Me Fail English? That's Unpossible

However, it is totally possible for me to fail the Foreign Service Oral Assessment. I now join a fairly prestigious group of people who beat out approximately 16,000 people who started this process in April, and yet still managed to not be considered for hiring. At least, that's how the testing panel tried to console me so I wouldn't go postal a-la-Jason-Bourne and stick a pen through their hands before beating the crap out of them.

Needless to say, I really think it was due to the zit that erupted in the middle of my forehead. Or perhaps my need to wear a color instead of black. Maybe even my uncontrollable need to tell Ben's Momma jokes. I don't know.

And do you know why I don't know? Because they refuse to tell you how you fucked up - that might give you an advantage over other people who are taking the exam.

I think the real reason is that, if they had to actually quantify our scores, there would be no reason why all twelve of the people at the assessment yesterday shouldn't be hired. What I'm suggesting is that the results are purely subjective, possibly even politically motivated in some cases.

Actually, I was quite shocked to not be selected. I was under the impression that I kicked ass in all three sections of the assessment. I felt good, confident, ready to sign on. And they failed me. The consolation in all of this? All the people there yesterday are incredibly bright, over-experienced people. If they can't all pass, then at least I'm in good company.

So, five of us losers became a small posse and we headed out to McFadden's for happy hour when we were sure of defeat. We commiserated on the testing panels motivations, consoled each other, and even reminded ourselves that "we're good enough, we're smart enough, and goddarn it, people like us!" Finally we got over our shock (yay for $2 Yuengling), exchanged contact information and went our merry ways.

If only it were truly merry. Not only did I FAIL for at least 9 hours yesterday, but some asshole decided to try to kill himself on the train tracks during rush hour:

Man Hit By Green Line Train at Columbia Heights

(reprinted from Express, a publication of the Washington Post)

A man was struck by a Greenbelt-bound Green Line train at the Columbia Heights station on Thursday at 5:47PM. According to the Metro, the man was taken to a hospital but his condition was unclear. Trains single tracked around the incident, but there were significant delays. The station reopened at 6:36PM.

Do you know what that means? I was on one of their significant delays. I was one stop away from my house for at least a half hour. Why? Because some jackass thought that the best way to go out of this world was to make 500,000 people trying to get home after work really pissed off. Way to be remembered, my friend.

After being up since 4AM, it was just a lousy way to end a really lousy day.

City of Sin, Group of Sinners

Group Craps
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

Like I mentioned in my previous post, we were in Las Vegas last weekend to celebrate Veteran's Day (isn't that how we all celebrate the holiday?). I have a few delicious memories and they will be recounted below.

Arrival: The flight sucked. There is no other euphamism for it. AWA still has the ashtrays in the armrests. Clearly they need to work on some upgrades. However, I will not complain overly much because my flight cost less than Kevin's poker games.
Eric and I arrived at the New York-New York Hotel at midnight or so – that would be 3AM east coast time – to a screaming crowd of hysterical teenagers. Or maybe it was the rest of our crew. There was a repeat performance an hour later for Estee. Many of us had 40oz. of daiquiri or pina colada in hand. I distinctly remember heading into a bar and dancing and screeching (was that singing?) in front of the live band. It all ended with a pig pile on Kevin, via the pig pile on Jeff, two of our friends who really thought they could get away with going to bed early. The photographs clearly show that our dear photographer (i.e. me) was highly inebriated. They also show Andrew that he was indeed there, even if he doesn’t remember it.

