Don’t wanna talk about it

I say why not? Don’t wanna think about it. I say there’s got to be some good reason for your little black backpack, up, smack, turnaround he’s on his back…

Sorry, it’s kind of stuck in my head. Maybe because when I left the Department of State yesterday, I realized that I didn’t want to call anyone; I didn’t want to talk about it. I failed. Up, smack, turnaround I was on my back. I am a total loser.

Okay. Maybe not a total loser – of the more than 20,000 people who took the 2005 Foreign Service Written Exam, I am one of the 3,400 or so who passed. That should count for something. I took it on a lark, but it still got to me.

It all started Monday. On the way to my monthly massage (moved up a day to accommodate the assessment and a friend traveling to North Carolina for her wedding), I was standing on the platform in Rosslyn, waiting for a Blue line train to Pentagon Row and I realized, “Tomorrow’s kind of a big deal. My whole life could change or stay EXACTLY the same for the rest of my life.” (Not quite true, but it did run through my head.)

I considered for a second what it might be like to live and work in Borneo or Beijing or Bermuda - wake up one morning and everything is new and exotic and… well, different. I do like my life the way it is but it was nice to fanaticize for a minute, kind of like thinking about being a rock star, a porn star, married to that guy from Transporter, whatever. I realized that everything could change, based on one day.

I started freaking out a bit.

The massage helped. Between the assessment and last week’s accident, I was definitely a little crunchy – masseuse man worked out some kinks. I came home, poured myself a glass of wine and started absently scratching my wrist, calf, ankle. When I realized what I was doing, I stopped and hopped in the shower. After the shower, I kept itching and developed a nice case of hives.

The last time I had hives? I went to the hospital. Twice. They are caused by any of a number of things, including massage oil, lab coats, expired medication, and they are exacerbated by nerves. The last thing I wanted before an assessment based, in part, on my “composure” was a full-blown case of hives. I thought about Benadryl but given the glass of wine, worried that I wouldn’t wake up in time. I crawled in bed, socks on my hand, and squeezed my eyes shut, pretending I was asleep. (Yeah, right.)

After such an auspicious beginning, I cannot imagine why I failed. Could it be the kickball to the head comment? The complete inability to write? The Pumpkin Spice Latte spilled on my blouse?

Eventually, I realized that it doesn’t matter. Yesterday was kind of fun in a very geeky way but not earth-shattering. It was a life experience to add to the list I keep threatening to start. Some of my co-assessees have failed the assessment several times and yet they keep trying. I even heard about a guy who has tried (and failed) 28 times, which awed me in a very depressing way.

Talking about it, maybe not such a bad thing. I feel less like a loser. I mean, at least I've only failed once.

Besides, the bass player wrote back.

Tag:

34 Comments:
At 11:15 AM, ESC said...
Hey, I feel your pain. I too failed the oral assessment exam last November with the US Department of State. My heart was broken. I felt stupid. My dream of going to a foreign country crushed. It hurts more when your friend who works for the US Dept of State hoped and expected you to pass. His advise try again and practice, practice with someone before you take the oral assessment again. It took me a week to get over the disappointment. I told myself I will try again.


At 11:19 AM, I-66 said...
YEAH Stroke 9!

and see? not everything's bad... things could be worse.


At 11:33 AM, MMH said...
That fact you made it as far as you did says a LOT. You have NOTHING to be depressed about. You're smarter than the average bear...deal with it.

Now I have Stroke 9 on the brain...along with the sinus headache from hell. Now THAT's a bad day....the sinus headache that is.


At 11:43 AM, I-66 said...
"All in" was a terrible album though. Total let down.


At 11:44 AM, Kristin said...
I feel okay now. It was just very weird to realize that I was in the middle of a moment that could have a very real, very major impact on my life. Crazy.

Now, I'm sticking songs in other people's heads and having an impact on their days. That's kind of fun. Not exactly playing God. More like playing DJ. With words.

I will shut up now.


At 11:50 AM, Kayla said...
Hmm... You have a great job, you travel all over the world, you have great friends, a great apartment, your health, etc... Really nothing to be depressed about.

I am hoping that we get a government grant (from the agency that will most likely shift it's funding to hurricane relief monies)so we don't go tits up and lose our jobs... The Violence Against Women Act expires on Friday and we are begging for it to go to the floor and be voted on. Talk about scary.

So, see, nothing to be depressed about. :) I am going to liquor store to get wasted.


At 11:56 AM, I-66 said...
yay for not having to go to the store because I have a counter devoted to liquor.


At 12:08 PM, Kristin said...
It was just the rejection - I felt like I was dumped by my pity date for prom. (I didn't even want to go with you and now you're dumping me?!)

The Violence Against Women Act is definitely more serious. Like Congress is going to kill you date.

Bad analogy.

Drink more.


At 12:42 PM, MMH said...
I hate it when things go tits up. (You KNOW I couldn't leave that statement alone.)


At 12:42 PM, MMH said...
I hate it when things go tits up. (You KNOW I couldn't leave that statement alone.)


At 12:45 PM, I-66 said...
mmhmm so good you had to do it twice.

I um.. know the feeling.


At 12:46 PM, heidi said...
At least you aren't the girl I wrote about in my blog today. So you've got that going for you, which is nice.

/end shameless plug.


At 12:47 PM, MMH said...
Not sure how that happened...another blonde moment I suppose?


At 1:07 PM, Kayla said...
Heidi - your post, a freaking mazing ... as always. That is - by far - the best dewey story ever. And, now I am going to run around saying "Is your skirt a turtle? Cuz I see your snapper!" I am calling the HoBO - you need your own show. (I will be on it - shameless self promotion)


At 1:13 PM, Kristin said...
I can honestly say that I am glad that I'm not the girl who had to have growths "burned off of her hooha" after a weekend at the beach.


At 1:19 PM, I-66 said...
thank god the only thing I've needed after the beach is a shower.


At 1:23 PM, MMH said...
and a liver transplant


At 1:31 PM, heidi said...
Well, a couple of people who know about that entire event have already logged on. I haven't spoken to "Sheila" in about 9 years - she was one of the people I managed to slough off before I even left DC.

I guess I could blog about the night Chris and I spent $110 on tequila, I thought I could stay in the women's restroom at VBC until I sobered up (riiiight), and an hour after we got a cab back to my apt, "Sheila" showed up at my house with a piece of luggage, sobbing and telling me she was leaving her husband.

Eventually he knocked up Sheila and started screwing a divorcee who lived down the street. They're divorced now, too.

God only knows what became of Stephanie. I mean Shelley.


At 1:36 PM, MMH said...
VBC? Kayla and I used to work there!!!


At 1:46 PM, heidi said...
I have an AWESOME pic of Kayla and some tiny blond girl pretending to eat a big ladle full of chili from the VBC stand at the beer fest in, oh, 1996 or 1997.


At 1:52 PM, I-66 said...
may I ask what VBC is?

I've given it some careful consideration and determined that it probably isn't:

Very Bad Crabs
Virgins Being Coy
Vicious Bunny Claws


At 1:52 PM, Kayla said...
Oh my god. Holy flash back. Yeah, Amy (small blond) and I decide to get wasted in the brewer's tent... then go to a bar to drink MORE... THEN go to WORK! (on a Saturday night, mind you). I tried to drive (shame on me, I was young and very dumb) and Amy said to me "My god, are you playing pac man, cause you are EATING the white lines" (on the highway).. We make it to work and I say "Oh my god! I think there are breath mints in the glove compartment!" I grab - what I think are them - and we proceed to split the roll. Only to realize that we just split a roll of rolaids, not breath mints. Oh yeah, let me tell you what alcohol (massive amounts) and rolaids will do to your insides.

We were PURE entertainment to ALL of old town that night. (and many other nights)


At 1:54 PM, Kayla said...
VBC = Virginia Beverage Company

So many memories... So many memories.


At 2:07 PM, I-66 said...
I am not familiar.

Perhaps this is a sign that I need to venture about a little more.


At 2:13 PM, DireWolf said...
kayla, where do you work? VAWA rocks, but it was doomed from the start. Conservatives don't like anything that racks up business costs and gives trial lawyers more cases. Even if it involves giving support to domestic violence abusers.

bastards.


At 2:34 PM, Kayla said...
I work for a faith-based, dv org. VAWA is seriously doomed - the republicans (sorry republicans reading this... wait, maybe not so sorry) just stripped very crucial language from the bill. (stripped out funding of ethnic/racial/underserved communities)... Of course we are all freaking over here... Being a Jewish Org and all... Yipes, this is depressing.


At 2:39 PM, heidi said...
Kayla. Kayla, Kayla, Kayla. I think we all know that if women could just learn to listen good, we wouldn't NEED to worry about VAWA.


At 2:41 PM, Kayla said...
I know... I know... Why don't we just shut up and do what we are told? And... I mean, they only hurt us cause they love us.


At 2:52 PM, Berk said...
Back on topic (sorry late to the game... hectic day)... what happens in these oral exams that so many people fail them?

