Thursday, August 31, 2006

Bad Computer Translation?

From Vive:

I received an electronic birthday card from Eva Air, the airline that flew me to Taiwan (on my way to Thailand). What do you think the airline means by "many happy results of the day"?

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: "Evergreen Club"
To: "N/A"
Date: Thu, 31 Aug 2006 20:02:00 +0800 (CST)

Dear VIVE,
EVA Air wishes you a Happy Birthday (please click here)
Best regards,
Evergreen Club


Tid Bits

CVS Destroys Trees:

We live in a city that has designated the term "Green Architecture" as a buzz word. Our most educated residents are working for the Government making absolutely no money. The average dinner party conversation revolves around whatever came through on CNN Alerts via email. Bulletin boards in laundromats and postings on streets ask people to defend or defeat the Bush Agenda rather than buy a couch or hire a cleaner. All these passionate, intelligent, environmentally sound people living in DC. And yet, no one seems to care one bit that CVS's receipts might possibly have killed an entire Forrest.

I bought the Diet Wild Cherry Pepsi, an Evian, and Extra Cool Watermelon gum. I used my CVS savings card. Here are the coupons attached to my receipt today. Save $3 on any Allergy Remedy purchase of $10 or more. Save $4 on any purchase of $20 or more. Save $2 on any CVS brand Pain Medication. The receipt itself totaled 8 inches long. The attached random coupons totaled 12 inches long.

Homeless begging in DC:

There is almost always someone in the following three prime Dupont begging spots: outside the doors for CVS, in front of the Bank of America ATMs, blocking the Dupont Metro entrance. Do you think they have Gangs of New York style fights over those spots? Is there a shotgun calling policy? Do they camp out the night before to get the spot? Is there a schedule like Bob's got BOA on Mondays, CVS Tuesdays, Wednesday off, Thursday Metro, Friday drugs in Dupont? Just wondering how that system works exactly. Seems like it could get brutal.

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days:

I watched this movie for the 17th time last night. I just picked up that it was filmed in the Conde Nast building. I also just realized that the Editor-in-Chief, modeled after a cross between Anna Wintour and Kim France, is selling the ad pages. That's just strange… imagine giving up those front seats at Fashion Week to sell ad pages. Publishers sell ad pages. I'm surprised Conde approved the movie, and you know Conde must have approved if they got to use the building.

Shake and Bake is the best:

There's nothing better than Shake and Bake Chicken. It is so easy and so good. Does anyone else get scared by the popping of those Pillsbury biscuits in a can? I dropped the whole thing in the sink last night, and APK made fun of me. I'm sorry, but it is highly unnerving.

Ad Agencies:

It is so sketchy to talk to people from ad agencies. "I work for a huge company that manufactures a popular grooming product. We are interested in learning more about…."

Do you ever wonder if those people talk like that in real life? "Bartender, I'll have a really popular drink that is made with hops. I am interested in hearing what you think I want?"

Plane Crash in Lexington:

I am scared as all hell to be flying to Buffalo in a week.


I think people without quirks suck. I find them boring. We all have quirks. My strangest three are perhaps:

1) Ever since my brother and I were little, we've been fascinated by those marks left over on you body from socks fitting to tight around the ankles. When were much younger, we'd even create the marks with things that might leave a cool imprint. It's weird. I know.

2) When my roommate's away for the night, I turn on the alarm, lock my bedroom door, and stuff the other side of my bed to look like another person. Actually, this could also be a bit OCD since I had my apartment broken into in college.

3) I tap the ends of my hair. Not twirl, tap. It makes a strange noise I associate with comfort. My mom tried to break me of the habit by slapping my hand. It didn't work.

And that is all folks.

Wednesday, August 30, 2006


About three weeks ago, I made APK watch Bring It On: All or Nothing. He felt noticeably emasculated, but also, a little turned on. I couldn't figure out where I knew Hayden Paniettiere from, so I went on IMDB to research. Ah, eldest daughter in Raising Helen. Woaaah. She was 17. I pointed that out to APK. His remark, "Thanks. Now, not only have I lost my dick, I also now know that I'm attracted to 17 year olds."

But anyways.

The movie's plot centered around a flaky, blonde, rich cheerleader who is forced to move to a primarily African-American high school. She joins their cheer squad. The movie was exactly how you might picture. But there was one quoteable line (you know, up there with the original's "Cheerocracy" line). "OMG, you talk in IM!"

LOL. BTW 2 FunE.

So here's my OMG comments on dating:

My single gal friends are experiencing major difficulties with completely (pardon my, unPC here) retarded dudes. What is it with men in DC? Do the constant painful sirens from the ambulances eventually make you dumb?