Day 1 (Friday): Michelle stands at craps table next to rich man (or at least one throwing a lot of money down on the table); he hands her a $10 chip to play. She starts rolling and wins the man money. A lot of money. He tosses her $25 chips each time she wins him money and he proposes marriage. Michelle leaves him hanging but walks away with $110.
Ben drags us all over the strip despite our hangovers (although Andrew declines and spends the wee hours of the afternoon recuperating in bed), but we are happy just to be there enjoying each others’ company. We pause for about 3 hours at the Bellagio lunch buffet, whereby my friends continue to prove that the term “buffet” means to gorge oneself on crab legs. Oh, what is that you say? Crab legs aren’t served until the dinner buffet? Actually, that’s true. Mel taught us to be ghetto, and we waited around in the dining room until they served the dinner buffet, thereby saving the group around $80 (saved monies are earmarked for future college funds – and by “future college funds” I mean “future craps table events”). We so cheap.
Before the girls lingerie pillow fight (you know that’s what all you guys were thinking was going on!), there was the New York-New York roller coaster. Michelle and I lobbied for the front car and won. Even better: we talked Estee into going on her first roller coaster that turns you upside-down. I have one word for you: HYSTERICAL. I have never heard sounds like that emanate from a human being before. She was absolutely terrified. And the only reason I knew it was Estee and not some rabid wild beast sitting behind me is because of the ten-second intervals of “OH MY GOD.” I laughed so hard through the ride that I couldn’t even breathe anymore and my stomach felt like I had just finished a 45-minute abs workout. I couldn’t have enjoyed myself more. Neither could Estee apparently. Blind as a bat (she had to take her glasses off on the ride), she was led back into the roller coaster for a second try. Priceless.
The girls hoochie up for the evening, and the guys just throw on the last button-down shirt leftover from the work week that is still clean. We think we’re going to Ghostbar for $25 a head, but Mel looked so pissed off in line that she ACTUALLY SCARED ME OFF TO THE CRAPS TABLES. Okay, so maybe a 5-foot tall Asian girl from New Jersey really isn’t going to scare me into gambling, but none of us (except Ben) liked the idea of spending that much money so we could buy expensive drinks and hang out with vacuous rich people. Instead, we paid for shots at the Palms lounge in the center of the casino, watched Mel get several men at the craps table all hot and bothered, and then played drunken blackjack until the wee hours of the morn. I, of course, watched Ms. “Liquid Courage” Michelle attempt to talk her way into free drinks and free entry into Ghostbar for the remainder of the evening. I have never seen this side of Michelle – very, very HOT, might I add.

Day 2 (Saturday): No hangover for me, thank you very much! I had two Corona’s to Mel’s 99 vodka tonics and managed to get at least two hours of sleep before my insomniac bunkmate decided to get out of bed (ahem, Michelle!). That meant coffee and bagels in Soho at ass-early in the morning (even if it was probably 10AM on the east coast).
Even better, when the hiking crew was up and ready for our Red Rock Canyon (the actual site is here, but the first link is better) tour, we went to In-N-Out Burger for breakfast. FOR BREAKFAST, I tell you! There is nothing that prepares you for a long day of hiking in the desert sun like an all-beef patty and some fresh french fries. I mean it: nothing.

The hike itself is nothing short of mythic. We came, we saw, we laughed, we sang, we slipped, we fell, we laughed some more, Eric’s Camel sprung a leak on his tush, we listened to Nicole’s never-ending social commentary, we cheered on Team Butt, we made friends (well, all except me apparently), we got lost and the GPS couldn’t help us, we got beat up by tough desert scrub, we found a tarantula, we started to lose our minds and shared a Clif bar, we rediscovered the trail, Jeff started a rock slide, we sang “We are the Champions” for minutes on end, and, most importantly, we CONQUERED THE DAMN DESERT. Then we went back to In-N-Out to celebrate. Jeff, like the wild beast he is, even got his fries animal-style. Now there’s a man for ya.
Now despite our desperate need for a multi-day nap, the hiking crew trekked on and joined the rest of our Penn team for dinner at Mon Ami Gabi at the Paris Hotel (in fact, Nicole even broke out the girls – Itsy and Bitsy – for the occasion). We looked fabulous, we ate cow, and we laughed about Ben’s mom. Kevin asked us intimate questions about our pubic hair preferences on the opposite sex and Nicole surprised us all with the blunt reply: “When men primp, it’s just not manly.” Wow, I’m speechless. Hans, my friend, you are one hell of a lucky man!
As for me, I spent the entire dinner in the juvenile corner, i.e. near Eric and Andrew. A small sampling:
Eric: We’re never too old to act like juveniles.
Andrew: Actually, we’re never too old to have sex with juveniles.
Lucky me. Lucky, lucky me.
Speaking of me, we celebrated me. All the girls came back from their group bathroom break in time to break into song – the Happy Birthday song. The waiter deposited the “traditional” birthday profiterole at my place-setting and we all pretended I was another year wiser.
Which was clearly illustrated by my complete inability to keep up with these crazy kids. We went to the MGM Hotel to display our wares at Studio 54, home to the hottest waitresses and acrobats Eric has ever seen. While the kids waited in line, Estee and I bowed out, less than gracefully. She, with an upset tummy, and me, with an ugly disposition. Had I known it was going to be the blow-out bash of the century, I would have fought on. Instead, I’m cursing the noonday desert sun and my decision to keep myself partially sane for the Foreign Service oral assessment (which I managed to FAIL yesterday). Let’s just say that Eric and Jeff were like drunken tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, and Michelle needed someone bigger than Mel to hold her up while she vomited into the toilet. Ah, memories (none of which those three have, of course).