I know both people on this blog (esc, kristin) well enough to know that they're reasonably smart, not dummies by any stretch. Both are well written, well spoken (occasional mumbling aside), and present well. So what's missing that kept you from aceing this puppy?

And furthermore, this is the US Gov't we're talking about. Not to diss any current fed employees (I'm sure things have changed), but last time I played the Gov't game (back in 1996 with the INS... yeah I'm ancient), I wasn't at all impressed with the Gov't people I had to deal with insofar as their smarts or work ethic. Everyone was much more concerned with politics, turf wars, and running their side businesses than accomplishing what my tax dollars were paying them to do.

Furthermore, an ex-girlfriend works for the IRS. She's smart and has a GS-15, but some of the stories she used to bring home about her coworkers would have them not only fired, but probably shot in the commercial sector.

Does the US Gov't finally have hiring standards? Are these tests for positions that involve something other than sitting on your ass for 7.5 hours a day talking to your friends on the internets?

Inquiring minds want to know.


At 4:31 PM, Kristin said...
I wanted to become a Foreign Service Officer. You know, work in an embassy, do management stuff, live abroad, try to save the world. Whatever.

It's a pretty lengthy and difficult process. At least it is for some of us.

I took (and, surprisingly enough, passed) the four-part written exam in April. This was an all-day thing, offered once a year in the spring. It covered topics ranging from the structure and workings of the U.S. Government to psychology to American culture to management and finance and included a job knowledge section, an English usage section, a biography, and an essay exercise.

The Oral Assessment is the second stage, again a full-day extravaganza about which I can't say much. It's hard.

For more information, see: http://careers.state.gov/officer/assess/index.html


At 4:44 PM, Berk said...
Working With Others. To interact in a constructive, cooperative, and harmonious manner; to work effectively as a team player; to establish positive relationships and gain the confidence of others; to use humor as appropriate.

This would have killed me if I had to justify my qualification based upon some recent werk experiences. Why do I always get stuck joined at the hip with that one person at the office that nobody can stand? Hmmm... good main topic foddder, maybe.


At 4:45 PM, MMH said...
Hey Berk - I'm at INS now and nothing has changed....but the name, its USCIS. :-)


At 5:10 PM, Kristin said...
I tried to "use humor as appropriate." I talked about the kickball to the head. Oh, well.

Guess that I'm just going to have to keep with my government clients instead.


At 5:19 PM, Berk said...
You should have told them that you're the Queen of E-Mail Forwards!!

(if you didn't see The Office last night, it won't make sense to you.)

Wrap skirts and windy days

I am definitely starting to question the logic behind my outfit today. Of course, logic probably isn’t the best word to describe the decision-making that went into my outfit. It was 8:15 a.m. (I am supposed to be at work by 8.) I had just stepped out of the shower and grabbed the first thing that went together – a dress. No separate pieces, no mixing and matching. Heck, it even (somewhat) coordinates with the shoes I keep under my desk in a pitiful attempt to appear professional.

Now, I do watch the news in the morning, wrapped in denial about the need to actually go to work. I knew that it was going to be gray and windy with a really good chance of rain, but after a dozen or so half-starts of the “oh, wait, phone” and “oh, wait, concert tickets” and “oh, wait, flash drive” variety, I made it out the door. Dressed, as it were, in a sleeveless, wrap dress and flip flops.

Nobody ever said I was smart.

I have spent half the day in my office, hovered over the heater that I keep going year-round. Huddling as it were, I realized that I forgot the strategically placed safety pin in the top of my dress. Great. Now, I am trying to use my federal badge and lanyard to disguise my so-not-appropriate-for-the-office cleavage.

I left mid-afternoon for a brisk stroll (or was it more of a trot?) to the post office where I discovered yet another drawback to wrap dresses. Wind. With my skirt flapping about my ears, I earned an appreciative shout from some window washers who seemed undaunted by the rain. Either that or they were trying to warn unsuspecting passers by.

Overall, it has been a very scary day.

And I didn’t even mention the bomb threat on the Metro this morning. Oh, wait, I’m sorry - the “suspicious package” located somewhere near Eastern Market.

I didn’t really find out about it until I arrived in Arlington, late as can be and made even later by the congested MetroRail system. I thought that was my biggest problem – getting to work about an hour late, standing the whole way, pressed up against some stranger who is strangely sweaty for 8:47 in the morning.

I was wrong.

Someone asked me, right after the London bombings, if I was scared to take the Metro. I replied (honestly) that I was more scared to drive the Beltway everyday or to commute I-395, I-66. Given my accident last week, it’s probably a legitimate fear. I am less likely to get into an accident on the Metro and the chances of an attack here seem so remote.

I might be wrong about that, too.

Days like today remind me that I am vulnerable. Vulnerable to suspicious packages in Metro stations, to a good stiff wind, to leering window washers. I don’t like it, but it’s true.

Tag:

16 Comments:
At 5:40 PM, Kayla said...
I was running this morning and saw a suspicious package (ok, a victoria's secret bag) sitting next to the Peace Corps building at 20th/L. Should I have called someone?? I wanted to go look, but was scared of what could happen next (free lingerie! Preferably not used!)..

I almost wore this orange stripe skirt today with an even brighter orange t-shirt... with it being SO cloudy and gloomy, I thought it would look like i was dressing like the sun... Oh well.


At 6:08 PM, Berk said...
I wore jeans, a mustard polo shirt, and brown shoes today. Changing into a darker long sleeve button down for tonight since it's gotten cold.


At 7:47 PM, Chairborne Stranger said...
Ha ha, you guys have a great blog btw, I couldn't pass up the "Happy Hour Girls", how I do miss the Carpool, anyway, great laughs for me thanks to you, hope I didn't intrude on your blog, just a bored soldier in Iraq at, let's see, 347 am


At 8:05 PM, Elaine said...
I had the same idea this morning. I wore a wrap dress too. That was a mistake. My dress blew up a few times walking to my car when I left work.


At 8:13 PM, Elaine said...
This post has been removed by the author.


At 8:14 PM, Elaine said...
Chairborne Stranger, please be safe in Iraq. I have a friend who will be there out with you soon. I'm worried about him being in Iraq. Hope you both will be safe.


At 8:27 PM, Kristin said...
I'm actually hoping to spread my most embarrassing moments worldwide. If I can entertain soldiers in Iraq while doing it, even better. Welcome to Chairborne Stranger.

I have to believe the rest of the Girls with Drinks have their lives better organized than me. Otherwise, the world is just a scary, scary place.


At 12:57 AM, Velvet said...
So strange, I spent about 45 minutes online today looking for a wrap dress. I decided it's something I really should try on. Then, here's your post. How ironic.


At 8:19 AM, I-66 said...
orange: the greatest color ever.


At 9:12 AM, DireWolf said...
i work across the street from the Peace Corps on L Street, but I assure you all that I did not leave any suspicious lingerie in the area. Although once, at an ex-girlfriend's urging, I wore some suspicious lingerie to work.

Did I just say that out loud?


At 9:32 AM, MMH said...
Ditto...on I-66's comment


At 9:35 AM, MMH said...
I too welcome Chairborne Stranger (or is that Airborne Ranger?) to our blog!!!


At 10:32 AM, Elaine said...
I was smart today. I decided to wear black pants and a pink long sleeve button down shirt. Not like yesterday, when I wore my black sleeveless wrap dress and it was windy and rainy.


At 10:55 AM, I-66 said...
Wait a tick.. you have a new handle...


At 11:04 AM, Kayla said...
I am trying to change it back... but it isn't working. This is getting on my nerves.


At 11:11 AM, Kayla said...
Problem solved. :) Kristin's brother is trying to bring a blog to a whole other level... I liked the idea at first, but now miss the simplicity (and sloppiness) of how it started out. See, it is supposed to be a site for us to chat, to talk about our adventures (or lack thereof) and to randomly meet people who stop by, etc... Bells and whistles, never been my thing... I appreciate it ... SIMPLE. I don't care if 1 million people read the blog. That's not its purpose. I will step off my soapbox now...

Blocktoberfest

I awoke this morning and realized that I’d been dreaming about blogging – marginally better than dreaming in spreadsheets but not much. I must have been worried about what I was going to write, trying to figure out how honest I wanted to be, how much I wanted to edit my own life – trying to find some balance between humor and utter mortification.

I do things I shouldn’t.

I guess we all do but not everybody feels the need to write about it. I mean, who really wants to admit that they were making out with a (male) friend in the middle of the bar? Or that they fell asleep on the metro and rode it all the way to New Carrollton? Now, that’s just embarrassing.

I skipped yesterday’s protest in favor of Arlington’s Blocktoberfest. Actually, we all went. I “won” the tickets in a silent auction and because I said I was going, well, I went. Besides, I was just in Munich and saw all the hype in preparation of Octoberfest – I was feeling a little left out.

I think I’m getting a little old for it – drinking beer in the middle of the street, getting pushed by drunken frat boys with funny t-shirts (I make stuff up, I’m kind of a big thing, Vote for Pedro, whatever). After about three beers, I realized I was over it. (Strangely enough, at the bar later, I had no problems drinking beer.)

