How to pick up a lady...

It's the year of football immersion for me, minus my actual learning the rules of the game (I've tried- it always just looks like a bunch of dudes in a pile). Anyway, this time I was in a bar for a Saints game. I kind of like Saints fans- a little rough around the edges, but they're well aware. I sat next to this dude whose name I no longer remember, but his image burned in my mind. He looked and spoke much like Joe Dirt, but his mullet wasn't so pronounced. Or, it was just covered by his baseball cap. He opened with a lengthy explanation of why he could, but still wouldn't beat the crap out of the scrappy kid sitting next to him:

Dude: "Look, I didn't get to be famous by beating up little people."
Me: "... you're famous?"
Dude; "That's not important..."

We really connected when he prefaced his next bit with "I don't want you to think I'm hitting on you, but..." He continued: "You and I- we're a lot alike." We are? "We are. You see - we both have these beautiful, striking blue eyes, but people always comment on your nose. Don't they?" I replied, "um, yea, I guess when I was a kid..." He continued: "both of us! We're beautiful. These crystal clear blue eyes... with a strong nose. I like to call it a strong nose. But you're beautiful even with that. Hell- we both are. People may not see that right away, but we are."

And... that hillbilly may be up for compliminsult of the year, followed closely behind that dude at my old job who commented on "how nicely I'd filled out in recent months with my fat face and all." I sure am glad he prefaced his discussion with how much he was not hitting on me. Because, flattering me with those charming nods as he was, I may just marry the dude.

Other "overheards:"
"These is my pet peeves: tardiness and people not being where they is supposed to be." It is funny. I know some people for whom subject-verb agreement is a pet peeve. Maybe they could all hang out. It sounds like that dude runs a tight ship.


"I got cut off at Hooters last night." - M. A girl.

Pearls for keg stands

Over the weekend, I had my first southern college football experience in Charlottesville at the UVA/Virginia Tech game. It was a big deal, and maybe the most severe culture shock I've experienced while still in this country. In a fascinating display of hyper-masculine regalia, I witnessed some of the most unabashedly arrogant, self-centered, pretentious awesomeness I've ever seen. With the marching band, the dance team, the cheerleaders (I could learn some moves from them!), people running around with flags, and a clever, holiday-themed cartoon of how badly UVA was going to beat VT (I think it involved converting a "hokie" into a turkey, then placing it in the oven for a Thanksgiving feast), I was braced for UVA domination. Wrong. Apparently this is an age old tradition they maintain where they act like they're really good, but then lose every game. It's a thing. You wouldn't get it, you yankee.

Lost in a sea of moderately attractive white people, I had to remind myself that they were not just a bunch of the bad guys in one of those cheesy 80s teen movies (although I'm half convinced they actually were) and that it was real life. Most of you probably get the VT/UVA rivalry. It was news to me, though- blew my mind. Some of my best "overheards" came from B's facebook minifeed, as she apparently only establishes online friendships with graduates or students of fancy southern colleges where they eat their lunch off china, wear pearls to do keg stands, and serve wine and cheese instead of burgers and brew. The inside joke, if you're new to this like I am, is that UVA thinks they're smarter and "classier" than VT, and that VT people are redneckish. Or something. But check these out:

"Wine... $20. Brie... $8. Watching the 'hoos beat VT to win the coastal division? Priceless." - some dude's facebook status. An actual man. That's real. I guess this is a good place to point out that VT crushed UVA by almost 40 points. I wonder whether he issued a new status update afterward.


"Culture vs. Agriculture 2011!" - several people on facebook. Apparently, culture is a reaction that occurs when you mix racism and assorted other bigotry with bow ties and cheap white wine. Love y'all, though.


"They're gonna know you're mocking them!" -B, commenting on my choice to wear pearls along with my chucks to the game.


"I didn't know they let retards into this college." - someone's dad, with his eyes crossed. This was fun- I watched some prepubescent UVA college freshman (probably) walk backwards talking trash to a bunch of parents. He was really fired up- "You think you stand a chance? Who the f*** are you? You're no one! We played FSU! Who did you play?!" along with a bunch of other rando football stats I immediately forgot. I was laughing and almost commented on how those VT parents were showing some class by laughing it off. Then the dad crosses his eyes and starts drawling out insults that were just degrading to those with learning disabilities instead of the budding date rapists he was faced with. It was ugly.

Finally, did y'all know that the UVA president rolls in a motorcade? Yep, everything's fancy there.

I did, however, have some non-ironic fun with some legit alums of a sorority. Those gals can make sh** happen.

Alright. Now that I'm done feeling inferior for attending another school, I'm back to my packing to get to Mexico. Stay tuned- because that should be a good one...

Oh, and PS- the "good ole' app" is a real thing. I think you can pay homage to Thomas Jefferson, order a wheel of brie, vandalize a home, and pop your collar if you program your iPhone correctly.

Bacon and Gunfire.

I am sitting in my neighborhood coffee shop (yes- chucks on and laptop open. I'm laughing at myself right now. There is a neighborhood gathering at one of the tables that, based on their conversations, is a special kind of group: gathering the only white people in the neighborhood, and drinking together once a month. They're talking excitedly about community building in Northeast and having "all" the neighbors together. It's pretty great. Other redeeming factors of this otherwise noisy group? A baby at the bar (yes- there's a bar at the only coffee shop I frequent. shut up). "You brought your baby to drinking night!" "Aw, he looks so little on you!" Just some of what I've heard on this.

