The Hot Streak

For whatever reason, I've been putting off writing this post that I've had in my head for a little while now. Mostly, I have been waiting for something terrible to happen to me, actually. Partly because I'm more used to writing self-deprecating posts but also because I'm a little superstitious about broadcasting good fortune. The truth is, I am on a hot streak. And having good luck makes me sure that bad luck is going to follow, especially if the world knows.

Perceived path of my life

The past two weeks has been a string of utterly shocking pleasant surprises. So many things that I have wanted, and a few I didn't even know I wanted, have gently fallen into my lap after 2 years of struggling. And while this success is a product of all the sweat and tears I put into everything, it's still strange to me. Like a dog catching its tail after chasing it for years.

Seriously, look at my life in list format:

1. I got an internship at NPR.

2. I was chosen for this fantastic D.C. Reads Team leader position.

• It pays me enough money to in turn, pay my rent.
• I genuinely love this program and want it to succeed.

3. Paula Poundstone randomly started following my twitter.

• I only have 4 followers total.
  
• All of my tweets are completely inane.
• How did anyone, let alone someone whose work I enjoy, find it?

4. Classy Yet Dangerous (my radio show) got a prime-time spot on Thursday nights.

5. I won 4 dollars in the lottery.

• That is a 1 dollar return on my investment.

So naturally, I was pretty relieved when I got acute food poisoning from the airport this morning on a 90 minute flight from North Caroline to D.C. Let's just say that that Egg McMuffin got a lot more air than God intended and I still have the dry heaves 5 hours later. Now it feels like the hot streak is over and whatever positive things happen aren't assisted by luck. Guess I was ready for a fresh start anyway.

I'm ready for my close-up, Señor DeMille.

I got bored on the flight to Houston and started ripping out ads from Sky Mall, like this Brobdingnagian Sports Chair or the Street Strider (which is just one synonym away from Street Walker): One is for men compensating for something and other is on par with a Segway but with the exponentially worse addition of physical activity that makes you want to tell them "Just get a bike." But I have left America...

Two cities and 15 hours later, several of the other students in the program met the academic program people at the airport, and they herded us into the atrium to order taxis. When I walked out of the customs area there were television cameras everywhere, and I thought to myself, "I know I'm a big deal, but not television worthy at the moment. I wonder if they heard of our blog?" Alas, this blog is not famous yet, and I paused for second to observe the futbol team that had just walked out. The cameras were there for them, but on the other hand, I was already rubbing elbows with Argentine footballers. Welcome to Buenos Aires.

My host mother is an adorable little woman who bakes cakes, and talks to me all the time. I get about 40% of it, but the constant bombardment is the dictionary definition of immersion. The soft "j" sound, especially in common words like "calle" and "ella" is harder to get used to, but I'll probably be speaking like a porteña soon enough.

We spent the evening with her friend and her American student from the East Coast, sharing maté and talking about all sorts of topics from politics to pizza. Whenever we got stuck on a word or concept (trying explaining what a McGriddle or a guido is in Spanish), the internet was there to save the day. Thank God for technology and wi-fi.

I'm realizing that my Spanish is bad, but it's functional. I lack the discipline to just speak slowly and say things correctly because I want so badly to contribute to the conversation. The result is tons of errores imperdonables and garbled sentences that are more along the lines of "Me Tarzan. You Jane."

And it's also winter here. It'll be above 32 degrees F or 4 degrees C tomorrow. Bienvenido a la Ciudad.

--Nicole

P.S. Props to Megan for figuring out how to subscribe via email. It works now!

The divine birth of the Hat

The craft store giveth and the craft store taketh away

Before finding the Hat we lived your run-of-the-mill hatless existence. We had been friends for quite some time now. Megan and I bonded in 6th grade throwing Gushers at people in the lunch room and ended up going to the same IB high school where we joined the forensics debate team together. We met Nicole there and she quickly completed our quirky friendship with her own sparkle of inventiveness.

Our friendship survived the test of time as we all went our separate ways after high school. Nicole was off to Santa Clara to study Anthropology and Women’s Studies. Megan headed to GW in our nation’s capital to study International Affairs and later added minors in Journalism and Economics. I attended the University of Denver to pursue a degree in Public Policy and International Studies.

Having one of us on the East Coast, one on the West coast, and one of us smack in the middle of the country only deepened our bond. We always seemed to rewind the clock when we reunited in our hometown in Colorado. The Holy Trinity (as I affectionately and sacrilegiously refer to us as) was here to stay.

Because the Holy Trinity, above everything else, has a fixation on all things cheap, we decided to stop by our local craft store on an ordinary July evening. While perusing the aisles, we debated the merits of exotic animal wall hangings, do-it-yourself pet rock kits, and decoupage crucifixes. When we got to the bead isle, the fateful moment occurred.

Nicole noticed a straw cowboy hat and put it on. It had been lying there unobtrusively next to a pile of “My First Baby” beanies and Nicole put it on. It was fashionable but not overly stylish, a look we had perfected over the years. The Hat rested perfectly atop Nicole’s blonde hair. As she passed it to me, I felt the magic of the Hat envelope me. I somehow felt invincible. Could you get superpowers from an ordinary hat? I wondered. As I handed it to Megan, something truly remarkable happened; it fit her like a glove too.

Considering the fact that my forehead is so large you could probably build a commune on it, Nicole’s head is medium sized, and Megan's head is pretty lumpy, it was clear this was no ordinary hat. We looked at each other in awe and I swear we all had the same idea run through our minds. The Hat was going to change the course of our lives forever.

The more we excitedly passed around the Hat, the more possibilities arose. Suddenly, Megan looked pale as she took the Hat in her hands and remarked, “You know…there is one slight problem. We’re all going to be in different countries in the Fall, not just coasts.” Megan was right. There were clearly some complicated and unresolved issues.

“What if we just share the Hat? We could keep it for a few weeks at a time and then send it to each other?” I asked. “Yeah,” Nicole agreed. We began to devise a plan. The Hat would accompany Nicole on her 15 hour flight to Buenos Aires and after four weeks of tango the Hat would makes its way via UPS ground shipping to Megan in D.C. where it would delight in some whirlwind patriotic escapades before spending its last four weeks in Kenya with me.

Would the shipping be expensive? Yes. Would we all wait impatiently for the Hat to come to us and transform our lives? Yes. Would we Carpe this Diem all the way to a new blog? Yes indeed.

-Jennifer