The bands were decent, from what I heard, and you’ve got to love Mr. Greengenes. But my favorite band wasn’t onstage. They were in the street, drinking beer. Go figure.

I was standing with my friends, looked over and realized “Hey, I know that guy. I know all those guys.” I leaned over to R, opened my mouth and said, “Hey, I know that guy. I know all those guys. That’s Practically Einstein.”

After a little Abbott and Costello routine - “What? They’re all really smart?”

“Yeah, no, I don’t know. That’s the band’s name. Practically Einstein.”

We went over and talked. I talked a lot. R left at some point and I kept talking with P, a guy I met years ago at Politiki when it was still Politiki and his band opened for my friends’ Scorpions cover band but that’s another story altogether.

I got P’s card that night, years ago. It spent months in my car – I kept trying to give it to other people, assuming that someone had dropped it. I just couldn’t connect the really cool gin-drinking bass player with the accountant on the business card.

I got P’s card last night, too. Got it. Bass player = accountant. I think I’ll actually email… Okay, that’s a lie. I already emailed. I am so not cool.

Tag:

38 Comments:
At 2:12 PM, Berk said...
If I'm not too old, you're not too old. Fun day/night (except fighting with R).


At 1:34 AM, Velvet said...
Kristin - I feel as though I should refer you to one of my posts where basically the same thing happened to me. My mother told me I will never get married "at the rate I'm going." It threw me into a tailspin and I had many of the same conclusions you did - I'm happy, make good $, don't need a man to support me, don't want kids anyway. So there's company out there for you! And yes, I would much rather be alone than be with someone wrong.


At 10:47 AM, Kayla said...
So, I gave my phone number (apparently) to everyone in Arlington and am still getting a bunch of random 703/571 phone calls. I had a great time, ran into old friends, made new friends, drank entirely too much, laughed my ass off, ate pizza at 1 a.m. (and I never eat pizza - period)... And, as we were all being hit on by 21-25 year olds, I remembered "Hey, I still got it" (or can fake it) and laughed about the fact that guys DO make passes at girls who wear glasses (although, is hot librarian a compliment?!).... Allow me to show you my card catalogue....


At 11:15 AM, DireWolf said...
"Hot Librarian" is most definitely a compliment. It often outranks "flight attendant," "hot nurse", and "of legal age schoolgirl" in the fantasy department.


At 11:22 AM, Kristin said...
Um, yeah... Now I've got "Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad" running through my head. You've totally got the "hot for teacher" thing going on.


At 11:31 AM, I-66 said...
everyone in arlington? ha.. perhaps I missed out.

but you don't eat pizza? say it ain't so!


At 11:40 AM, Kayla said...
Oh, don't get me wrong... I LOVE pizza, but I don't eat it - cause I fear my ass getting fatter. ;)

But, that pizza Saturday was seriously the best food I have ever eaten. Ever. (it was no lucky dog, but ... it came in a close 2nd).

I looked for you Saturday - when, you know, I was giving out my phone number to everybody.

The best thing I heard on Saturday -when talking to some young, young boy (who was enthralled by the glasses, but I tell you, I have worn glasses since 4th grade... I don't get it)- was "Wow. I have never met anyone who was born in the 70's"


At 11:46 AM, Berk said...
Kayla, you weren't the only one handing out your number. I woke up with some random girl's 202 phone number on the palm of my had (since transposed into more permanent storage on my phone). Problem is, I remember nothing about her - name, appearance, what we talked about, etc.

This seems to happen every time I go to one of these things. The day/night that I met Michelle, I was bombed at Whitlow's at last call and got digits from a girl with whom I'd been talking to for an hour. Same deal... didn't recall name or much of what we talked about. Still got a date out of it, but bailed in order to avoid looking pathetic because I remembered zero percent of our prior conversation.

So, not sure what I'll do with these digits. Perhaps an exploratory phone call after I get back from half-price wine night at Boulevard Woodgrill tonight, when I'm sure I'll be in prime BS mode.


At 11:48 AM, Kayla said...
Wait, I think MY phone number is on your hand... you don't remember our conversation??


At 11:52 AM, I-66 said...
HA! Now THAT'S funny.

I'm going to be eating a LOT of papa john's before halloween. Seems some time ago I bought a sheet of buy-one-get-one coupons for a large pizza from PJ's that I only recently re-discovered... that expire on 10/31.

Mmmmmm.. cheesey.


At 11:53 AM, I-66 said...
and hey, now that Berk's on the panel is it time to change the title of the blog?


At 11:55 AM, Kayla said...
I think you need to have a pizza part-ay. Mmm hmm.

Berk is the biggest girl out of all of us. ;)


At 12:16 PM, I-66 said...
pizza party...

cannot combine coupons.


At 12:24 PM, Berk said...
Kayla, if it's your number, then you'll be hearing from me later on.


At 12:37 PM, Elaine said...
Okay, I’m one of those shy girls who don’t really talk to random guys in bars unless they talk to me first. Well, I met a guy at Carpool after Blocktoberfest and I talked to him first. He was cute and nice. We got along great. But, all of my guy friends (including Berk) kept coming up to me throughout the night to make sure I was okay. Needless to say when I left Carpool, the guy did not ask me for my number. I think all my guy friends scared him off. Did my all guy friends scare him off?


At 12:42 PM, Michelle said...
I was shocked and awed when I opened the pizza box yesterday and saw how much "wasn't" left. For someone who doesn't eat pizza....ha ha ha ha

Saturday was fun, but I could have done without the tickle-fest...who invited that dude anyway??? I have bruises.


At 12:43 PM, Michelle said...
Yes, they did...sad thing is, when they talk to girls, do we check on them? No. They were just throwing up the cock-block Lainey!


At 12:44 PM, Elaine said...
Michelle blame your bruises on Berk...I think it was his friend.


At 12:44 PM, Elaine said...
This post has been removed by the author.


At 12:44 PM, Kristin said...
As a girl, I think it's entirely possible that your guy friends scared him off. I mean, really, you rock. That's pretty much the only reasonable explanation that I can find.


At 12:46 PM, Berk said...
Wait, now it's my fault? I wasn't the one who called the dude a clown and said you could do better (paraphrasing - i wasn't even there for that comment). I got into enough trouble with others that night; don't make me feel bad about you now.

Plus you were with Kristin and Kayla at that time and when I was around, I talked mostly to them since you were obviously busy.

Next time you're interested, don't wait for him to ask for your digits... get his first! Any dude would appreciate that.


At 12:48 PM, Berk said...
Happy "Beat Up On Berk" Day, Everyone!!!


At 12:56 PM, Elaine said...
Our other friend Hot R got bruises up by the dude also. Okay it is not Berk's fault b/c Hot R invited the dude down the Blocktoberfest too.


At 12:59 PM, DireWolf said...
There a million reasons a guy might not ask for your number after talking to you.

He was nervous and/or shy
He had a girlfriend somewhere
He was gay
He just got out of a relationship and wanted to flirt but not take it further
He was scared off by your guy friends
He was drunk and it didn't occur to him
He wasn't interested
His stomach was upset
He was waiting for the "right moment" to ask that never came

and that's just off the top of my head.

who cares why he didn't ask, he's gone with the wind. start talking to the next guy.


At 1:06 PM, Kayla said...
Where was I during all of this? Mental check? Was I at Carpool? Yup. Was I wasted? Yup. When did all of this happen? The tickle assault, the cockblocking.... I hate to miss any action. Is this when I was at the bar with the hiccups? (it's all down hill when I start to hiccup....) Was this when bitter friend of guy I was talking to tried telling me his girlfriend was running a marathon the next day and I asked which one and he got EVEN more bitter?? (I run marathons, I was curious..) Possibly because the girlfriend thing was a rouse?! I digress. Elaine, the boys who are friends dare not interrupt me when I am getting my flirt on cause I will knock their lights out. Possibly you can channel "Elaine from New Orleans when she got her foot stepped on at Jazz Fest by big huge guy" - that will get the friends to stop asking "are you ok?"... Next time throw your number out there. It's a great move. Trust me.


At 1:13 PM, Berk said...
And if you're gonna write your digits on the dude's hand, make sure you also write your name and maybe even draw a little picture of yourself so he remembers you the next morning.


At 1:16 PM, I-66 said...
I'm absolutely with Berk and Kayla... Do not fear asking a guy for his number or giving him yours unprompted. We (men) are expected to be the initiators, it's a helluva nice break to not have to do it all the time.

Yeah, it's possible he was scared off.. but seriously, if the girl's talking to me for a lengthy amount of time I probably will figure that the friends she's with are just friends - since she's spending X amount of time with me.

Kayla.. he said his g/f was running a marathon and you asked which one... I think his reaction was because he thought you were asking "which one" as in "which girlfriend" -- I might not appreciate that myself.


At 1:17 PM, Kayla said...
Berk, maybe next time you should follow your own advice (mysterious number, which may actually belong to me... but you know what I look like... Wait! Maybe it was Kristin's number --- we are both DC'ers)... You should not only draw a picture, but you should write a brief synopsis of what you talked about, what you had in common, etc. ;) (i am not beating you up, I promise)...