Day 3 (Sunday): Very painful awakenings. I am no longer able to sleep after 4AM (damn you, Michelle, and your contagious insomnia!). Nicole arrives in the room at 4:30AM. Michelle rouses herself from Eric/Jeff’s bathroom floor/bed and strolls nonchalantly in at 7AM to ask, “Why is my money all wet? And where is my ID?” Estee finishes packing for her early AM flight. I give up on sleep and sit in the hallway to talk to my loving boyfriend, give Estee big HUGS as she leaves, and intercept Mel on her way to check on the boys’ room, where Michelle no longer is. I learn that Michelle’s money is wet because she hit on some guy to get a free drink – and his girlfriend threw her drink on Michelle in retaliation. Once again, liquid courage, my friend. We talk for at least two hours and the conversation is superb. I love my Mel.
Somehow everyone is awake and alive by 10-11AM. We imagine a breakfast buffet, but end up at a sit-down place in the Aladdin instead. I scare everyone with my version of a Bloody Mary. Let’s just say that I am the ONLY ONE who thinks they are delicious. Clearly, my friends have no taste in morning-after beverages.
Approximately seven rounds of hugs and kisses and goodbyes for Nicole and Michelle are given. An hour later, they leave and we check out the Wynn. We are vaguely impressed, but I still think it’s just barely pretty for a tacky hotel in a tacky city in the middle of a friggin’ desert.
And then: the seafood buffet at the Rio. I advise any and all of you reading this to NEVER EVER go there. Four out of ten of us came down with some form of food poisoning. It was not pretty. However, we did get to see the ceiling Mardi Gras party over the casino and once again, I didn’t have to flash the girls to earn some beads. Go me.
Before you knew it, Eric and I were flying high with AWA again. I popped Tylenol PM, became really naseous, thought about throwing up, and then decided that the best way to make friends with the gentlemen sleeping in the aisle seat was to be unvomitous toward him. It was slightly more godawful a flight than the one coming into the city. Mostly because it was a red-eye and Eric and I were expected to be at work in the AM. What a joke. I called in sick and slept.

So that’s the outline of our trip. I honestly have never had so much fun in Vegas. Mel may actually be converting me to a lover of this most tacky desert city. Not only will I be back for her someday wedding at the Bellagio, I may even consider going back for no reason at all! But only if we can have group craps and group sex with Ben’s Mom again.
With that, I must send out my love to the Vegas crew who made last weekend the best weekend of 2005: Michelle, Estee, Nicole, Mel, Kevin, Andrew, Jeff, Eric, Ben, and Ben’s Mom. You guys totally ROCK MY WORLD.

Conversations with Jeff in Las Vegas

Ten of my friends from college decided to host a reunion of our own in Las Vegas over the long weekend. There was much alcohol consumed and not much sleep to be had, but these conversations were held during sober moments.

So, without further ado, I give you Jeff:

1
"Not all rape is bad."

