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.