Other good stuff...
B (quietly): "I really wish there were bacon on this gingerbread."
Me: "I'm sorry... what?"
B (sternly): "you heard me."

E, on lessons learned in the neighborhood represented above: "Well. Since moving to northeast, I've learned that gunfire from the inside sounds like thunder, while gunfire from the outside sounds like fireworks. "

"Does anyone ever tell you that you look just like Ellen DeGeneres?" -at least three people per week, ever since I cut my hair. Yup- Ellen. Just the look I was going for. Short blonde hair and a snarky demeanor? There you are. I like to think I favor Scarlett Johanssen. Or Angelina Jolie. Nope- not even Portia... Ellen.

"There are very strict rules on that dance floor." -dude at the bar, on Remingtons, a capitol hill gay mans country western karaoke bar.


"I am SO done with the Holocaust. But it's the next book in book club." -chick at the bar. "I didn't know about book club! And they STILL haven't invited me to game night." -dude she's chatting with. Talk about some real problems!

They're the best. It's like - the drunker they get, the better!

Marriage and Chicken

On a facebook page following the earthquake: "That's just a warning from God about what's going to happen if you elect that a**hole again." Keep it classy, right wing, keep it classy.

Overheard on the d6:
Middle aged woman with lots of layers (early August. Non of this earthquake/chilly morning crap we've had lately), to a man sitting beside her:
"I'm scared of marriage, and I'm scared of chicken. My husband I split up years ago. I been having so much fun since then... oooeee! (shakes head self righteously) But not the wrong kind of fun... the right kind of fun. Walkin with the Lord. Jesus- he send me boyfriends now and again... and we cool til we ain't, and then I just sends 'em right back!" Good idea, lady. Just send 'em back when they ain't. These are lessons all women should learn!

Spotted on the metro: the best outfit of the year.
The culprit? A middle aged man with a thick, Eric Holder-style mustache. He sported a backwards Texans baseball cap, but the kind with the flat lid that people in rap videos wear. He also had cuffed skinny jeans, boat shoes, and a sweatshirt that portrayed Santa Clause stabbing a Thanksgiving turkey. He sat there with a rough attitude on his pursed lips, and wove a friendship bracelet on his afternoon commute. Solid outfit, overall. On a 1-10, he's a certified 20.

Overheard at a Twins game:
All American Guy 1: "Katy Perry looks like Zoey Deschanel if she were made of taffy and you stretched her face."
All American Guy 2: "Have you heard her on the Proactive Commercial? She sounds exactly like Tara Reid."
All American Guy 1: "Is Tara Reid still alive?"


That's all I've got.

In retrospect, lime green was a tacky color choice

I received the following text message from an informant:

"OMG. Just rode the X2 down H Street with at least 20 loud cross dressers. The one sitting across from me was wearing a really short dress, and I could see a ball hanging out of his lime green panties. I could not make this up. I wish you had been there."

I wish I were there, too, informant friend. Nothing jazzes up my Tuesday evening like lime green panties.

Are ya eatin' my bagel?

"C'mon, ladies, let's get moving. I gotta get goin. What, are ya eatin' my bagel back there?" -sweaty middle aged balding man in orthopaedic shoes, sweating profusely and pacing nervously at the Corner Bakery. Lesson of the day- it's always good to talk down to the people who prepare your food. This does not encourage them to spit in/drop/otherwise worsen the food you just paid for.

5 Reasons the gym sucks

I've been nursing an IT band injury from running too much without doing any strength training. I know, O, that you told me this ahead of time, but I really do hate the gym. It took me years to go from hating running with a fiery passion to being able to stand it to legitimately enjoying it. I don't really feel like the same slow curve with the gym. That said, I've accepted it as a necessity, so decided to take the week long trial membership to a local gym that my work provided for free. Maybe I'll buckle down and get a membership.

Needless to say, I had a sour attitude going in from the start, which was not right. I should have been pumped. But I felt like an adolescent being dragged to counseling or something- sullen slouch and all. At least I had some pretty sweet gym clothes (thanks, B). Here are the following things I hated about this gym. I'll try not to identify it by name because, chances are, you're a member there, and I wouldn't want them to lose all their business because everyone suddenly realizes why it sucks so much.

1. I went to the receptionist who set up my trial pass, and she was... really overweight (not like plump or curvy or just bigger- like unhealthy). Don't get me wrong- there's nothing wrong with this, but it sort of felt like they were selling a false product. I don't like to see skinny people as chefs at my bakery- it makes me think their food probably sucks. If I were the kind of person who went to a tanning salon, I wouldn't want a pastey person like me working there. When I go to the dentist, I like that Dr. B has healthy looking teeth. You get where I'm going with this. Or, you're probably really pissed off at me. Sorry. I hate myself for this just a little, too.

2. The trainer grabs me for a consultation about my fitness goals and why I want to join a gym and how he can coax me into becoming a member for life or something. I tell him I'm thinking of joining because I'm training for a marathon, and need to prevent injuries. He asks how long the marathon is. I ask him for clarification... does he mean time-wise? Like, how long I think it will take me? He says no... he wants to know how many miles are in my marathon. Face palm. How can you work in a gym and be unfamiliar with what's probably the most well known distance in running? Everyone's token "before 30" or "before 40" item on their bucket list?