"REALLY?"

"Well, there's consensual rape."

"Consensual rape?! There's no such thing."

"Yes there is. You know, consensual rape."

"Uh, Jeff, that's 'consensual sex,' not rape."

"Yeah, consensual rape."

Let's just say it took at least 15 minutes to convince him that rape is NEVER consensual. Gotta love that kid.

2
Upon reliving a joke that Mel, whose parents are Chinese by birth, is my and Anthony's adopted Tsunami Aid baby, Jeff says:

"Well, you and Anthony can still have an Asian baby."

"Uh, Jeff, we're both white."

"Oh yeah."

More to come later...

In a Perfectly Rational World

We've changed our minds...again.

And by "we" I mean Anthony, my favorite flighty blonde, has decided upon a new ethnicity for our soon-to-be family addition. Instead of the Doberman grandchild da' momma was expecting, it was changed to an American Staffordshire Terrier (aka Pitbull). Now it's a Boxer baby. He seems to think this dog will be a much easier sell on our landlords - yeah, who woulda' thunk? (Now if only we could get them to return our phone calls...or fix our window for that matter.)

Of course, we're still working out the financial kinks and aren't planning on adding to our family until after the holidays, but I have nothing else to talk about today and goodness knows you all would cry if I didn't write, now wouldn't you? However, if you're feeling festive and kind, you can always donate new puppy gear to the cause. All sorts of donations are welcome - from leashes to toys to puppy beds and a crate. Hey, it's my birthday in two weeks and Christmas is just around the corner!

Okay, so I really don't want puppy stuff for my birthday. But Anthony does - and HIS birthday is just around the corner too! (December 5th to be exact.) He would probably love you forever if you gave him a small puppy toy. Just imagine the hugs and kisses you could receive! (From the DOG, not Anthony. God no! I'm not sharing him.)

Plans for the Future Include Conquering the World

I want to be a life-long public servant, so shoot me. For the past year or so, I'm sure many of you have wondered, "When is Ryan going to settle down and DO something with her life?" or, "Why can't Ryan just stick with ONE JOB for a while?"

As the ten-year-old brat deep inside me would say: Because I don't want to.

The more mature outward self would tell you that I haven't found what I'm really called upon to do yet, but I'm still searching. I have plans. Lots and lots of plans. Backup plans to backup plans, and so on.

In fact, I've spent much of my internet time lately working on my strategy for taking the Foreign Service oral assessment later this month. Yes, I know, I've already worked for the State Department and many days it was less-than-perfect, but I'm trying out for the other side of the house this time around and I'm hoping things will be, if not different, then at least career-making. I think the work will be more challenging and I'll experience a greater diversity. So wish me luck on the exam because, if I pass, we all know I'm a shoo-in for the security and medical clearances.

HOWEVER, if plan A were to fall through the cracks, I still have plan B: apply to every last government job that I could possibly qualify for in an attempt to weasel my way into the foreign service through the back door. And I'm not just talking about the State Department here, folks. There's USAID, the Peace Corps - if they send their employees abroad, you know I'm applying!

It's not really a plan B so much as a currently workable plan that's already been put into action. Because, oddly enough, I can pass the Foreign Service oral assessment, obtain all my clearances, and STILL be on the waiting list for up to 18 months. We all know how much Ryan likes unemployment so let's just say that I won't be spending my wait in that state of things.

(For those of you who say, "But wait! You're already employed!" let me just explain to you that although I am a contractor for the Department of Treasury, I am contracted through a temporary employment agency, which means that my benefits amount to diddly-squat. Hell, I'm still considering getting Anthony so hammered he says "I do" and confers all his family health benefits to me! Mwahahahaha...)

Plan C involves the Peace Corps on a whole new level - the 27 months of living like a social worker, a.k.a. the volunteer experience. As of November 17th, I will know how well I did with the FS oral assessment, and if I have failed, I am working towards the Masters International or Masters USA programs that the Peace Corps offers, whereby your two-year volunteer commitment serves as credits toward a masters degree program. I am looking at the Masters of Science in Public Policy and Management program at Carnegie Mellon University (Jeff, you're totally getting a call from me on the 18th if I fail the FS exam), the Masters in Public Administration at George Mason University, and the Masters in Political Science at George Mason University.