Sex on the third date.
If you believe your buddies that they regularly have sex on the third date, good for you. Keep amongst your buddies. Please don't announce that to a girl on date 2. Even if she was the type to do it, she will inadvertently opt to play hard to get with that piece of info. Also, don't hook up with anyone your buddy's banged. She's probably carrying an STD.

Breaking up on email is apparently hard to do.
It is never comfortable ending something. It is even harder ending something casual. It is totally cool to let something casual fizzle. You can just stop calling if you like or send an email stating some vague excuse... not over my ex, not into brunettes, changing careers and can't date. Just take some time to think about what to say if you choose to email. Opting for, "I'm going to be busy for the next couple of months" is way worse than just not calling again. WTF?

The great twin debate.
I don't know many men or women over the age of 20 who have a twin bed. I don't even remember how to hook up in a twin bed. Isn't that reserved for loosing your virginity in missionary? Apparently, my distaste of twin beds isn't justified. As a friend justified, he was in the army and away for 3 weeks then home for 2 and away again. He took the smaller room. I like that he's not into bringing girls. Uh huh. I'd take Marky Mark over the 40-year-old Virgin any day. But, I suppose, so long as there is a justified reasoning. I'd still probably be weary.

Secret Psycho Man.
I have come to the conclusion that the dating scene in DC is composed of men who weren't so attractive or cool in their teenage, possible college, years. The came to DC and either got better looks, more money, better clothing, or more power. Suddenly, they are picking up a higher quality of woman, and yet they have yet to discover social etiquette. One friend dated a guy recently who, upon looking at pictures from her recent family cruise, attacked her family for not visiting the state of Israel. All Jews should only vacation in Israel, apparently. My friend was also told that she assumes all Jews are upper class and reformed... according to a guy she'd known for a whole 5 minutes. She told him that they weren't a good match, obviously. A week later she heard from him. He wanted to know how she was. She told him she thought they were not talking. He couldn't remember what he said. "Good," I replied to this new information,"now he's moved from opinionated and unrefined to Psychotic."

Another friend met a boy who was totally into her. So into her that he asked her out on a date amongst intern season, which I'm told is big. She wasn't that into him, but she gave him a chance. She then wanted to just be friends. She now wants to strangle him. Among the many things that he has done to date: passed out in her roommates bed when he was staying with my friend, asked her, in public, if the Claritin she was offering to a friend was the Morning After Pill, emailed not-apologizing that this comment was completely valid since the MAP is now legal, and being upset that she doesn't want to invite him to things now. So now he's not just a drunken idiot. He's a Psycho.

Stalking Your Exs.
We all totally look up our exs on social networking sites. I mean, that's what they are for, right? It is something you can definitely admit to close friends, "My ex is a LOSER! Dude, he's still working in the same job and making no money and dating someone who's completely busted." It is something you can definitely admit to your mother, "OMG, Mom, you were so totally right about him. He is such a dirt bag beneath me." It is something you can admit to your dog, your coworker, the cashier at Safeway (if you must). It is not something you should ever admit to your NEW GIRLFRIEND. Ever. Even if you ex is connected to your new boyfriend via some random girl on Friendster and her profile is set to private so you don't know a thing about her. Just don't go there. Really.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

10 Reasons I am soooo over summer.

1) Getting soaked by rude people spraying their townhouse gardens with a hose. They always flash you a toothless smile after they drench your skirt.

2) Smelly people opting for Toms Natural deodorant. DC is a city full of diverse ethnicities, and I am willing to put up with body odor coming from a culture that does not permit covering it, or teach covering, or whatever. But the tree hugging DC crew smells. Baking soda may keep your freezer fresh and help your bread rise, but, dearness; it does not prevent sweating in 90 degree heat.

3) Cellulite coming at me from every viewpoint. Is every mirror in this city tilted at an angle like in the Club Monaco dressing room? Clothes are too small. Butts are hanging out everywhere. I am ready to transition back to the thong top popping out of jeans again. So much more civil, really.

4) Summer grooming is hideous. I am queasy from waiting hours for my pedicure at Q West, even though they have finally introduced a system where you sign in you name. It can get vicious when everyone has been waiting two hours, and they ask who is next. Frizzy hair would even be untamable for John Frieda in this humidity. Shaving every day adds ten minutes onto my morning prep time.

5) Mosquitoes on my legs, rats under cars, cock roaches on the street, and ants in the kitchen. I am not a bug or rodent person. I am over birds and crickets chirping. I want silence.

6) The pressure to maintain a tan is unfavorable. Having to get out of bed by 11am on the weekends to get good sunlight and keep that brown glow is just not fun.