3. I went to the locker room where it took me far too long to figure out the lock I just bought and to get comfortable enough stripping down in front of a bunch of strangers. Every gym should have inspirational posters and ads and photos. The women's locker room's idea of inspiration was a perfectly eyelinered model wearing a sports bra and holding a tape measure around her waist smiling, presumably, at the reduction in number of inches. Thanks, gym X, but I can cultivate an eating disorder all on my own. I turn to fitness as ONE thing where I can think of my body as something with a purpose- something strong and capable- as something other than a receptacle for some dude's junk. Believe me, Gym X, we women struggle with self esteem all on our own. Please help us by not promoting skinny/hot as the end goal. Please promote fitness with actual inspiring posters- a woman crossing a finish line at a race, or kickboxing, or actually doing something cool.

4. It always freaks me out to see lots of people in a row on treadmills. Really, the only reason anyone should ever be on a treadmill is a). if they are participating in a scientific research study or b). if they are institutionalized and are trying to prevent muscle atrophy. The reason God/Nature/Insert your personal belief here gave us the ability to run is so we can physically get the hell out of wherever we are. Simple. The act of getting somewhere by running is the most liberating experience I know. Going through the motions and getting nowhere is just like that story of that dude in hell pushing a rock up the hill then going back down and doing it again forever. This whole floor just looked like a bunch of people who are kind of sad with their lives, and going through arbitrary, mechanical movements in this factory to ensure that their husbands/wives don't leave them /they can secure a husband/wife in the near future.

5. The selling was amateur. Everything about my face, body language, and actual language should have told the salesperson at the conclusion of the session that I have a serious fear of commitment. The only way I would EVER agree to a year long membership anywhere is if you could convince me that the entire year would be cheaper than a single month. If that's not the case, I'll take my chances with a month to month and an option of going to Gym Y if it doesn't work out. Or of not going to the gym and going to Baskin Robbins instead. Sales guy (who was, unsurprisingly the same person as anti-marathon training guy) tried to write down figures and circle them and then cross them out, visually representing which fees he would drop in exchange for my signing on for 9 months or a year or whatever. The point was that it was $49 a month, plus $200 in start up fees. But that if I signed on for a year I wouldn't have to pay start up fees. If I made that decision that day. It took him twenty minutes to explain this extremely complicated one-time offer that will certainly never happen again the next time a sort of holiday pops up.

So there you have it. 5 solid reasons this gym sucks. Maybe I'll see you there. Hopefully I'll be nice. Hopefully I'll go back there beyond today. Actually, I'm going kayaking today. So I'll skip. See you tomorrow.

About me...

"DO YOU EVEN REALIZE HOW FAST YOUR LIFE HAS GONE DOWNHILL SINCE YOU MET AMY?!" -L

I think I'm a little proud of that one.

"Dating Amy... it's like getting into a car with a drunk driver... We're going fast! We're going slow! We're swerving now... now we're turning! No wait. Swerving. Now we're going fast. Am I gonna make it out alive?!?" -J

In my defense, neither of those people have dated me...

A truly terrifying sight in your big sister's bathroom...

The times... they are a changin'...

Last night, I wore boat shoes on the D6. Don’t worry, they weren’t mine. They were borrowed for last minute kayaking because I had nothing else. But they were still boat shoes. On my feet. Consensually. I will admit that. I was afraid it would forever destroy the integrity of the D6, replacing straight thug cred with whiny, northern Virginia arrogance. There was a man who sat next to me whose distracting case of the shakes were worsened on the way from 2nd to 14th Street. I’m certain the boat shoes were to blame. But alas, I made it home and convinced myself that I had committed worse atrocities in my time. Like the time I wore cargo shorts in public – that was way worse… right? The night went strangely. I had a cigarette for dinner. I cleaned my room for the first time in a month. The universe seemed to be turned upside down.

I got on the d6 this morning to go to work, and BAM! Right next to me stood this boy next door with green eyes, an upturned nose with a spattering of freckles, ray bans, khakis, and boat shoes. His light reading? A kindle with a book about wine. The chapter I caught was called Imperial Vine. Seriously. I don’t know why he was on the bus, or what his father would say, but I feel single handedly responsible for paving the way for that to happen. Nothing further happened on the bus this morning, except that my iPod ran out of power so I had to sit in discomfort and fill my ears with the bitter silence of preppy entitlement that replaced the once bustling d6 crowd.

Other overheards? In San Antonio…

“Do you ever look around yourself and realize how horribly unpopular you are?” –A, on a 6 year old placing a special request to sit next to another aunt

“I mean, I know I’m not fat, but I want a wedding body.” – one skinny girl to another on the blue line. This is really what our world has come to.

Chick of the House

Peewee (Piwi?) is a pretty cool guy that lives across the street from me. Actually, I'm not sure which house he lives in, or whether he lives in a house at all. What I do know is that he has pretty sweet dreads, and if it weren't for him, peoples' cars wouldn't be washed, grass wouldn't be cut, and there would be no one to creep on me when I get dropped off at home after dates. He may be a touch of crazy, and I'm not sure that I've ever seen him sober, but I appreciate his consistency in my life, and the fact that he only speaks to me because "the man of the house" (how do you like that, J?) told him to ask "the chick with the bike" about his money for cutting our grass. For some reason, those transactions always feel borderline illegal. I remind myself that I'm not directly supplementing his habit, but the stealthy way he avoids my roommates unless he's looking for me, or the way he asks about his payment always feels like I'm doing a cameo in Next Friday or something.