This means that I am also looking into taking the GRE and have been bugging Mel for all of her Kaplan knowledge.

So basically, when/if I return from the Peace Corps, I can start the job application process all over again, only this time with a little more experience in my bag of tricks. If I'm going to take this "having a career" thing seriously, I might as well do all that I can to assure myself of one.

You might now be wondering to yourself, "Where is Anthony in all of this?"

Well, like the good houseboy he is, he'll be in the kitchen, baking me a pie.

Actually, we've had this conversation in a semi-realistic tone of voice and he promised to wait for me. Maybe, just maybe, if I'm a really good girl, he'll come visit me. Or, in the case that I'm working for some government agency's foreign service, he'll be able to come live with me while he continues to work for the State Department. It's all just one big pile of what-if's. We're taking it as it comes, folks.

All I know is that my mommy will visit me and really, isn't that all we really need in life? (Yes, specifically my mom. Or Ben's mom - whichever.)

So that's the story of the next few months of my life, people. If you have any advice, suggestions, or comments, please don't refrain. Post it here or email me. Heck, post it here AND email me! Whatever floats your boat and keeps me happy is all I ask.

Our New Home

Our New Home
Originally uploaded by Pookah.

Just in case you find yourself in our neighborhood, here's a little sight reminder of where to go...

We'll be keeping a light on for you.

In Light of the Upcoming Holiday...

I know that officially it's Halloween, but ever since I passed the age of 12 and my mom no longer allowed us to go out and get free candy, I haven't been much of a celebrant. Instead, this time of year is all about Thanksgiving for me. Mostly for the food, but also for the time I spend with family and catching up with all those people who mean the most to me.

I am thinking about this today because I was reading some archived articles of Orson Scott Card on the Ornery American website and he wrote a really wonderful piece for Thanksgiving last year. It made me think of all the kindnesses I've been shown over the years (and hopefully have been appropriately thankful for at the time).

So in the spirit of the holiday, I want to thank the people who have made a difference in my life. From my third grade teacher who instilled in me the confidence to learn and be proud of that knowledge, to my friends from kindergarten through high school who enabled me to be different without feeling left out, to all the other teachers in the Clinton school systems who inspired me with their selfless (and often thankless) devotion to teaching all of us to behave long enough to learn the basics of life, to my friends from Penn who are truly the most non-judgmental people I have ever met and who I will always love even from a distance, to former coworkers and colleagues who always thanked me for my contributions and made me feel like part of a team, to those friends from the Philadelphia Film Festival who are so gifted and talented and full of life - who shared the better part of 7 years loving film with me, to other friends who have since slipped through the cracks and were always lighting up my life with laughter, to those professors at Penn (you know who you are) who actually loved TEACHING and showed me the path to truth and beauty, to the men in my life I have loved - for loving me despite my many faults and treating me like the princess my mom and dad always said I was, to all the families I adopted and who treated me like one of their own, to my father who was my first best friend and taught me how to trust in people, and to my Nonnie who was the original grande dame and held our family together despite our many differences and dislikes (she was more tolerant with all of us than we had any right to expect). Of course, more than anybody else, I am thankful for my mom who is my closest ally (and a great barometer for what I will be like in the future) and greatest treasure.

And that's the short list.

As for a broader list, I think Card said it best, so, although I wouldn't dare call myself a relgious person, and I don't believe in prayer, I am fully behind the sentiments of his essay and reprint part of it here:

This Thanksgiving there are thousands of people I have never met, to whom I owe a debt that cannot be repaid.

To you, Marine, still weary from the battle house to house in Fallujah, whom we called upon to overcome your natural fear and go into combat in our cause: What went through your mind and heart in those days of fighting is between you and your fellow soldiers and the God who knows your heart as no mortal being can. All I can see is the outward deed -- the courage to act on someone else's orders, in protection of someone else's life, at risk of your own.