At 1:22 PM, Kayla said...
Ok, the funny thing is that for the first 5 minutes he kept asking me if any of my friends were interested in him. Since all of my friends were off talking to other people - I had to say "Um, I don't think so"... Then, he pulled the g/f thing out - marathon story and all. I asked him - specifically - which marathon. Just like this - with a ton of excitement in my voice - "Oh really?! Which marathon?" because, I am a nerd and know the local marathon schedule. I was excited for her - and for him (thinking he might actually have a g/f - he was quite the a**).


At 1:24 PM, I-66 said...
Hmmm so I stand corrected. Or sit, as I am doing currently. I can't explain it then.


At 1:28 PM, Berk said...
yeah with my nifty little treo phone you'd think I should be able to capture more of the details. Ya know... write myself a memo containing a synopsis of the chat, maybe accompanied by a picture taken with the built-in camera.

Kayla the phone number is def not yours (I checked) and it's not the rejection hotline either. 99% sure that it's not Kristin's b/c I'd have remembered her writing it. Plus, why would I need her number when I have all of your contact info (at least an email addys). I do remember that it was some girl not with our group, but that's about where the memory starts to fade.

Stupid beer.


At 1:31 PM, I-66 said...
I came thisclose to buying a treo this weekend...

thisclose.


At 1:32 PM, Kristin said...
I do know that I only got one number - from the aforementioned bass player/accountant, who I've known for years. Of course, I was sober at that point. One would think I would remember writing my number on your hand ala sophomore year in college. One would be mistaken but I don't think I've done that in at least six months.


At 1:33 PM, Kayla said...
I definitely need to ditch my cheap ass phone and get a camera phone... I need to be able to put faces with random numbers. wait, maybe I should start with names.. Yeah, that's it...

I-66, the a** of a guy really looked like Kevin James to me (Although, I was on beer #6-7 at this point)... I was so HOPING he would be funny like Kevin James... Yeah, not so much....


At 1:38 PM, Kristin said...
I used who instead of whom. I'm so embarrassed... I would buy a more expensive phone but am on phone number 3 this year. I can barely keep my head above water.


At 2:41 PM, Berk said...
you're on phone #3? when you're out at bars, you're supposed to give guys your phone number, not the whole phone.

this is quite a thread. can't wait 'til the next all-day drinkfest.


At 2:47 PM, I-66 said...
goodness.. 3rd phone in 9 months? That's NOT a good average. I had gone nearly 2 years on this current phone and it survived more than a few "sitting on my lap in my car and me getting out and forgetting it was there and it crashing to the pavement" episodes. Technology upgrade!


At 3:51 PM, Kristin said...
Yeah... actually, my problem is travel. I get really bored in airports. I always take my phone with me when I travel. Unfortunately, I travel to some strange places and end up using the phone as an alarm, which happened in Guyana, where I left the first phone.

The second phone was stolen in Barbados, along with the rest of my belongings, so I can't really say it's a phone issue.

I'm on phone number 3, which has survived a several European nations but I am not holding my breath.

Uh, and you all wonder why you're still single?

Somebody actually asked us that yesterday and it got me thinking...

Society says I am a freak. My family tells me the same thing, in much more subtle terms. How could a perpetually single, 30-year-old woman be happy with her life? Shouldn’t I want a husband, children, a house in the ‘burbs with half an acre, a dog and a garden to die for?

I hate gardening.

I am a single, 30-year-old woman living in a major metropolitan area. I go out almost every night - sometimes on dates, sometimes with friends and sometimes by myself. Sometimes, I just stay home.

I make something close to twice as much money as the average American family and I spend it on clothes and concerts, gifts for family and friends, fabulous dinners, bottles of wine, charitable donations, last minute trips to Europe, Australia, and the Midwest to surprise my mom. I read more books than almost anyone I know and I see bands almost every other week.

Obviously, my life is shallow and empty.

What can happiness be with only a strong self-esteem plus a network of friends and family? Shouldn’t I be seeking that one man, that Prince Charming to save, fulfill and complete me? Obviously, I cannot be a person on my own.

Disney tried to tell me that I couldn’t make it on my own, but something just didn’t stick.

My parents separated when I was three, divorced when I was six. I grew up hearing and believing that one of the loneliest positions in life was marriage to the wrong person. Silly me, I took it to heart. I believe that if and when I get married, it will be for good. I am okay with not getting married unless I meet someone with whom I want to share the rest of my life. If it doesn’t happen, well, then, that’s okay, too. I am not exactly suffering here.

I don’t mean to come across as a bitter, dried-up, callous old fool: I love men – in every shape and form. I love dates – first dates and last dates and everything in between. I love spending Sundays in bed with a boy: coffee, the newspaper and nothing but time. I love playing football in the park, museum strolls. I love fighting, making up, breaking up. The whole shebang.

My whole life, I’ve gotten “sexy” as a nickname and it might be true. Maybe it's not. I am okay with that and I am okay with giving love a try. I just don’t think I need to define myself by the search.

I can be sexy and happy and single and it’s all okay. I will figure it out as I go along.

12 Comments:
At 8:42 AM, another random guy said...
Clearly, it's possible to live a fulfilling life without falling prey to the wedding industry. I've read lots of these 20- and 30-something single-life-in-the-city blogs and one prevailing theme seems to be that all of this dating might (just might) lead to something.

It might. It might not. Having also grown up in a divorced family, I can see why you might not be overly anxious to commit to something, but I also think that all of the dating I did actually helped me to see that I had actually stumbled upon something worth making a commitment to.

What are you doing posting at 11pm on a Friday, anyway?


At 8:55 AM, Kristin said...
Ah, the joys of happy hour. I left early for a work happy hour followed by dinner and drinks with friends. I decided that, in the interest of drinking at Blocktoberfest, I had better come home and chill. (I have bad timing... I tend to go out the night before a big party, wedding, trip to New Orleans.

I do believe in the commitment. Probably more than a lot of people, which is why I don't think that it's something you enter into lightly or that it needs to be the goal. I've seen too many people place relationships on a pedestal, ultimately disappointed in anyone who fails to live up to the ideal (and, frankly, nobody could).

Relationships are real and messy and sometimes they don't work out, but I think that's okay. I will keep getting into them.


At 8:32 AM, chantilly said...
having people saying "fuck what they all wonder" to themselves would turn the world into a much better place. unfortunately, it seems most people say "fuck me and what I want for myself and for my life". they die as well - THAT is sad


At 9:16 AM, heidi said...
Nothing drives people away like the smell of desperation. It's been a long time since I was on the market, but I remember thinking that I wasn't looking for Mr. Right as much as I was looking for Mr. Not Going To Steal My Credit Car, Mr. Not Violent When Drunk, Mr. Not "Threatening to Hit You Is Okay", Mr. Not "My Mom Was A Drunk and I Hate Women But I'll Date You Anyway".

By the time I met Chris, I was so over dating that one of the first things I asked him on our first date was, "So what's wrong with you?" He said, what? I said, "What, your mom didn't love you, you didn't go to Prom, your dad was an asshole, what is wrong with you? Just tell me now."

Turns out nothing was wrong with him. We're going on nine years of marriage.

I never thought I would marry, and I did. My staunch views on marriage are now just shifted to Momhood. I totally don't want to forfeit my identity to become a mother, so I'm sticking with dogs and cats for now. Basically, I guess what I'm saying is that you never know what's around the corner, and when you find out what's there, you can take it or leave it. Whether it's marriage, a life of adventure and travel, or whatever, I don't think anyone should ever live life for the destination. If you do, you forget to look at the scenery on the way there, and that's most of the fun.


At 9:21 AM, DireWolf said...
Wait a minute . . . it's wrong to not have gone to Prom? Fuck, I'm doomed!


At 9:29 AM, heidi said...
dire, are you a deadhead?

the prom loss is a ref to Pretty in Pink.


At 9:54 AM, DireWolf said...
Yes. My name betrays me :) Pretty in Pink is the only ratpack movie I never saw. I'm clearly culturally illiterate.


At 10:00 AM, heidi said...
right on! Some of my fondest and/or most bizarre memories are from the weekend campouts at Wilmers Park. What a shithole, yet also what a good time.


At 10:54 AM, Kayla said...
I find it funny that we started justifying ourselves after random guys comment. I don't think a single one of us wonders "Gee, why am I still single?". My mom married at 22 and was divorced with a baby (me) at 24. Her life was a struggle for many years and the best piece of advice she ever gave me was to concentrate on making myself happy and that the "rest" would just fall into place. I didn't need a man, a marriage, etc to find that happiness - that was all in me. I have dated two people who have talked marriage (one went as far as to ask my parents permission, pick the date he was going to propose, etc). I wasn't ready, our relationship left much to be desired and I moved on. I would rather be single then settle (as we all say). I want marriage, I want kids, I want the whole package... and when I meet the right person, I will know it. Until then, I savor the years I have grown, gotten to know myself better, figure out what I want and do things that make me happy.


At 2:50 PM, heidi said...
"Uh, and you all wonder why you're still single?