Anyway, last night I was heading out of the house, and I caught him mid-sermon. He wore a full length jumpsuit, with the whole front open. With a 40 oz clutched in his hand, he raised his arm triumphantly, shouting "Yea if walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I ain't fearin' nothin, damnit!" I'm glad he memorized that psalm so accurately. His audience was the old man that actually does live in that house (he sits on the front porch and drinks all day- living the good life), a six year old girl who just dropped her bike to listen, and a poodle. Not sure who's poodle it was. In retrospect, I wish I would have stuck around for the rest of the sermon.

And finally, I'll leave you with an actual text messsage I received a few nights ago. Please note that both parties are under the age of 26: "S just challenged me to do cane tricks around my apartment and I knocked over stuff. That cane is baller." Drunk chicks with walking aids. This is the way I always pictured young adulthood.

Your eyes freak me out...

"I like your tattoo." -an 8 year old boy, to me. I've never felt like such a sorry excuse for a grown up in my life. Hopefully he saw me trip on the way out and realized I am not cool and he should not look up to me...

"She's nice. She's pretty- like real country- she looks like home. You? You're really, nice, but I had to get used to it. I was really freaked out by you at first. Those eyes? *shudders*..." Said to me. I was not country girl. I am apparently the one with crazy eyes.

Overheard in a cab

Pride week in DC had a lot of "overheard" moments, as one can imagine. I saw people in their actual underwear, walking in front of the capital. But one of my favorite interactions took place in a cab as I was leaving the Pride Parade in Dupont Circle.

Cab Driver: "I wonder why traffic is so bad... what's going on there?"
Me: "Pride Parade! It was a blast."
CD: "Interesting. What kind of parade?"
Me: "It was... a really colorful, really glittery parade."
CD: "What was it like?"
Me: "Proud... lots of dancing and techno."
CD: "Hm... I'm proud..."

Excellent moment of confusion.

Makin it rain

The following exchange took place in a work meeting. Too frequently in the non-profit industry, people throw around colloquialisms because they think it makes them sound unique and open minded and progressive, when actually it just sounds like they read an article on holistic, sustainable farming and wanted to repeat those words. And since those of us forced to listen to that are usually some breed or degree of social worker (and therefore frequent offenders ourselves), we never call them out on it because we, too, are trying to be accepting of all ideas and opinions. This happened while trying to establish the purpose of a particular group…

Guy: “I really that this exists to bring us all together. Maybe our mission is based on the fact that we’re all coming together each month.”
Lady: rolls eyes… “We could be coming together to play bridge every month.” Thanks, lady… I didn’t have to say it.

Let’s change scenery a little. This gem was uttered by my friend R., to justify a romantic encounter with a person she has no attraction to or interest in: “I just like to make people happy. Is that so wrong?” Yes, R. That is wrong- even when it feels so right. I’m just glad I get to share this story with the Internet.

How about this seen in my text inbox... this is from A, who just returned to America from an extended stay overseas: “Question. I know our economy has really gone downhill. Is it normal for me to have paid $6 for a snacksized bag of chips and a Snapple? This shit would be 2 euro, is all I’m saying. I actually did a double take and questioned it. Then took out the monopoly money that is USD and made it rain.”

Finally, let’s end with an oldie but a goodie. Well, hell, it just happened this morning, but it felt familiar to this blog, so here we go. This was a crazed, probably high woman walking threateningly towards an older white haired man stretching out post-run at 5:30 AM. Woman: “You’re probably a goddamn congressman!” Sadly, I was the only one who thought it was funny. Maybe you will too. In conclusion, TGIF, Happy Pride Weekend, DC, and let’s all go look heat stroke in the eye.

Now that's love...

Lady on the D6, on the phone: "Before I met you, I wasn't nothing but a regular bitch on the corner." Now there's some good old fashioned Northeast-style self esteem. Nothing says love quite that way.

Dude at a bus stop watches me get on my bike following a group run, and comments: "You're ridin a bike after running? Calves ain't big enough!"

Escalefting.

One teenage-white girl-tourist to a group of others on the escalator at metro center:
"Guys, we're escalefting!"
TWGT II: "Really? Is that what it's called?"
TWGT I: "Yea, that's what they call it!"

I never really thought I'd hear that used in conversation, but I was glad at least one person in that group was aware of their culturally insensitive behavior towards DC residents and demanded that the others take corrective action. I guess those ridiculous signs really did serve a purpose!!

I wish dudes used these pick up lines on me..

Overheard in Dupont Circle, random man to a woman (relationship unknown): "C'mon, what do you say we go home, eat some chocolate, and make a baby?!" The Big Hunt is an awesome bar to pick randos up. Honestly.. I gave up all sweets for lent. With my chocolate addiction and current withdrawals, that line may have worked on me. Maybe. Instead, I'm stuck with "You know you totally want to make out with me." Yea, thanks, Little Miss Whiskey's. You always send me these gems.

Seen on the metro in Madrid...

A snippet from my little sister:

A non-Spanish couple, whispering sweet nothings into each others' ears, but nothing I could understand. I knew it was romance when she took an oil blotting sheet out of her bag and began to dab the grease from his nose, showing him the sheet afterwards.

They then saw a child going for an open seat, and raced said child. They won, so the kid's father had to stand. But at least they had their seat gosh darnit.

In the next five minutes, she discovered her sweety's wallet on the floor of the metro and proceeded to pick it up, wave it around, and yell at him. Just in case you weren't already sure they'd be good to rob. Sigh. Foreigners.