To all you soldiers, sailors, pilots, marines who have served under fire, at risk of life, volunteers in the American cause: You carry with you painful memories so that countless civilians back home will not have such memories; the vast majority of your fellow-citizens remain innocent of the agony of war precisely because you have been willing to immerse yourselves in it.
You create and maintain the safe haven in which I live. Thank you.

To you in the reserve and national guard, who came when you were called and set aside your lives and left behind your families for months and sometimes years of service you did not hope for ...

To you whose military service is not in combat, yet who labor to make sure that our troops are well supplied, well trained, and only put at risk when there is a goal to achieve that is worthy of the sacrifice of life ...

To you civilians who, unarmed, have braved the dangers of war in order to help rebuild Iraq and Afghanistan, and restore their ability to live in peace and plenty ...

You make our nation possible, our whole world safer. Thank you.

To you policemen and firemen here at home whose vigilance protects us from dangers natural and deliberate, from barbarians foreign and domestic, and from our own foolish mistakes: Each day at work you don't expect to risk your life, but that risk is always there; and your constant vigilance is our protection. Thank you.

To you, the Iraqi soldier, newly trained in an army that was under fire from the moment you first stepped into a recruiting line: You know that your own families are at risk because of your service; that while you fight to liberate a part of your country from terrorists and thugs, others might come to your own home and assault your own family to punish you. You and I are patriots in different countries, but today we share a cause, and if your country keeps the freedom our soldiers have tried to bring you, it will be because of your own steadfastness and courage and sacrifice.

To you, the Iraqi policeman, who has had to learn new rules: The civilization of your own people is in your hands. You are teaching your people that the day of the torturers is past, so that they will look to you for protection, instead of dreading your approach; and you do it despite knowing that the barbarians will try to punish you and your family for your service in that cause.

To all the Iraqi and Afghan citizens who understand that American soldiers are only in your country until you have soldiers and police and a government that can be trusted to do your will and keep you free and safe: Your cooperation hastens the day when our soldiers can come home, a day we long for every bit as much as you. Your votes in elections; your obedience to law; they are also acts of courage and determination, and the whole world is safer because of them.

I salute you; I thank you.

And to you, the American soldier who has been torn by bombs or bullets, who came home maimed in body or in spirit by this war: I cannot restore to you what you have lost, but I will try to show you by my personal treatment of you, by contributions I make and the votes I cast in support of meeting your needs, by the honor that I give to you, and by the free and decent society that I will try to maintain, that the country that you served was worthy of the price you paid and will continue to pay all the days of your life.

Thank you.

You, the family whose child did not come home alive; you who have buried the hopes and dreams you had for that child's life; how can I comfort you? Except to tell you that the lives of all the children who have not died, whose future was not broken off by war, belong in part to you, because of the sacrifice you made.

I may not have known your lost sons and daughters, but I know why they died, and I love them for their sacrifice, and will not forget them; nor will I forget you, and the constant ache that will be with you for the rest of your lives.

I believe that in the eyes of God you are all held in honor; I know that in my own eyes, your suffering and sacrifice are gifts to your neighbors, to your nation, to all civilized people, whether or not they understand. I hope it helps sustain you, to know that I and many others like me are grateful to you and to the loved one you have lost.

On Thanksgiving day, family and friends will gather around a table in my home and give thanks to God for all the good things in our lives. Our home, our neighborhood, our city will mostly be at peace; there will be laughter and pleasure in our house, as well as solemnity and prayer.

Yet we will not forget you, none of you who have served us in this struggle. I promise that we will remember: You have been the hands of God in bringing this much more freedom, this much more hope of peace and justice to God's children, not only in your native land, but also among strangers.

No one has greater love than this: to lay down your life for your friends.

For that love, for your love, I give thanks.

If I don't get around to it later, Happy Thanksgiving!

(Or, Happy Gobble-Gobble!, as my friend Jeff would say.)