7) There is always something going on during the summer, and I just want to stay in one night. Stay in and watch television and not feel like I am missing the party of the century. I want to cuddle up in a blanket and pajamas with a glass of red wine and play Scrabble. Dressing in heels and wandering the Georgetown waterfront bars has now gotten old.

8) I miss good television. I have been forced to watch Americas Got Talent instead of American Idol and reruns of Janice Dickinsons Modeling Agency instead of Americas Next Top Model. Lifetime has Reba and Still Standing on reruns now. I have been forced to watch those and look forward to the Simple Life.

9) Summer foods are not very good. Soup of the day is almost always gazpacho. I miss chicken noodle soup desperately. I have eaten so many veggie wraps that I might start hopping (or worse wearing Toms Natural deodorant). While in the summer, margaritas are delicious; the only food I am ever in the mood to eat at a Mexican restaurant is salad. I have now spent more than enough summer dawns hunched over a toilet. I think I would prefer my Baileys and coffee now.
10) I have not been to beach at all this summer, and I am feeling sad about that. I am a total Pool Whore in DC. I get around between the limited options for pooling. Sabrinas, APKs, the Marriotts. The pools in DC are miniscule. At the West Park, APK and Peter asked if I wanted to swim laps. I declined. A lap in that pool is pretty much just reaching your arms out.

So, yeah, I am sooooo over summer.

Cheatin' Heart

Cheating is not fun.

I have cheated twice. It was not thrilling or exciting. It was not like my romance novels. He did not take me passionately on the desk in my office. I did not even climax.

It is not like I am a huge promoter for fidelity. I believe that staying with one person is pretty simple. If you love someone, you won’t be looking elsewhere.

And FYI, I am happy with APK. I am not talking about this relationship.

I have cheated though. Twice. And it was never worth the guilt. I wish I was one of those people who could watch a horror movie and not think about it that night in bed. But I am not. I dwell. Cheating just is not for me.

I cheated on my boyfriend in college junior year. I was interning in NYC. He was working construction for his dad in his Massachusetts hometown. I would drive up on the weekends. But then my dad had a heart attack. I wanted to talk to him, but I could not. He didn’t know how to listen, and I did not know how to speak.

I lost 10 pounds. I cried too much. Then, one night, I went out salsa dancing with Ali and Jill. I got very drunk and called a guy I had hooked up with briefly sophomore year of college. He was two years older and had graduated and moved to the UWS. I had bumped into him earlier in the summer at Sutton Place (tells you how young I was).

I went to his apartment and spent the night. I felt really cheap.

The next day, I called my boyfriend and confessed all. He was an ex by the end of the phone call.

I said I would never cheat again.

But then I did. It takes me a bit longer than most people to learn a lesson, obviously.

I hooked up with an ex's best friend. I said I was staying at a friend’s place, went out, got drunk, and spent the night at his best friend’s place. His best friend wanted me. I didn’t want his best friend until I knew he wanted me. Then something felt dangerous. Danger felt exhilarating.

I thought he was Eric Clapton, and I was Layla.

So he pushed me up against a wall to kiss me. His touch felt weird. His kisses felt weird. It all felt weird. I stopped it around 2nd base and lay awake in bed all night feeling guilty.

I never said a word to my ex.

I pretended every time I saw his friend, like I would never felt him hard against me. I did not look him in the eye. I did not invite him places. I grew angry at him and closer to my ex.

I felt like crap.

I felt like crap.

I felt like crap.

Eventually, I walked away from both of them. One was forced, and one was intentional. They stayed in one another’s lives. I’m sure my ex will never find out.

But I cheated twice, and it just isn’t worth it. Not worth it to tell and not worth it to keep secret. Just not worth it.

I believe it is okay to entertain the idea. You can flirt and mingle with someone else. You can go out with them, hold hands with them, kiss them on your doorstep if you please. But the second you take it inside. The second you lay on top of them. The second you rub you body against theirs. The second you no what you are doing is wrong… that’s when you change for the worst. That’s when you stop trusting your partners in future relationships. You know how easy it is. You know how fast it happens. You know, and it sucks.

Monday, August 28, 2006

We've been drinking since 4:30pm.

As we pieced together Saturday night (minus a couple of brain cells) on Sunday, Suave and the Master and I could only remember the following bit of info:

Pictures were taken. Sam's camera? No, no, no the Master's camera. Okay. Pictures are on the Master's camera. Got it. What are the pictures of exactly?

Suave says, "Weren't Sam and I singing and kick dancing to One from a Chorus Line?" Damn. Before of after the Red Bull and Vodka?