Somebody actually asked us that yesterday " - so what is the backstory to this?


At 2:56 PM, Kayla said...
Read my posting "YOu had me until you lost me" and read Another Random guy's comments.


At 9:14 AM, chicgirl said...
kristin,
i am single, not being cocky but attractive i am told and make sure i look my best, work hard and have a good life. i think that while society tells older single chicks something is wrong with you - we know the alternative - perhaps being with the wrong person and trying to make it work - isn't an answer. Wait for the right thing and only you will decide what that is!!

Requiem to a DC real living wage happy hour

So… I feel like an ass. This is really nothing new, but tonight I have a reason.

I have this weird quirk: I don’t always commit to things because once I commit, I will do anything in my power to live up to that commitment. It’s not that I’m a particularly good person or anything. I just can’t stand the feeling that I’ve let anyone down. It doesn’t matter how much I’d rather stay home; if I say I’m going to be there, I will be there. Period.

Take tonight, for example. The Brokekid politico, aka my brother, forwarded an email about the “DC Real Living Wage Happy Hour” to the Girls with Drinks. I posted it to the blog and pretty much considered myself committed. I talked it up with friends, with the Brokekid and pretty much tattooed it on my brain.

Then, I got into an accident. My tank of a Jeep Wrangler utterly demolished a piece of plastic formerly known as an Altima bumper. Nobody was hurt and other than the bumper, both cars seem fine, but the police came. Insurance got involved. People yelled at me and I was that girl, the traffic-blocking, I-damaged-your-baby, girl.

I was shakier than I thought. A cotton-ball canister met its end and I found myself scooping up pieces of broken glass around midnight, not unlike an act that required stitches (an unmet requirement) and resulted in a very nasty scar exactly 349 days ago, the day I met my ex (a number I keep track of more because of the scar than the ex).

But I diverge. Last night = no sleep. Today = stressed, rickety, tired. The Brokekid bailed out on account of some serious sickness. The Girls with Drinks couldn’t make it for various reasons, and I wavered. I really did. Around five, though, I shut down the computer, picked up my bag and metro’d over to Dupont.

Now, I’m also one of those horribly anal people who maps everything, checks out addresses, websites, reviews, everything before I go, but like I said, today I was off. I knew I was going to Andalu. Dupont Circle. 12-something 18th Street, Northwest. Piece of cake.

Piece of baked Alaska maybe. I spent about an hour wandering around Dupont Circle, up and down 18th Street and Connecticut Avenue with the occasional foray down 19th or along the cross streets. I even tried the old standby – duck into a bookstore, look at DC guidebooks and confirm the address – to no avail.

I got a little frustrated. Especially as I saw other people laughing, drinking, walking around without 50-pound messenger bags and killer, accident-induced headaches. I grew reminiscent of the first six or seven times I tried to go to the 18th Street Lounge and just couldn’t find it.

I wanted to give someone my money! I wanted to support “DC Real Living Wages!” I wanted a glass of wine!

In the end, I pressed my nose against the window at Krispy Kreme for a while, cried a while more, and climbed down to the metro home.


8 Comments:
At 1:08 AM, Velvet said...
You should have called me and I would have looked the address up online for you!!! I'm always near a computer and since all my friends know this, they call me to look up phone numbers, addresses and the like. Kinda like that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer becomes Moviephone??? That's me.

You are a fab writer! And when was that accident - last night?


At 7:36 AM, Kristin said...
Accident Wednesday night. I'd just dropped of my brother at the 9:30 Club and was headed home.

It was a "I'm looking over my shoulder, trying to merge with traffic and I thought the woman in front of me pulled out when she started driving" kind of thing. Apparently, she pulled out and stopped. Fortunately, we were both starting from a stopped position so it wasn't too bad but it sucks.

It's my first accident. Ever. And hopefully my last.


At 8:13 AM, Michelle said...
Damn woman! You have had a trying couple of days. Saturday...my house...cab to the party...drink all day....troubles go away! (at least until new ones develop as a result of drinking all day!)


At 9:33 AM, Kristin said...
Saturday - I'm sure I can find Blocktoberfest.

You know, my phone is Bluetooth enabled but I don't know what that means or how to use it.

I will definitely remember Velvet in Duport for on-star-type support (and for fantastic dating stories).


At 9:47 AM, Kayla said...
I was at work (a 5 minute walk from Dupont) at day gig until 6:30, knowing the day you had - I would have come met you for a drink (even if the only cause we were supporting was our own).

If you need accident consolation, you know you can always call me - hi, i have been in 6 (accident free for 5 years :)) accidents. (Before anyone thinks I am the driver from hell, not all were my fault - I swear)...

I will definitely pick you up tomorrow. (although, after that last sentence - you may be just a little too scared to get into a car with me)


At 11:50 AM, Berk said...
The car accident is karma for not giving me the extra Blocktoberfest ticket.


At 3:48 PM, Dennis! said...
Sorry to hear about your crappy experiences.

BTW, for what it's worth after the fact, Andalu is the downstairs bar next to Sesto Senso and Five (and the Mattress Discounters).

sekacpe


At 5:36 PM, DireWolf said...
I think even I would have skipped the happy hour if I had been in an accident, minor or not, and I planned the damn thing.

It's funny, we had a bunch of people show up asking if Andalu was the 18th Street Lounge. They're next to eachother.

We'll see y'all at the next one in late October, which promises to have live cuban salsa music.

In my neighborhood

I’ve never been a fan of Mr. Rogers. I hate to say it, but it’s true. He kind of creeped me out. To be fair, I did not have many strong male role models growing up and I didn’t know what to think about this overly-familiar man talking to me from a box in the den, but I am not sure that is it.

Mr. Rogers was just completely different from anyone I knew – I mean, he seemed nice enough but he really didn’t have any friends (at least not “real” friends) and where was Mrs. Rogers? Who changed their shoes when they walked in the door and put on a sweater? Who lived in a house without a television?

Come on, people. Was I supposed to believe that? Land of Make-Believe – maybe – but definitely not a house without TV.

Nevertheless, I tuned in faithfully because a) my sister came home when he was done and b) as a child I didn’t have much say over what went on in the house, including a choice in programming. I watched PBS when Mom decided that I would watch PBS.

Something must have sunk in, though, because I keep singing “Won’t you be, won’t you be, won’t you please be my neighbor?” Between that and “Who are the people in your neighborhood, in your neighborhood, in your neigh-bor-hood?” I’m not sure if I am having a identity crisis, am incredibly lonely or just want everyone I know to move to the Hill.

I would like it if everyone I knew moved to the Hill.

I don’t really know all that many people in my neighborhood – I mean, my brother moved to an apartment a few blocks away, as did one of his Peace Corps buddies. The guy next door helped with some boxes the day I moved in. My landlord lives two doors down but I’ve only met her once. I know the people upstairs – I’ve been paying their electric bill for the past year.

I guess that I do know the guy at Lincoln Park Market. I’m there at least once a week trying to avoid Safeway by buying one more box of pasta or a dozen eggs or a pint of Häagen-Dazs or whatever, and there’s the whole crew at the Capitol Lounge, if and when it reopens, including bartenders, wait staff and the bar backs.

Donna hands me an Express every morning and I worried about her a couple of weeks back when she seemed to disappear. (She’s back now.) The Examiner guy always hands me a paper with a smile and a quip. When I was reading Sick Puppy, he told me to turn to page 13 for a description of himself. The mailman started delivering mail to my house (instead of upstairs) when I introduced myself and offered him a glass of water.

Do you think that’s Mr. Rogers had in mind when he went on his little neighbor-seeking safaris? Do you think he might have spent less time in the Land of Make Believe if he had a few more friends and places to hang? I am sure he would have loved the Capitol Lounge. They’d like him, too, ratty sweater and all. They’re cool like that.

11 Comments:
At 2:12 PM, Kayla said...
Kristin, Kristin, Kristin. Mr. Rogers speaks to every sibling-less, latch key kid. Yeah, your mom works all the time, doesn't know any neighbors (much less your friends parents) - so not you can go anywhere but home after work. The TV is your companion, your best friend... that and your imagination. Mr. Rogers plays into that - the world of the imaginary... with imaginary friends. Which, I had plenty of (i sense many of you are putting together the pieces of this puzzle right now). And, who says Mr. Rogers needs a Mrs. Rogers?? ;)


At 2:32 PM, Kristin said...
Oh, I was all about Sesame Street, the Electric Company, and 3-2-1 Contact for babysitters. (Man, I miss the Bloodhound Gang.) The Muppet Babies eventually jump-started my imagination with all their kooky role-playing games. Mr. Rogers just seemed a little... lonely to me.


At 2:40 PM, Kayla said...
Again, you had siblings.. You couldn't relate to Fred and I's level of lonliness. Someone, hold me, please.

I (big heart) Sesame Street. I watched it when I was home.. um... 3 weeks ago. Goo Goo Dolls were on with Elmo, and singing a song called Pride (to the tune of Slide)... The best line being "Helped your mom bake a pie, now you have pride" Powerful stuff.