God is not a Ginger.

This morning's 8:55 D6 didn't come. It was thrilling, waiting for the bus in the pouring rain, on a day that should, in all fairness, result in life being temporarily canceled in lieu of whiskey and poetry and Chopin. It was more than thrilling watching the 8:55 bus roll by at 9:10 with a "No Service" banner across the front, mocking the crowd of sullen faces under umbrellas. Finally, at 9:23, I dragged my soggy boots and stupidly suede bag onto the bus, scoring a window seat by my hygienically inoffensive roommate (don't worry, K- you have lots of other good qualities, too). It read like a typical D6- ties and sensible pumps and open umbrellas and environmentally responsible thermoses and a spattering of Ed Hardy. I was pleasantly surprised to hear a "Hello everyone, how's everybody doin this beautiful day?!" in a tone I was certain belonged to Sandra "Queen" Noble, former candidate for the US House of Representatives (don't know her? Check it out here):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHikkT44CtQ&tracker=False.

Seriously, it is easily the best youtube video I've ever seen. Sadly, when I saw her face, it was not the Queen herself, just your average D6 bus buddy. Fortunately, her morning monologue went something like this:

"Hey bus driver, can you tell me what bus I was on yesterday? I can't remember. I need to go all the way up Northwest. What bus I take up there? You know, this young man put a curse on me when I was little. He stared at me and put a curse on me. I don't know why. I don't know why he'd be that mean. Can somebody please tell me, who is it who know how to get to heaven, pull them angels down so they follow me around with the White Snake Lady? That lady she be looking all half snake and white and sh*t. Somebody tell me... who those people are. Hey you- sir (points to a friendly looking bearded ginger on the bus wrapped up in his kindle)- didn't I see you awhile back? Yea. When I was there... you was sitting in the throne, sayin you was God. Is you God?"

I was with her on the Snake Lady piece, but then she lost me. Sorry, lady- God is not a Ginger. He's just not. Ginger in question- my apologies if you ever read this blog, but you know it's true. Anyway, I think she may have called someone else out on being White Snake Lady, but I wasn't sure. She also taught me sign language (I'm not really sure if it was legit since I don't know any sign language). She taught me to make the letters 'C' and 'A,' saying that since I knew those, I knew enough to tell someone I liked them. I wonder what kind of lines you have to read between - or what order or repetition of those letters signals "I'm into you" - for them to have a decipherable meaning? I haven't been this confused since what's-his-face told us all there's a universal sign for "I want to have gay sex with you" that involves a wide stance in a bathroom stall. I'm now very aware of my own stance, afraid that I am inadvertently suggesting to the person next to me that I am actually a man and that I would like to engage in quiet, anonymous, passionate, politically dangerous sex with another man. This blog post is going nowhere good, much like today's weather, which prompted this religiously charged, though-provoking piece here.

Seen in my minifeed

That's right, facebook followers... I'm calling you out.

Honestly I just thought this was sweet...(name removed) "bought a new tea kettle to replace the one I managed to set on fire somehow. This makes me happier than it should. Ps; I swear we aren’t gay." Note to Overheard reader... these are both men, if you didn't gather that....

I don't think this needs an introduction..."Don't mess with a black mans chicken!"

I felt like this is some sort of euphamism..."I love my milkman, and the fact that I can just email him the night before to tell him what I want in my milk box on our delivery day."

You's lookin' thicker.

The following uncomfortable interaction took place outside my workplace. This Romeo? A homeless man who is a regular on my old bus route... so I've "known" him for months.

Romeo: "Good to see you! You lookin good like always."
Me: "Thanks."
R: "I can tell you been hittin up dem restaurants."
Me: ~gulp~ "Err... excuse me?"
R: "Ya know, now that you're doin all good at your job... I can tell. It looks good. You're fillin' out real good."
Me: ~blushes uncomfortably~ "Geez, those are things you should just never say to a woman, dude, for real."
R: "No, I mean it look real good. I'm sure you're husband tell you that all the time. I'm sure he lovin' that you have a nice fat face now."
Me: ~actually have my feelings hurt now~ "Geez, maybe that's why I still don't have one! Go easy on me, man... it's just a couple of pounds..."
R: "Na, I can tell. Looks so much better. When I first met you on the bus, you was like little. Like tiny. Now (sleezily checks me out)- you's lookin thicker."
Me: "Alright, well thanks for that self esteem check buddy. See you next week- and good luck on your date tonight."

I hope he knew better on his date that night. That really happened. The best part? My co-worker trying as hard as she could not to listen or notice. She was definitely even more uncomfortable than I was with the situation. Another favorite? My sister's getting married this month. I told her I was concerned about fitting into my dress after that conversation since I'd apparently put on some weight. My mother says to me, "Oh don't worry about that. The last time I saw you, I thought you needed to eat a steak. Order a normal size instead of a micro." That's what family's for, I suppose. This weekend, I did what any normal person would do, and ran until my knees gave out, starved for exactly eight hours, and then polished off half a pint of ice cream. It was awesome, and all brought about by sweet Romeo's ability to fixate on every detail of my body. Didn't bother me at all. Not a little. Never. Yea.

On love and romance...

Outside a Pat Green show...
Me: "Hey, do you think I could bum a cigarette?"
Pretty blond girl: "Sure, but only because you're cute. (lights my cigarette for me) You were supposed to swoon when I did that! (giggles) Oh, I'm not a lesbian though." Sure, pretty blond girl, that's what they all say...