My Mom checked the VISA card that both of our names appear on this morning. My cell rang at 8am. "You spent $59.00 on Mexican food at 5:30pm on Saturday?? And you wonder where your money is going." Shit! Shera had us meet at Lauriol Plaza for her birthday at 4pm on Saturday. We had margaritas and sangria. The total was $26 a person. Not a brain working in that place. They couldn't figure out that we wanted more water. Then our waitress forgot to add in the cash we gave her for the bill and put $58 on my card when it should have been $6. I don't know if she was brilliantly devious ("Hell, she's drunk at 5:30pm, she won't notice") or a complete moron. I had her reverse the charge, but the temporary authorization still appeared on the card.

Jess's brother had a rooftop party on posh Chinatown condo complex. I was just at a party on the same rooftop about three weeks ago. A different person's party. It's the place to be.

There were two parties on opposite sides of the roof. I know ours was preppy and young. Really young. At one point, I do believe I introduced the Master and Suave to two cute boys in striped polos with popped collars only to find out they were my baby brothers age.

We are still unclear about why we walked to the other party. The music was calling us, I suppose. We were dancing. I don't know how we decided on dancing either. We were the only Caucasians at the party. Not only that, the party was gorgeous. The entire party. The women were all in stilettos and hot shorts or bodice dresses with the Beyonce-style curves. I was in a cotton shirt, flip flops, and a tank. The women were really nice to us, but I assume they didn't see us as much of a threat.

The host invited us to stick around and get some drinks. She was a stunning Asian woman about 20-feet tall with the most sultry skin and hair I've ever seen. She was dressed in a satin, fitted, leopard print dress. I'm surprised she saw us seeing as we came up to her waist. But she was so polite and nice. She really didn't have to be. She was honestly that attractive.

"Wait, weren't we told we had a Brother Contingency!" I said as the Master hushed us all to watch Wentworth Miller deliver the nominees for some Emmy category.

"Yes! And do you remember talking to a guy in a t-shirt with two unicorns humping?" I asked.

"No. What are you talking about?"
"I don't know. He was hitting on one of the boys, I think."
"Well, it's either APK or Ralph. They give off the biggest gay vibe."
"Nah. I know it wasn't APK. Maybe Ralph."

I remembered last night it was one of the Lost Boys. He was wearing a t-shirt that said I Love Party Girls. Gay dudes out there- Good HINT he's not that into you.

"Wait, didn't he get shunned by some of the chicks at the dance party for wearing that shirt?"

"Yeah, and someone's got a picture of him grinding with someone else. Shit. Who's camera did we use?"

"He also said he kissed your boob!" Suave informed her friend last night. "You didn't tell me he kissed your boob!"

"How did this come up in conversation exactly?" her friend responded.

"I don't really remember. I was in a cab with Peter, Ralph, and the Lost Boys. We'd been drinking since 4:30pm." Suave was forced to answer.

That's how we answered all questions from the evening. "Such a great night, but I don't remember much. We'd been drinking since 4:30pm."

I'm Guest Blogging

I'm guest blogging today on a High Class Jackass. Enjoy.

Sunday, August 27, 2006

I Got a New Attitude...

This oh so fabulous new design was created by the wonderfully talented graphic designer Luis Aguilar. You can check him out at

The template design was created by Dan Rubin at

Friday, August 25, 2006


I'm sleepy.

Last night, Peter, Missdy, Taffy and I went to the University Club for a happy hour on their roof. Pretty University Club. It was built by President Taft in 1904. Taft is following us everywhere now. Fatty Taft.

The history about the club- it was the residence of President Kennedy before he married Jackie and moved to Georgetown. It also housed the CIA for many years as they used listening devices to hear the goings on at the Russian Embassy next door.

The University Club is one of those private clubs where every room is named after someone. The Keefer Memorial Library, the Benjamin Franklin Room, or the Pershing Grille. Of course, Taft will have his legacy kept near the food in the Taft Dining Room.

Our happy hour was on the roof. I felt a bit like a barn animal. Trapped within the confines of a brown plywood railing...

But the drinks were so cheap. Drinks for Peter, Missdy and I were a total of $10.

I was drunk.

Peter, Taffy, and I went to the Daily Grill afterwards.


