.  But all in all it was a fun day.

The rest of the weekend was spent running various errands, though we did eat at Mussel Bar in Bethesda last night.  I thought it was delicious.  I don't eat mussels (or really any seafood, save crabs and lobster) so I had the prime rib steak sandwich with frites and a glass of rose.  I know, wine?  For me?  But their beers were mostly imported and I'm an American craft beer enthusiast.  We also ordered dessert, which I haven't done in God knows how many years.

So here are some pictures.  Did  you all have a nice weekend?  The next long weekend is Labor day!  Can you believe it?  This year is flying by.

Starting out the day as two innocent kids who had no idea of the messed up people they would encounter on their adventures.

Navy diver punching a shark, something you can only see at the Eastern Market

Mmm, green tomatoes

The vendor was offended I was taking pictures of her flowers instead of buying them.  Sorry!

Hill's Kitchen, where I bought two icing spatulas and a present for my mom.  Way to go crazy!

The stuff nightmares are made of.

Letterpress

I love these porcelain milk jugs

Ahhh, finally.

California Pizza Kitchen

Fried Mac and Cheese!

Some of the weird produce at Safeway

Eleanor enjoys helping us with laundry

A monkey dressed like a banana at the Paper Source in Bethesda

Be Still My Heart

You guys...

That's right.  That's an Adams Morgan Mellow Mushroom official website.  Which means it'll be open soon.  Like any day now.  (Okay, not really, but seriously, I'm excited.)

This just made my week.  Now, back to work!

Wednesday's Wish List

I should do these weekly.  Especially right before my birthday.  Yes.

Traveling With Pomegranates, by Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Kidd Taylor.  Light reading, am I right?  I haven't read a book since probably January because I just don't have the patience for it.  Even poetry!  Especially poetry.  I just want to read again, like a normal English major!

Lunch.  This picture was taken last night at California Pizza Kitchen, but because I have the leftovers for lunch, I figured I'd post it.  Also, it's 10:57 and I want lunch, but then again, I've been up since 6 after barely sleeping.  Oh yeah!

Some time to read my new magazines would be fantastic.  Garden & Gun and the Oxford American are two of my absolute favorite magazines--no more fashion magazines for me!--and I picked them up last weekend while Jake and Kali were here.  I skimmed them before sewing while they were gone Saturday night, but maybe this weekend I'll actually take the time to read the articles.  Hopefully they won't make me too sad.

You know what isn't in that picture?  Snow.  Sleet.  Rain clouds.  Frost.  That's because that picture was taken in warm weather.  Do you remember warm weather, mid-Atlantic region?  I know you must.  It's time to bring it back.

I want to go back to warmth

I'm having the kind of day where I'm very homesick and feel kinda lonely, so instead of bringing down everyone, I'm just going to post pictures from the awesome weekend I had.  As I said, my brother and his girlfriend came to town and, while we didn't really go crazy, we had a great time.  Jake and I lived here when we were kids, so we got to skip out on rushing to the monuments and museums, and instead were able to go where we wanted, when we wanted. 

Magnolias near the National Archives.  As a Southern girl, I do so love my magnolias!

Skeletons at the National Museum of Natural History.  I've seen this exhibit (part of the permanent collection) countless times and always return.  It's really retro and the colors are just amazing.  Greens and oranges do wonders for a skull!



Ben's Chili Bowl, a D.C. institution.  I don't eat chili, but I do love fake cheese.

The National Mall.  Don't let the colors fool you; it is not spring here in our nation's capital.

I would like to thank my Evo's photo app for letting me take awesome toy camera pictures without having to actually lug around my Holga, as well as the WMATA and Potbelly sandwiches, for fueling us on Sunday.  Yum!