Same venue...
J: "This is probably my seventh or eighth Pat Green concert."
Me: "Sweet- only my third. I'm not really that good at keeping up with concerts."
J (shocked): "Really?! Don't take this the wrong way... but aren't you kind of a hipster??"

I had nothing except that I was drinking miller lites instead of PBR for most of that night and really loved Pat Green, even after he was cool and sold out to Nashville. But he made a good point... I was going to blog about it the next day. Crap.


Outside the D6...
Random woman on the phone: "Look, if you's already been dismissed, how ya gonna stay loyal??"

Gems of wisdom for the day...

"Maybe I just don't want to suffocate in some dude's dutch oven of romance." -A, on why relationships aren't quite her thing. While many women swoon for over-the-top romantic gestures and displays of affection, a certain handsome fellow was unable to woo her pragmatic self, despite his "sweet" messages like "Me gustan tus pensamientos..." See? You're throwing up a little just reading this.

"All decisions lead to regret." -R, giving what she thought was helpful and encouraging advice on my next steps in life.

Spotted by Metro Center...

This valentine card found on the street reads: "Wishing the public a better day."

When I was a kid, Valentines Day was a chance to make cards for my siblings and my parents, eat candy when it was otherwise not allowed, and wear something pink, with hearts on it. I liked it... why not? Who cared about the historical insignificance, the attack on the singles (hello? I'm 8. I don't care if you're a cat lady), or the gushiness of coupledom (my parents were, um, not gushy people. I never had to deal with that awkwardness)?

As an adult, I would come to despise this holiday as many do. When in a relationship, it's an awkward chance for forced getting along, ostentatious displays of false affection, and a sexist slant where men are expected to cater to women, no matter what the silly request. When single, it's a sad reminder of how you fall short in the areas of love, relationships, and family. All your friends go on and on about how their "hubby" is the best, post photos of that fabulous bouquet of roses he bought, and the rose petals leading up to the bed where there are candles and champagne. If you're anything like me, you spent your Valentines Day eating microwave kraft mac n cheese singles and chain smoking outside.

Regardless of relationship status, what bothers me is the expectation- the forced nature of it. The fact that single women beat themselves up for not having their romantic life in order when, often times, their social/creative/professional lives are totally in order, and that women in relationships expect this lush display of what Hallmark told you says romance (sorry for the cliche attack on Hallmark- I know they'll, at some point, create a card making fun of that very thing). Maybe you like roses. But maybe you like an awesome band. Or going to a shooting range. Or maybe you'd like to go rock climbing instead of stuffing your post-holiday figure into a slinky red dress and thinking about how you'll need to order the salad at that lame restaurant so as not to display your, um, curves too much. This is not really an option.

So I guess that's why I liked this take on Valentines Day. Some random person duct taped this Valentines Day card on the ground by metro center in a city characterized by anonymity and yes, occasionally needless bitchiness. I didn't expect it any more than I expected a dozen roses on my doorstep when I got home- no one did. That person wasn't expected to leave any note of niceness for the general public who, in all probability, was an asshole to them that morning. Coupled with an e-card from my Mom, that unexpected simple gesture made my day and my macaroni a little better- more like the Valentines Days of my childhood when sugar and non-romantic love made everything better.

So rather than taking the "OMG it's Valentines Day you're the best snookums" or the "Valentines Day can go f**k itself" approach, maybe I can work on focusing on something simpler. But don't worry, friends in relationships- I still think your gushiness and love is gross.

Happy February 15th, kids. And I'll leave you with this "overheard:"

From a middle aged man with a long chain necklace who just got off the phone: "Damn. Can't even surprise no one no more. Try and do somethin nice for ya shorty, she be askin all these questions. Sh*t."

Anyone know how to use the googler?

Old guy 1:"Someone stole my email account. This is the third time they've done it."
Old guy 2: "Wait, I couldn't log onto that facebook. Do you think that happened to me?"
OG 1: "I really don't like the Internet."
OG 2: "I heard they're coming out with a new Internet..."

Man, that's a lot of plaid.

This weekend, I attempted to drink away my sorrows of getting one year older (and probably two years less mature... one step forward, two steps back) in my fine neighborhood. In hopes of enjoying good beer and northeast-style crime, I sauntered out with a few fantastically clumsy friends. We decided to start at Biergarten Haus, so we could enjoy the decent beer while we were sober enough to taste. With the intent of being there for one or two beers, then moving on, Biergarten proved quite the entertainment with a... wait for it... HIPSTER FIST FIGHT!!!

It was magnificent. I'd never seen such a display of arrogant hipster rage. There were loose fists flailing, scrawny bodies tumbling, and torn plaid abound. The perpetrator (Hipster 1)was wearing a green plaid shirt, some semblence of an ironic mustache he was trying very hard to sprout, and trademark slouched-forward shoulders. He actually introduced himself to my group on our way in by grabbing my very beautiful, very engaged best friend and slurring, "Where are you from?" Friend replies, "err... I'm from San Antonio, TX." H1: "Oh, I'm from Do-you-wanna-make-out, DC." Classy. When said friend was not rude or violent enough in her rejection, he followed us into the bar where, less than 20 minutes later, he got in some sort of conflict with a really large, skirted woman with a foul mouth that makes me sound like Emily Dickenson.