Whoes, Hobos, and Herbert Hoover-

Taffy: We have to come up with the theme of our next party. Should we follow along with the dead obscure Presidents theme?
Me: Yeah, like a Garfield party.
Taffy: Or should we go do something crazy different. Like Star Wars.
Me: Throw a Watergate party. Play the movie Nixon. Remove parts of songs. Leave binoculars everywhere.
Taffy: That could work. Although, we should probably stick to obscure Presidents instead if that's the way we're going.
Me: Ooooh a Herbert Hoover Depression party.
Taffy: I love that! People could come dressed as hobos.
Me: Ooooh, a Whoes, Hobos, and Herbert Hoover Great Depression-themed party. You could give out food stamps at the door. Cut up bread and have dipping sauces to go along with it.
Peter: What are you laughing about?
Taffy: What do you think about a Great Depression-themed party?
Peter: I love it! How about you put XXX on all the alcohol bottle labels. Serve Moonshine?
Taffy: How funny. I think it just might work.

Prostate G-Spot:
Me: So the idea of getting it up the butt doesn't excite you.
Peter: No.
Taffy: No.
Me: Why would it excite someone? I mean, if you're getting it up the butt with a reach around, honestly, aren't you just getting a hand job?
Taffy: Apparently, the male G-Spot is located in the Prostate.
Peter: Yeah, that's what men who have gotten it up the butt say.
Taffy: So, if I were to want it up the butt, and I got it up the butt, which I don't want, I guess having a reach around would be like a double whammy.
Me: Yuck
Peter: But I wouldn't want it up the butt.
Taffy: Yeah, we're just saying, apparently it feels good.

Confession by Peter to Taffy that he once dated the girl Taffy just asked out:

Peter: Man, I went out with Rain a couple times. I didn't know if you knew that, but I wanted to tell you.
Taffy: I knew that, but thank for telling me.
Peter: Yeah, she asked me out so we went out a couple of times. I wasn't that into her.
Taffy: Yeah, I was into her, but she wasn't into me. No worries.
Me: Who's Rain?
Peter: She's this 32-year old. She got out of high school and was in the X Games for 8 years. Then she went back to college. She's now working to save money for medical school.
Me: And how do you know her.
Peter: She plays kickball with us.
Me: Regressed adolescence?
Taffy: No, she's really cool.
Me: I'm sure. She sounds it. But still.

I'm tired. Tonight Missdy is hosting Shabbat Cluster. Should be fun.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Don't bother.

Walking home from yoga Tuesday night, a man slowed down in his piece-of-crap car beside Kate and I. "You're two beautiful ladies." We didn't say anything back. "You're two hot ladies." Nothing. We walked a bit faster. Silently. He drove off.

"Yeah, thanks. Now we'll give you head." Kate laughed.

On my way to work yesterday, I walked by a strike. Triton Construction, I believe. A large rat was blown up and looking grotesque. I keep forgetting to research that. What's the rat for exactly? Lots of yelling. I walked on the other side of the street. "Lookin' good, baby," a deep male voice yelled. "Want to give me your number?"

Yeah, thanks. Why don't you stop that picketing and come over here so I can give you head.

I left work last night and waited at a light to walk across Mass Ave. A man's face popped throughout the window of a Cadillac to my left. "Mmmmm Mmmmm. What's your name?" I crossed to the other side of the road. "Oooh, a feisty one," he yelled.

Thanks. I'm Sam. Can I give you head?

It's like the dent in the side of my car that I got from trying to park in my alley way spot. In the parking lot of the Arlington Target in June, a crappy man in an even crappier car yelled out to me. "I do auto body. Want an estimate?"

Goodness. What do these people think? Are they really that clueless?

It happened last week in the Whole Foods parking lot. Another guy pull up to me, "Hey." I didn't respond. "Hey." "Hey." "Excccccccccuse me." "Hey."

"YES! " I finally answered.

"I can fix that dent. Want an estimate?"


"You don't even want to hear my estimate?"


I got in my car and went to back out. He kept his car right behind mine. For like 10 minutes. I finally got out of my car and began walking to security. He moved.

Now I'm definitely going to want you to fix my car!

Here's a quick clue to creeps everywhere: don't bother. If you wouldn't meet me out or I wouldn't come into your store/ auto shop, don't try. Seek help.

Please Pardon My Appearance-

I'm currently pulling my hair out. I wish I'd taken Comp Sci a bit more seriously. I have no clue what to do at this point, but I'm working on making this blog more visually interesting. Aaaak. If anyone knows a web designer who'd help me out for under $50, let me know.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Fruity Cheerios

Fruity Cheerios taste exactly like Fruit Loops. I still feel better about eating Cheerios. I guess the ad campaign has worked on me... the one where the kid puts Cheerios in his dad's blazer pockets so his dad's heart stays healthy. Fruit Loops remind me of Tucan Sam and sugar and obesity.