Speaking of Elmo, I was watching The Soup (on E!) this weekend, and they showed a clip of Elmo on Martha Stewarts new show.. and she was asking him how the hurricane made him feel and ... they dubbed over Elmo and had him say "George Bush Hates Puppets" - which made me spit my drink right on out. Hil-arious.


At 2:56 PM, Michelle said...
In his defense, I have to say, Mr. Rogers rocked. Being a fellow Pennsylvanian, I grew up with this man and his funky zipped up sweaters and keds!!! I personally loved the land of make believe and the trolley that took us there. Maybe if I close my eyes, I will go there instead of being on this conference call!!! Oh shit, I'm supposed to be working. OOPS.


At 2:57 PM, Michelle said...
Elmo is wrong...George Bush hates POOR puppets.


At 3:00 PM, Kayla said...
Oscar the Grouch is totally screwed... not only is he a puppet, he is green and he lives his life in a garbage can.


At 3:01 PM, Kristin said...
But the question is - do you know your neighbors (poor puppets, garbage-can dwellers, single sweater men, teva wearers, and all)? In my 'hood, Oscar'd be sharing that can with some dog doo.


At 3:01 PM, Kristin said...
This post has been removed by the author.


At 3:05 PM, Michelle said...
Girl please, if I try to talk to someone where I live, they look at me like I smoke crack. I say hi in the elevator and they try to crawl into the woodwork. Can't a girl just be friendly??? Guess not.


At 3:20 PM, I-66 said...
where have I been?

I was once a latch key kid. I don't even know why. I HAD siblings.

I thought we decided we were throwing the poo.


At 6:08 PM, Berk said...
I have lived in my condo for almost 3.5 years. mostly the same people on teh floor the whole time. who do I know? Virtually nobody.

I'm kinda sorta acquaintances with the guy behind the door on my left. He's an overworked lawyer, so I see him getting out of a cab every once in a while at 2am when I'm rolling back from a hockey game (or the occasional long-running happy hour).

The cute girl on the other side of me helped me move some stuff in on day one, then proceeded to hate me ever since my place became the post-last-call hangout shortly afterwords for an out-of-work Dale, a barely-working Misty, a needs-no-sleep Ram, and an I'll-go-in-late-again-tomorrow Elaine who would invite themselves over to continue the party while playing Halo or gambling on dice, neither of which was a quite endeavor.

Needless to say, and I've heard this from many people, regardless of where you came from, it was probably a friendlier place than DC.

So for those of you not moving to the Hill, come keep me company in Ballston (then follow me to my new digs in Clarendon in 2 years when the building is finished).

To the dog owners of Capitol Hill,

I write to ask you to keep your shit to yourselves.

I appreciate your compliance to the law in cleaning up after your dogs and honestly, I love the slobbering, crotch-sniffing, car-chasing rascals. Really, I do, but there is a two-step process in the District: 1) Pick up shit and 2) Dispose of it properly.

Invariably, on trash day, I come home to find my recently emptied trash bin sitting on the curb with one or two bags of soft, steaming dog poo bagged in a holey grocery sack and tossed nonchalantly into my bin.

Now, this is not a public trash receptacle. While it sits on the curb once or twice a week for trash collection, my bin generally sits outside the front door of my English basement apartment. The last thing I want to smell on a steam Sunday in September is the post-digestion, decomposing remains of lamb meal and rice formula that’s been sitting in my bin since the Thursday before, if I am lucky.

When I am home, I do not generate enough trash to put it out even once a week and I travel an awful lot. That casually tossed bag o’ shit could be sitting there for a month, wafting deliciously through my open door, tainting my tacos and tequila, interrupting my buttercup dreams, seriously hampering my sex drive. You can imagine the implications.

Besides, I have enough shit of my own to deal with – rocky relationships, work, friends and family, persistent problems with Pepco. Frankly, I don’t think that I can handle any more.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Update: I spoke too soon. I mean, I honestly did think the poo in the trashcan was bad, but this afternoon when I came back from California Tortilla (where I roared like an addled lion to get free chips con queso on today, Jungle Noise Day, even though I don't really equate lions with the jungle) I discovered crap in the lobby of my building.

I'm a consultant. Our office shares space with similar companies, not a bunch of poo-slinging monkeys. Who leaves crap on the marbled floor of an office building? How?

It wasn't a little "oh, I must have stepped in something bad" kind of thing. It was a big pile of crap in the middle of the lobby. It was stepped in and smeared the length of the building.

I don't get it.

17 Comments:
At 9:33 AM, Kayla said...
Why do people do that?! I have never understood it. My dad used to chase people through my parents neighborhood who did that - basically telling them to take their shit to their own trash can. (I am sure it was a lot more animated). Here's the great thing - throughout DC there are DUMPSTERS (not to mention public trash cans in the dog parks) conveniently located in alley ways, etc - when I dog sit, I put the poo in there. It's really rather easy.


At 9:51 AM, heidi said...
I am so glad I have a yard and lawn service. It's one of the grand perks of suburban living. Of course it doesn't really offset the loss of quality ethnic restaurants....


At 9:58 AM, I-66 said...
I'm thankful for the little baggies at the dog parks... my dogs are poo machines.


At 10:17 AM, A Unique Alias said...
Just stencil "NO SHIT" on the lid. People will either get the message or be frightened of the crazy lady with the invective garbage can.


At 10:41 AM, Kristin said...
That just might work (the stenciling). I'd chase people down, ala Kayla's dad, but I never seem to catch anyone.


At 10:41 AM, Kristin said...
I am a little crazy, though. Either way they take it should work.


At 10:57 AM, I-66 said...
so identifying the culprits and throwing their own dog's poo at them is out?


At 11:00 AM, Kayla said...
I thought that was the (given) first choice, anyway. I would pay money to see Kristen pelting poo at someone.


At 11:14 AM, I-66 said...
Yeah I thought it went without saying but I wasn't taking any chances.


At 12:30 PM, Kristin said...
I would probably do it if I could find the culprits. Actually, there are so many options - poo flighting, burning bags of poo, poo through the sunroof.

Someday, maybe...


At 12:30 PM, Kristin said...
Flinging, not flighting, though, if anyone knows what that is, I'd appreciate a definition.


At 12:35 PM, I-66 said...
poo flighting [n]: the art of releasing poo from a plastic bag or other sanitary carrying device while sky-diving


At 12:38 PM, Kayla said...
Poo rockets in flight... afternoon delight... yeaaaaaaaaaah, afternoon delight.


At 12:40 PM, I-66 said...
yeah.. and people thought it was bad when the [poo] hits the fan.


At 2:30 PM, DCdramaGrrls said...
also, living on the Hill, I recall the pungent smell after the first thaw in winter.

For some reason dog owners really don't think they need to pick up Fido's deposits if there is snow on the ground. After a few months, that sh*@t really piles up!

Come on people! Are these the same nasty people who don't flush in public restrooms? I have to wonder.


At 9:36 AM, Michelle said...
Kristin -

I'm for the stenciling of "no shit" on your garbage can. Maybe you could concoct a device that will throw the shit back at the person after they toss it in. How funny would that be???


At 9:48 AM, Kayla said...
Michelle - I swear we share the same brain. I totally thought of that last night (was at 2nd job and totally bored) - let's get a patent!

Emotional hangover

I am suffering from an emotional hangover today. Yesterday, the physical came and went with nary a headache or upset stomach but now, I just want to stay in bed until Thursday.

On Saturday night, I actually made it out to Fado with a couple of friends in tow to try to meet up with some of the girls with drinks. Inside, I realized I ought to find out the plan and discovered that movies usurped the bar and from today’s blog from Kayla, a clothing swap usurped the movies.

I stayed out with my friends, though. Well, actually one friend who recently found herself on a break, ala Ross and Rachel, though, hopefully without the girl from the copy shop. We drank ourselves silly and decided that it would be a FANTASTIC idea if we went to her boyfriend/ex-boyfriend’s roommate’s birthday party.

Um, yeah… That was fun.

I talked to the boyfriend/ex-boyfriend’s brother for a while and the boyfriend/ex-boyfriend’s roommate, whom I also know, while the boyfriend/ex-boyfriend tailed my friend, also drunk, who decided it was time for the talk. I think I started it. Oops. I told her that he wasn’t going to another friend’s wedding, which he’s not, but he didn’t want to tell anyone (including the girlfriend/ex-girlfriend, the bride or the groom). He did tell the roommate who told me who told the girlfriend/ex-girlfriend who blew a gasket.

And so, I drank until I realized that I could just go home and there I sat, in a cab, chatting up my Peruvian cab driver who said that my drunken Spanish was better than his broken English. I’m not sure about that and I really don’t know why I didn’t just go inside but eventually I figured out that I could and I did.

Fortunately, I woke up in pajamas, in my own bed, alone, and nursed the last of a vicious cold and the last of a vicious drunk with E! Who needs chicken noodle when you’ve got The Soup? Other than the coughing, sneezing, runny nose and general malcontent, I felt pretty good and glad that I avoided the hangover.

Until I awoke this morning.