Hipster 2 and Hipster 3 were two similarly build, strapping lads - one in brown plaid and one in a polo shirt (I know, I was questioning his hipster cred, too- maybe that was the root of this conflict). The whole deal lasted quite a while. It started with some pushing and shoving (maybe started by Skirt) that made it's way to the front of the bar before the bouncers got back to break up the bickering. But those drunk little rebels put up quite the fight in getting thrown out. Less than a third of the size of the bouncers, who were smiling the whole time, the guys kicked and flailed and shoved and cursed like someone just said they knew of MGMT first. Finally, the bouncers successfully got H1, H2, and H3 outside, using a pretty hostess to hold the door shut while H2 tried to pry his way in. He failed. The three of them brawled outside for a while, including the very legit rolling around on the H Street sidewalk (I hope they're all up to date on their vaccinations). No cops showed up. In a city where bar fights generally pose a real threat of weapons, serious injury, and crime, no one was taking this display of plaid rage seriously. At one point, H1 began mocking the people inside the bar who were all laughing at them by forming his hands into the universal symbol for vaginas, as if to provoke the bar. He then points to one of our friends and stares as if to say, "you and me, let's go." Friend points back, laughing, and four others join in, all pointing at the dude. Nothing makes an angry person angrier than others not taking them seriously. It was glorious. H3 came tumbling towards him and H1 grabbed onto the collar of his polo, creating a deep v-neck and showing off what, in hipsterville, actually qualified as a muscle or two. It was excellent.

Twenty minutes after things calmed, H1 came back by jumping the back fence and coming in through the back door incognito- shedding his torn plaid for his fancy undershirt. It didn't work- everyone recognized him, he tried to punch someone else and got dragged out again. The cops never showed up and, presumably, were never called. The bouncers, at one point, put them in a cab instead. I was literally crying from laughing so hard- best birtday gift ever.

Other highlights from the trip included a certain congressman's brother hitting on the same engaged friend (seriously, that left hand sparkler means nothing to these Romeos!), and pulling them get-in-good-with-the-friend card with me here:

Brother: "so what do you do in DC?"
Me: "I work for a newspap..."
Brother (cuts me off): "Ohh... so you're a liberal."
Me: "Uh, yea, 'guess I am..."

Also, he used the following line to pick up the betrothed (who was, interestingly, wearing a plaid shirt): "Are you a farmer?"

Good thing the get-in-good-with-the-best-friend meant his covering our entire bar tab, despite my obvious tendency to vote against his ragingly handsome brother, had I the misfortune of living in that god forsaken state.

What a weekend. Looking forward to the normalcy of actual fights on the bus.

Probably not having children...

Overheard at work a few moments ago:
"Can we talk about our marriage?"
Ouch. This conversation is going to hurt to overhear. Seriously?!?!

Overheard on the D6 this morning...
Mother to child(affectionately): "Awww, you're all crusty!"

At the Eastern Market Metro...
One wholesome looking marine to the other: "Hey dawg, how do you spell 'second?'"

Two teenage pre-thugs. Sadly, I can't provide any more context for this conversation. Literally, those are the only words I was able to decipher from their advanced linguistics...

PT 1: "I'm gonna get 'em, stop sucking my penis."
PT 2: "Son, I'll be the first n*gga here with that sh*t."

Wrinkled bottoms and stuck in the snow

I love guest bloggers. The story below happened to the lovely KV the other week. I’m finally getting around to adding it here.

Scene: Orange/Blue line from L'Enfant Plaza to McPherson Square around 9AM
Characters:
#1 Angry woman with ‘tude… not takin’ nothin’ from no one - Tall/about 6', late 20s, wearing a tight black spiderman hat
#2 Angry Lady with ‘tude… not takin’ nothing from no one- Short, short hair, late 40s

So the train is a bit crowded this morning. Not in the unsanitary way it gets sometimes, but enough to cause a bit of a ruckus when someone’s there to stir the proverbial pot. Lots of people start crowding in at L’Enfant Plaza, including #1 and #2.

1 shakes her head at 2 saying: “You can't just walk up in here like that.”
2: Places hand on hip and purses lips threateningly: “I said excuse me….”
1: “You can't jus’ be actin’ like that, gettin’ on the train.”
2: “What is your attitude about? Mind your own business.”

1 is now really worked up and physically in 2's face. They stare each other down for a few fleeting seconds (felt like longer) until 2 starts to cave: “I don’t want to deal with this anymore.” She’s currently standing next to me- I’m sitting by the window. She starts to move backward. 1 starts to egg her on saying "that's right. You just move your old wrinkly black ass away from here" 2: “can't walk away from that” and says to 1 – “you just a bitch who needs to mind her own business.” Again with the business…

This back and forth banter continues and then the seat next to me opens up. 2 takes that seat which, obviously made me really nervous. By this time both 1 and 2 have their own backups. Interestingly, their backups appear to complete strangers who for whatever reason formed some strange allegiances based on who knows what. Backups attempt to calm them down and hold them apart.

1 starts threatening to spit on 2. Afraid that I will get spat upon, I say "excuse me" in the sweetest way possible to try to get out of the way. However 2 is so engaged with 1 that I realize if she does notice me, it will only be to bitch me out for existing.

I look around and the seats behind me have started to clear out. The train is now comprised of the spectators and participants. Still wanting to be a spectator, I actually climb over the metro seat behind me and sit by the next door. At some point closely following my climb, a wad of spit appeared on the window by my former seat. Yep, that happened.