APK made me watch Dateline's investigation of the lawsuits against food manufacturers by people who are fat. I don't know where I stand. On the one hand, I've not eaten at McDonald's since Super Size Me. On the other hand, I don't know that I blame obesity on McDonald's alone. I don't know that I believe you can be addicted to food. Scientists are studying this crap too... like we don't still need a cure for AIDS or Ebola. So what, you're addicted to food, does it matter if science has proved it?

I firmly believe DC is a city of 20-somethings who don't want to work. I know that residents of DC like to describe the crowd as really smart and out to save the world... but all I'm seeing, thus far, are a bunch of people who get out of their top colleges, bounce around from job to job for 3 years, and then go back to school for 3 more years to get a degree that they didn't really need anyways.

I'm in Marketing. My employers could care less if I come in with 12 degrees. I need experience and a portfolio to get a job. My acquaintance from college, 4 years older than me, left his job, not in Marketing, in New York to go to Scotland and get an MBA. I believe he's now been living at home in Virginia for 2 years looking for a Marketing job. I guess, honestly, I don't fully understand fields outside of Marketing, PR, Publicity, and Advertising. Maybe you do need certain degrees for advancement. In my world, if you want an MBA, you best get it part-time. No employer will hire someone out of MBA school for the price of an MBA graduate without the experience for the money. Unless you went to Harvard. Or you're seriously connected.

I've met about 25 assistants in DC who tell me they have a graduate degree before they tell me what they do for a living. Or they tell me where they live.

The names of the buildings in DC are hysterically pretentious. A shack in the middle of Northeast would still be named "The Rockefeller." Some of my favorites-

"The Camden Roosevelt"
"The Hamilton House"
"The West Park"
"The Dupont Executive"
"The Alexandra"
"South Cathedral Mansions"
"The Imperial House"
"The Latrobe"
"The Andover House"
"Westbrooke Place"
"The Lansburgh"

I love when people ask you the name of your building. I think they just want to say the name of their building. In New York, my best friend lived in one of the most gorgeous buildings with rentable apartments. It was called simply by it's address. No fancy name needed. It's like everyone in this city wants to pad themselves with fancy titles and buildings and activities rather than getting to work on developing a personality or a resume.

I'm not bitter, if it sounds like that, it's just something I find rather humorous. I live in an adorable late 19th-century townhouse. I have a back patio, central location to Dupont and Foggy Bottom, washer/dryer, parking, and a fantastic British roommate. I think maybe we should name the place something really pretentious. We can call it "The Kissimytoosh."

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

I got bored of my template. Though this one still ain't so great, it's gettin' there. I gotta lot of reading up to do on how to make this pretty. I promise, it'll look better soon.

Smart Advertising

In case you didn't see it, because frankly why would anyone look that closely at a truck, Peapod for Giant's trucks have a promo deal. Enter "TRUCK" into your first order from groceries, and you'll $15 in free groceries. With a $5.95 delivery fee, you'll still get about $9.00 off your order.

Treasure Hunters

Suave plans conferences for a living, so she's often given fun event invites by hotels and tourism boards that want to attract her group for meetings. Atlantic City offered up 1 night at a hotel and the Madonna concert. A hotel chain here in DC offered 2 tickets to the Treasure Hunters season finale last night held at the National Building Museum. I think Atlantic City's got a better notion of how to impress, but that's fine, being part of the live studio audience for an NBC show was an entertaining way to spend a Monday night.

Neither of us had seen Treasure Hunters. It's not really my type of show... with teams running around on a dramatic scanvenger hunt. As far as Reality TV goes, I like the Bachelor, America's Next Top Model, American Idol, and The Look for Less. I've seen one season of Survivor and that was a past season on DVD after Elizabeth Hasselback started on The Look for Less.

But anyways.

The National Building Museum is gorgeous. Truly stunning. My roommate informed me that it's the location of the Corporate Executive Board "prom" every year. It looks like a great place for a prom.

I sat next to a bright, blonde mommy with her three snub nosed daughters in front of us. NBC replayed the show's last episode from 8pm until 9pm. The woman seated next to me leaned over to Suave, "What company are you with?" "The hotels." "Oh, what hotels did you own that were on the show?" "No, I plan conferences, so I'm a client of the hotels." "Do you own the Waldorf Astoria?" "No, I don't work for the hotel at all." "Oh, have you seen the show?" "No." "Oh, okay." She turned away.

A man in acid wash Levi's and a flannel with a microphone walked up the stairs. He waved to the woman and her daughters.

Damn. She's probably the wife of this dude and now he's losing his job because no one's watching the show.