I don’t get hangovers very often. Honestly, I try not to drink that much. It’s just never a good idea. I do, however, get emotional hangovers – “Why did I drink that much?” “Did I make a fool of myself?” “What did I say?” “Why was I sitting in a cab for half an hour after I got home?” “Where are my pants?” Well, maybe not the last one.

How does Tara Reid do it? Day after day, week after week? Boobs falling out of her dress, learning how to say "Buy me a drink" in seven different languages with "Wild On Tara" or "Taradise" or whatever they call it these days. Even Hef's girlfriends (Holly, Bridget and Kendra) have a 9 p.m. curfew. The party life just isn't all it's cracked up to be.

This morning, not even Katie Couric could make me feel better. The only thing to do? Drag my (now relatively cold-free, thanks to a day of crap television) ass out of bed and into work. There’s nothing like a spreadsheet with my name on it to make me feel better. Or to remind me why I drank. (Why is Pago Pago always missing?)

DC real living wage happy hour

From an email forwarded by my oh-so-politically-minded brother. It seems like a good, humanitarian, drinking kind of thing.

Thursday, September 22, 5:30 p.m.
ANDALU, 1214 18th Street, NW, Washington, DC [Dupont Circle Metro]
$10 suggested donation (no one turned away)
Proceeds go to the Jews United for Justice
DC Living Wage Efforts

LIVE MUSIC featuring DJ ROB!
Nearly 10% of all drink purchases go to support a DC Living Wage!

The DC Mayor has proposed living wage legislation for the District. Unfortunately, the bill is now unacceptably weak. A coalition of groups have joined together to urge the Council to Set DC's living wage at $11.80, cover the most employees possible; give the living wage the same enforcement mechanisms as the minimum wage, delay implementation for one year for health and social service contractors; and include a reporting requirement. Living wage laws help working families move toward self-sufficiency and a better quality of life. 123 communities in the U.S. have adopted living wage laws, including Arlington, VA; Arlington, VA County School Board; Prince George's County, MD; Montgomery County, MD; and Alexandria, VA.

Jews United for Justice seeks to organize a visible Jewish presence and takes action for economic and social justice in the Washington, DC area. JUFJ provides an opportunity to weave together Judaism and activism and creates a community in which to explore and strengthen commitments to both. Proceeds from this happy hour will go directly to their living wage campaign by providing funding for an intern dedicated solely to that work.

Solidarity DC is a group committed to bringing the DC metropolitan area's progressive community together to have fun and achieve justice, one Happy Hour at a time! This will be our 11th Happy Hour. To learn more about the event or Solidarity DC or to get email updates, contact solidaritydc@gmail.com.

7 Comments:
At 11:42 AM, Kayla said...
We know this Jew is for justice. :)


At 1:40 PM, I-66 said...
yes, but will there be kosher food?


At 1:44 PM, Kristin said...
Food? At happy hour? Maybe that's my problem.


At 1:50 PM, Kayla said...
Jewish happy hour without food?! Are you KIDDING me?? We Jewish folk travel with food - at all times. Here's to hoping that there is Jewish themed food - latkes and knishes, anyone?! Oh, and you know there will be boys sportin' some hot yarmulkes (the ever so trendy "beanie").


At 1:57 PM, I-66 said...
just no kafilta fish (sp?) please.


At 2:11 PM, Kayla said...
Gefilte Fish... Which makes me wonder WTF is up with some Jewish food. I mean, seriously, who eats that sh*t? It's fish parts in gel. WTF?! Latkes - I totally understand (fried potato pancakes, oh yeah)...but fish parts, yeah - no thanks. And, who doesn't mix meat with dairy?! Cheeseburger! Cheeseburger! Let's get with the program.


At 2:16 PM, I-66 said...
godamned hard G's...

and now I have a hankerin for a Five Guys bacon cheeseburger with grilled onions, relish, and ketchup and some cajun fries. Thanks.

Jonesing to blog

I meant to blog while traveling, I swear I did, but I just couldn’t figure out the keyboards. It’s not just the missing dollar sign or the additional symbol for euro or the umlaut. The letters were in the wrong places. What happened to the qwerty keyboard I know and love?

Of course, I struggled through my email and managed to send off a couple with (hopefully) minimal mistakes but only the Germans would think to switch the “z” and “y”. Do they really use “z” more than “y”? Come on, y’s a vowel. Sometimes. I’m washed anew in respect for the German language.

Keyboard intimidation outweighed the jones to blog and I did jones. I mean, I am a girl. I traveled with girl. There were drinks. Rosé by the gallon in Paris in a nod to white wine drinkers and unseasonably warm weather, a Ginette Tonic appertif – gin, tonic, and grenadine, beer garden Hefeweizen – without the lemon. (I was told, in no uncertain terms, that Germans do NOT mix fruit and beer.) I felt the overwhelming urge to share it with the world.

Now, that’s just a weird.

I’ve been blogging for a couple of years but I have to admit that, until this site, the bug just hadn’t really bit. Now, I just can’t seem to stop myself. I am hooked.

Every Christmas, for the past dozen or so years (plus birthdays, anniversaries and Arbor Day), I’ve been inundated with journals. Journals by the truckload or shelfload, really, as they take up one solid shelf in my wall of books. They are gorgeous: velvet and sequined, ring-bound and hand pressed, even one with native New Zealand wood. They are also empty. Every single one of them.

I attempted to journal as a kid, with marginal success – “Dear diary, Today I got up and ate cereal. I went to school. Tommy Butler is cute but Autumn thinks he’s mean. I think I want to be a stewardess. Good night.” – until I realized that my brother was reading it, a realization founded in the subtle insertion of “You love Tommy Butler” in between “You’re so stupid, you must pay teachers for good grades” and “You’re so ugly, you must pay people to be your friends.” Hey, he was eight – not particularly creative but darn effective.

I was mortified.

I stopped journaling and started collecting all the pretty, empty books that came my way. I couldn’t get over the fact that people might actually read what I wrote and quite possibly judge me on my thoughts and feelings.

And then came the age of the blog. I am basically writing “Dear Diary” for the world to read. My brother not only knows about it – I post to his site. Regularly. (http://brokekid.net for anyone who wants to know where that 8-year-old turned up.)

Here it is, world. Check me out. Maybe the distance from head to keyboard to screen makes me feel secure or maybe I’m just growing up. I can hope. Just don’t tell me that I’m so boring, I must pay people to read.

Comments:
At 5:58 PM, Michelle said...
At least your brother only read your diary...mine beat the crap out of me and scared the boys away that would dare come near me! ha ha ha


At 10:21 AM, I-66 said...
I hereby declare that I am not paid to read this blog!


At 10:25 AM, Kayla said...
Can I have my $50 back then???


At 1:32 PM, I-66 said...
Pft, that was an IOU you gave me.


At 2:16 PM, Kayla said...
Crap. Who did I give the $50 to then?! Oh, I can't keep track.

So shaky

I woke up this morning feeling a little shaky, wondering if maybe it might be a happy hour hangover. I didn’t feel drunk, but you never know.

I showered, dressed, shook my head like a wet puppy and still couldn’t figure it out. No headache, except for the lump where I clocked myself with the bathroom door looking for a cricket the other night. No queasiness. Just a little shaky.

Later, on the metro, after my new friend Bob (a Redskins fan, going to Atlantic City to visit a friend and drop off some “stuff”) got up to raz a Cowboys fan, I figured it out.

Other than a bowl of noodle soup, I hadn’t eaten since my sandwich of strangely unidentifiable but thoroughly tasty green mush on the plane Wednesday morning.

Maybe I should have been hung over.

My face did hurt a little. A definite sign of drinking: I smiled way too much last night. No, not in a “I’m trying to pull so I’ll wear a cute, flirty little smile while talking to handsome men” kind of way but a big, ol’ “I’m happy to be out with my girls and even happier to realize that I would never want to pick up any of these men and can just be myself, not worrying about the fact that I smell more than a little like bleach and kind of hate the dress I’m wearing” grin.

I don’t mean to imply that the guys at the Clarendon Grill aren’t cute. Some of them are down-right hot. Heck, I’d be willing to bet that they’re even gainfully employed but, with the exception of Berk, Bray and that guy Jeff, they all seem a bit smarmy. Maybe it’s just me. I like the dive bars and prefer my guys, well, real. Smoke ‘em, if you got ‘em.

Take the guy I met last night (name withheld to protect the boring). I ended up talking to him because his friend was chatting up Kayla and Michelle left and I think that Bray was somewhere inside. By default.

Actually, he was kind of interesting, as he kept telling me. In the first five minutes, he talked about his girlfriend, the five languages he speaks, his white car curse, the countries where he’s lived and several unforgettable cab rides. Over the next 45 minutes, he just kept talking but considerately tried to involve me by asking about the sports I play.

Right.

Kickball? I got nailed in the head and think I might have suffered a concussion during one of the earlier games last season. Other than walking (recently trekking miles through Paris in my trusty flip flops), I wouldn’t say I’m athletic. Last month, I tried a trapeze class. I discovered, rather quickly, that my arms can in no way support my body weight, but what a rush: Stepping off that platform, swinging a couple of stories high and slipping, falling to the net below.