Without an appropriate segue or apology, they start talking about how the other one needs Jesus and some participant points out that they are both at fault. A nice lady next to me jokes that they are both probably going to the same government building. Sure enough they both get off the train at my stop (mcpherson sq) and just walk off like nothing has happened.
Love it.

Metro wins on this one. All I’ve got from this morning’s 11 AM bus commute is a bus full of hungover white people who, much like me, were banking on a snow day today when they went out last night. Ouch. At least we didn’t get stuck the way we did last night. Last night on an hour long trek through 3 miles, the bus straight up got stuck. The crowd stayed silent, nervously, except to crack up loudly when, after 5 minutes of revving the tires fruitlessly through the slush and snow, you heard distinctly: “Stop requested.” No luck, buddy… we’re not going anywhere. When we finally got out of the, err, situation, the driver was congratulated with loud applause and whistles. Excellent.

Pay up, Germans.

So I got on the red line today to go from Farragut North to Metro Center because it was that damn cold on the way to work from my Guy-nocologist appointment (ugh, the worst). One of the best one-stops of my metro career.

Older gentleman with short dreads, four duffel bags, and a pair of those 3-D glasses you get in the movies (presumably to cover up his crazy eyes, but you could still see 'em) is staring intently at two toddler girls in a stroller, rocked gently by their rightfully concerned suburban mom. 3D guy explains articulately to the toddlers why baseball is better than football, but how football will ultimately be the final word. He calls out the passengers around him: "It don't matter how old you is... you could be old as that dude over there (points him out), you know she know what I'm talking about, and she maybe don' even like sports! (points to me)" He's right- I did know what he was talking about and I don't really like football. He continued, telling the babies, "You'll see that old man sportin an Albert Haynesworth jersey 30, 40 years from now. You know that's true. You KNOW that's true."
On the way to that metro stop, though, a man with a shockingly similar demeanor just kept repeating: "Germans have to give me a million dollars right now... and a million dollars every day!! Germans have to give me a million dollars right now... and a million dollars every day!! Germans have to give me a million dollars right now... and a million dollars every day!!" And finally, for some parting words, enjoy some context free quotes overheard on the D6 first thing this morning:

"She don' kno if it her son' baby- she hafta calculate the days!"

"If you can run outside and smoke, you can run outside and get a f**kin' job."

"Yea she do. Cuz she only got two teef in her head."

"B*tch, I'm doin fifty dollar weaves and sh*t."

Leave Britney Alone!

Today, I wore my fancy shoes, so took the metro. I forgot the wildly different way people interact on the metro from the way they interact on the bus. On the bus, it's loud, whether people are greeting each other merrily or whether they're fighting over who's baby daddy was around first. On the metro, it's quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. In fact, the more people pack in the little cars, the less likely you are to hear a peep above your own sniffling, clearing your throat, or dropping your copy of the Express (and trust me- after that hits the metro floor, I really don't want to touch it again. Seen too much vom on the metro floor in my days). So today, it was super awkward when, on a super-packed orange line train (in Arlington, go figure), this man attempted to enter the train. Seeing only the crowds at the front, he assumed that the whold rest of the car was empty and the passengers were all self-serving tourist prototypes who crowd the door when no one's taking up any seats. So he yells in this high-pitched, gerbil-like whine: "Excuse me!" (If I were a painter, I could paint that noise) I literally thought the Chris Crocker the "leave Britney alone" guy had boarded the train. Then he realized the whole train was full, felt awkward, and profusely apologized. To I think everyone there. So painful to watch.

But not as painful as the train that got slammed by Angry Dude II's hardcord gangsta leather messenger bag. AG2 was a charming pasty fellow- balding on top but fully bearded, with a pot belly that was subtle enough it just clearly belonged to a 47 year old accountant who never quite managed to find that special someone. AG2 runs the metro down, even though he sees the doors already closing and, when they, in fact, close,, ,, ,, (thought that sentence needed a few, more, commas,)he rips off his shoulder bag in all it's glory, swings as hard as he can, and pounds the door screaming, "Aw, COME ON!! You Bitch!!"
Yes.

He was right, the train was especially bitchy today.

But alas, what else would I write about today if it hadn't angered him so? So thanks, AG2.

To leave you, here are a few (mostly) context-free quotes overheard in Nowheresville, VA over the weekend:

"Well... (thoughtfully)... I don't think she has internal bleeding..." -on the state of her baby sister's hangover

"Damn... (name removed) iced me up front!)" note to reader... iced: forced to chug an entire smirnoff ice on your knees. who knew...

"I wanna be black!"

"“Can somebody please tell me what the f**k I was supposed to tap out of?”
“I just saw a grown man piss himself, voluntarily, while chugging a beer.”

“I’m gonna roll the dice. If I roll a digit, you drink.”

“Nein! Nein! Nein!”

“If you need narcotics to cure your hangover, you probably need to go see a doctor.”

"You play (sports) like an Asian."

“She useda call me late, now she call me early sayin’ she late... ‘The f**k you say?!” -DC-based rapper Wale, on finding out he was about to be a father

In a game of taboo:
Guy with the card: "It's the first thing you do when you get married..." Newlywed respondent, while sitting next to spouse: "Stop having sex!"

So yea, my weekend was chock full of literary gold. And with that, I'm off to think about why there's still spinach in my teeth from this morning.

I'm sold on it...

"They gave me pizza, and I didn't even have to put out!"
- M, on why we should go to the gay bar based on previous experiences