It sucks that I worked in finance at a TV show for 2 years. I know how much these people make. Jib Operator- around $600 a day, two days a week. Associate Producer- $250 a day. Producer- $250-$400 a day. Production Assistant- $150 a day. No health benefits, usually. Anyways.

I then felt the need to comment. "So, who are the girls voting for?" "No one votes on the show." Damnit. "Okay, who are the routing for?" "Oh, we'd not watched the show ourselves. My cousin is a Writer/ Producer on it and lives in LA. We live here. He sent us the DVDs to watch so we could come see him. They were for the Miss USA girls until they got kicked off, but they think Air Force will win." This show's got pageant girls and military all in one?

Suave asked the woman on her other side if she'd seen the show. "Once."

I giggled and whispered to Suave, "I thought it was a rip off of Amazing Race." The mommy heard me. "They're all similar," she said through her frown. Ooops.

So the show was pretty good. In the one episode we saw, I actually formed a favorite. The team I liked won, by the way, the Geniuses. Not that you were watching the show. I don't think anyone was watching the show. Not even the Writer's cousin. The final key to the treasure was hidden in a tube that required a 5 letter word to open it. The teams were there for 10 hours trying to figure it out. It wasn't even something cool. It was something stupid, frankly. FS Key (Francis Scott Key). Blah. I wanted it to be PEACE or something better.

After the finale finished showing, the show was live from the museum. It's been 5 months since they finished taping. The chick from the Air Force team was very pregnant (if you can't win, get knocked up, I guess). The treasure was in gold pieces at the end of taping. No one knew how much the treasure was worth. I guess $500,000. Suave guessed $1 million. Oh, no, $3 million! I think that's one of the largest jackpots I've seen on TV. Too bad no one is watching the show.

Monday, August 21, 2006


I went to the OB/GYN a month ago for my annual exam. In the last 6 months during all this kidney drama, doctors have drawn more of my blood than I'm sure was necessary. I doubt that I'm the carrier of any horrid sexually transmitted disease. But, all the same, a girl can never be too careful.

Back in college, our health center scared the crap out of me.

I went in for an annual check-up. They asked if they could test for HIV and AIDS. I said yes. Who doesn't say yes?

About a week later, I got a call that I should go to the clinic to meet with my Doctor about my results. I sat down a wrote a list (not-so-long, thank you very much) of everyone I'd ever done absolutely anything with… even kissing… I still had the Southern accent ya'll, just a tad naïve.

I waited for an hour to see someone. The nurse walked me back and sat me down in an office. I then waited for about 15 minutes. The Doc was a pretty woman in her mid-30s with those metabolism-slowing-down hips that come after child birth. Why do I remember this? Because it was complete hell. Complete hell. I hated that big hipped Doctor. Still do.

She looked at me, smiled, and then asked if I was Sam. Yes, I was Sam.

Then, she launched into a thirty minute preach about AIDS and safe sex and how many people have it that are my age and how one bad choice can take my young life away and that there are no immediate symptoms of AIDS in most cases and how living with AIDS isn't as hard as it seems and how medicine is getting better.

Okay, I thought to myself through tears, I have AIDS. Now, looking back, I'd know I didn't have AIDS. It was nearly impossible, though not completely- but I'll leave that to your imaginations. Regardless, I was 18. I had streaks of makeup down my cheeks.

I asked what I did now. She said she wasn't done.

I am still haunted by this part.

"Many students don't realize how the health services center on campus can help them practice safe sex. We can provide you with condoms. Many places can. You don't need to ever have sex without one. Do you use condoms when having sex, Sam?"

Remember, I went to Episcopalian private school for my entire life. My mother lectured on abstinence in the public schools. Sex and the City were not yet on the air. This was dirty talk to me.

"Uh, yeah. But I don't have sex that much. I don't know how I got AIDS."

I was crying hysterically.

"Oh, you don't have AIDS. Your test results were negative."

It was one of the worst days ever. Horrible. I think they were trying to scare students into safe sex. I guess. Honestly, it just scared me out of getting a test there the next year. I went to my OB/GYN in Bama instead. I did snag a couple free condoms though, while she was offering and all.

I've been tested every year since I was 16. Even before I was having sex. Just for practice, I guess. Usually the lab just calls and says that you're results were all negative. My new OB/ GYN in DC asked me if I wanted to be tested this year for AIDS, HIV, Chlamydia, and Gonorrhea… oh, and Syphilis, which according to my Doc, is making a come back. I giggled when she said that an STD was "making a come back", she giggled too when I explained that I was picturing Syphilis as Cher.

You hear within the week from your Doc if you've got something. I didn't hear from the Doc. Then, ordinarily, you hear within two weeks from the lab if you don't have anything. I didn't hear anything from the lab.