Other than that, I’ve been known to hike, whitewater raft, enjoy rather vigorous indoor activities better left unsaid, but I’m not exactly athletic.

So, I sat; I listened. I enjoyed a beer or two and I dreamed about the day the Lounge would reopen. Fifteen minute rule or no, I’m ready to go home.

15 Comments:
At 10:08 AM, Kayla said...
Those guys were weird and I am so sorry i sucked us into that vortex... Aside from the weak conversation skills, the expressions on their faces were pretty scary. (i think it is because they are not used to GIRLS talking to them) I haven't mastered the "Just walk away" move. No one seemed to mention how horrible that band was, either. ;) I cannot wait to go to the lounge with you...


At 10:13 AM, Kristin said...
No worries. I actually had a great time and really, it's all about the story...

I could have walked away at any point or kicked the man. I've been known to kick on occasion; though, not generally due to poor conversational skills.


At 10:19 AM, Kayla said...
It IS all about the story. Michelle just sent me the best e-mail.. she said there is nothing worse that cockblocking yourself... As seen from my last two adventures out, I have MASTERED this.


At 10:33 AM, Kristin said...
Ah, but there's something strangely compelling about freaks. Sometimes in an "ugly sexy" kind of way but more often in a "huh" kind of way.

I wasn't looking to pull so I rather enjoyed the unexpected evening entertainment.

Don't forget about the kick, though. Kicking's good in a pinch.


At 10:43 AM, Kayla said...
I am going to start using that kick manuever. (be wary boys, I wear hellacious, painful-when- kicked-with shoes). Speaking of ugly sexy... we played the ugly sexy game at 2nd job last week - but it was ugly sexy famous people. My choice was Eric Roberts..what's yours?? (Coworker went with Kevin Bacon - but Kevin Bacon today - not Kevin Bacon in say.. Footloose)


At 11:11 AM, Kristin said...
Ugly sexy famous men? Hmmm... Christopher Walken, maybe. He's so not my type but there's something about him. Yummy. If only Ed Harris would get ugly as he ages. Unfortunately, I just find him sexy.


At 11:20 AM, I-66 said...
kicking? I'm beginning to believe I need to wear my shinguards off the field too.


At 11:22 AM, Kayla said...
No worries, we would NEVER kick you....


At 11:26 AM, Michelle said...
While you two ladies were busy cockblocking yourselves, I was inside listening to the ugliest band I've ever seen. ha ha While they attempted to play some decent tunes, I just found it odd that not a single member of this band was the least bit attractive. I mean, isn't that a rule? Someone in the band has to be cute, right? Especially a band full of ugly guys...the girl should be smoking hot, right? Apparently this band did not get that memo. What is this world coming to?


At 11:29 AM, Kristin said...
The bass player. Nobody knows his name but he should be, at the very least, ugly sexy.


At 11:36 AM, Kayla said...
I always thought it was the lead singer who was supposed to be smoking hot... I personally favor the drummer... If you are going to be the ugly band, you should at least BE a GREAT band, so people can look past the ugly....

And, for the record, I did appreciate your attemt at intervention last night... in the form of the following exchange:

"Kayla, what is with you and the not-so-attractive chain smoking guys?!"

Right in front of not-so-attractive chain smoking guy.

Remember my friends, I can carry on a conversation with a wall. My ignorance is my (not so) bliss.


At 11:45 AM, Michelle said...
If I had shaken my head like a wet puppy this morning I would have fallen over and knocked myself the F out. But then I wouldn't be at work, so note to self...shake your head like a wet puppy when even remotely hungover.


At 11:52 AM, Kristin said...
I'm just glad I didn't smell like a wet puppy. I'm actually surprised I didn't fall over and knock myself out or at least clock myself on the door again. Or the wall. I did that a couple of weeks ago. I don't even know how I did that one.


At 12:16 PM, I-66 said...
not getting kicked? saWEET.

I am SO in.


At 3:09 PM, Kayla said...
Hmmm... This is random. I have two - yes TWO - songs stuck in my head right now:

"We got more bounce in california then all ya'll combined...we got more bounce in California we like to party all the time" F*ing Laguna Beach. LOVE THAT SHOW.

and....

"I got SOUL but I'm not a soldier..." That's some hot fusssssss for ya.

These replaced Kanye West & Golddigger, but I am sure KW will make a comeback cause I love that song.

Midnight train going anywhere

Is it bad that my 50-something-year-old coworker just came into my office, plunked himself down in a chair and asked about my vacation with “Günter? Pierre? Who was it this time?”

Just because I returned from an earlier trip to Paris with photos of a French foreign legionnaire with a tattoo boasting “I want to f*** you like an animal” doesn’t mean that I go on vacation to meet boys.

Sometimes it just happens.

(For the record, the legionnaire was named Roy by birth and James by the legion. He’s from Herndon, used to get his hair cut at my brother-in-law’s barbershop and the tattoo, Nine-Inch-Nails lyrics, only came out after I sang those words after several hours and even more beers in an Irish pub in Montmartre.)

My big story this time didn't include boys, really. It involved a mishap on the train – a few weeks before the trip, my friend and sometimes traveling companion called to say that her cousin (in Germany) had picked up tickets for us both. About five minutes before boarding, she actually looked at the “tickets” and realized that they might not work for both of us – she had a rail pass, I did not.

I got on the train anyway, figuring that they probably wouldn’t stop the train to leave me stranded somewhere east of Paris. That’s what I hoped anyway, and I figured that they would rather take money from me on the train and I really had no other way to get to Munich between 11 p.m. Sunday night and 7 a.m. Sunday morning.

It’s amazing, though, how much German you understand when a train attendant is yelling at you in the middle of the night for not having a ticket. I’ve never had someone look at me with so much loathing… Well, that’s probably a lie, but the Germans definitely do not approve of rule breakers and somewhere close to midnight, the German steward realized that I had a reservation but not a ticket. I got that part. I just couldn’t respond.

My phrasebook included such nuggets as “Where can I find good walking shoes?” and “Can you recommend a grocery which carries bio-organic produce?” but nothing along the lines of “I’m so sorry; what can I do to fix this?” or “This is all my friend’s fault; yell at her” or even “I’m going to kill my friend before we reach Munich – will one ticket suffice she doesn’t make it?”

Fortunately for some ill will between bordering countries, a French conductor happened along and witnessed the wrath of Germany. He sold me a ticket - a second-class rate for my first-class berth (sleeping car, personal sink, shared WC with a shower).

I might have offered to bear his French babies but unfortunately, my French phrasebook stopped short at “It’s raining like cow piss.”

4 Comments:
At 3:28 PM, Kayla said...
OMG!! I am SO EXCITED YOU ARE BACK!! Tell me you will come to happy hour tonight (you never - and I mean ever - disappoint...).. I can even come pick yo' ass up (since no one should brave VA alone!)...


At 4:34 PM, Michelle said...
Spoken like someone who GREW UP in Virginia!


At 4:37 PM, Michelle said...
WELCOME HOME...your vacation stories never disappoint!!!


At 4:38 PM, Kayla said...
Why do you think I live in DC now, PA girl?! ;) (Oh, don't get me wrong... I ain't got nothin but love for Fairfax County.. I am a Robinson Ram.. a GMU Patriot.. ;))

I like my taxation without representation, thank you very much.

Just a quick note...

Before I’m off on vacation.

I feel really, really, really guilty about traveling when so many of our compatriots (not to mention southern girls with drinks) are in such desperate need. The more images I see from Mississippi and Louisiana, the harder I find it to believe.

Rapes? Looting? Rioting? Babies without diapers, sick without medicine, people shooting at the police and aid workers? People are dying in the streets. Literally. This is our country and these are places that we (the girls with drinks) have all visited and enjoyed (with and without drinks).

I know we might seem a bit frivolous, offering to boost the economy through tourist dollars. Behind the scenes, off the blog, we’re talking about it.

As for me, I plan to offer up my guest bedroom. MoveOn.org is connecting spare rooms with displaced people.

Of course, I’m also donating cash. Every time I move to buy something: books, music, clothes – and frankly, it’s pretty often – I stop myself. I’m keeping a running tally and donating all of that cash to relief efforts. Thailand was terrible. Unbelievable. Katrina hit on a smaller scale, but so much closer to home.

I spent a month in New Orleans a few years ago. I didn’t know where I wanted to live, what I wanted to do. I spent days walking, taking pictures, looking for jobs; evenings I listened to Zydeko and blues in smoky, grimy joints, talking to men without teeth, ageless women, lawyers, drunks. A couple of cops tried to convince me to join the force – they said there weren’t enough “cute, straight chicks” in local law enforcement. I stained the windowsill, wall, carpet red with Pat O’s hurricane and I walked along Magazine Street, looking for the best snow cone in the world.

Eventually, I figured out that New Orleans wasn’t home to me, but I love it just the same. I’m off now but before I leave, I need to, well, cry a little, balance my checkbook, and surf the web, donating my guest bedroom and my money. It’s not much, but it’s a start.