The clinic here does something really strange; they send you a letter from your Doc saying that you've got no diseases. I guess so you can show it to your partner. And, when you get the letter, you feel like your 12 and it's a report card with all A's. I showed it to APK… "Look, I'm disease free." I wonder if the Urology clinic does that too? Tehe, I can see the commercial for Trojan now-

Man: I'll show you mine {Naked, holding a piece of paper over his you-know-what] if you show me yours.

Narrator: Trojan. Tough enough to protect you against anything.

Babel Fish

Wow. Babel Fish let's you translate any website into another language. So cool. Didn't know that.

A French line from my blog:

Garsons De Garsons De Garsons.

A German line from the American Idol website:

Ist Hier, Was Neues Online Sein!

And in other Sam news:

Best line this weekend from APK regarding Suave's assetts, "Suave, if you were a man, those would be equivalent to a 10-inch dick."

Boys Boys Boys.

Suave and I attended the Embassy of Australia’s luau happy hour on Friday evening. Accents all around make for a much more attractive crowd. A tall boy with a baby face and a medium build was standing in a circle near ours. I asked Suave’s roommate, the person who invited us to the happy hour, who he was and whether or not he was Australian. He was Canadian. I lost interest in talking to him. What’s the point in talking to a Canadian accent at an Australian happy hour?

APK came over for dinner around 8pm. There was little that I miss about Jerk’s family other than his nieces, but I do favor the way they dined. Italian. They’d take hours and serve several courses… make a meal into an evening. If I’d been able to deal with their pretentious, opinionated bullshit conversations, I might have enjoyed this a bit more. But, I wanted to try it out. First course served at 8pm- prosciutto and basil wrapped in mozzarella and ciabatta bread. Caesar salad for second course at 8:30pm. Gnocchi in vodka sauce at 10pm. Then turtle cookies with pecans, caramel, and chocolate chips. APK was asleep on the couch before the cookies. Jews vs. Italians, I suppose.

Saturday, Grants Boy and I headed to the Woodley Park Marriott pool. If you live in Woodley Park, you can go to the pool for $5 a person per day. Peter alerted me to this fact. We lied and said we lived in his building… technically, in his exact apartment. He was at the beach anyways.

The pool was packed full of chairs and trees and children. Not much sunlight or quiet. I found the loud children cuter than usual. Very cute. Then I freaked and decided I must be pregnant, because I wasn’t nearly annoyed enough. Luckily, on the way to meet GB at Sonoma off Capital South metro, a crying baby gave me a horrible head ache. Not that I like that I’m a bit impatient with children, but I’d worry if it suddenly lifted without my being in a serious relationship that made me think about having children of my own. Definitely not pregnant.

Sonoma’s got wine on tap. I guess it’s artistic. Although, I don’t like the idea of wine being put in the same vantage point as beer in most bars. My $8 glass of recommended wine wasn’t very good. Next up, $15 glasses of wine served out of a winerator.

We got dinner and drinks at Capital Lounge afterwards. Very laid back. Not at all what I assumed Capital Hill was like. I guess I agree with my roommate. I don’t much care for the “Who do you work for?” question. I don’t like the name dropping, coiffed hair, seven gazillion degrees for a $35,000-a-year job types… so I’ve avoided the Hill. On the weekends though, it is very laid back and fun. Low key. Not that I talked to anyone besides a group of people I already knew, but still.

Suave was at Gazuza so we met her there. Her male friend bonded with APK and GB. Bonded and bonded. They all like techno music, dream of learning to scratch albums on turn tables, grew up in or around Philly, and watch soccer religiously. The night was made for their bonding. They exchanged cards at the end of the night. Very cute. Boys boys boys. They bond so differently than girls.
I just finished watching The Fantasia Barrino Story on Lifetime. Had I known all that, I might have voted for that finale. I’ve been an avid watcher and voter every season except that one. They should have played up her back story more. Not that it mattered. 65 million votes anyways, and she won regardless. Just saying, for me. And what’s with Dwayne Wayne playing her father? Not the part I want to see him in. He’s more the handsome leading man type.

Okay, off to bed.

Friday, August 18, 2006

Pre-weekend thoughts

I've spent the last day and half sending people Site Pals via email. Mostly, I've used the text-to-speech function to create their perfect woman or man. For Ralph, who notoriously favors dating Asian women, I created a gorgeous Asian woman infront of the White House who told him she loved kickball, the Red Sox, and drinking beer. At the end, she asked if he wanted to go watch porn. Suave's asked if they could make plans for 4 months from now, because he's not scared of committment. The Master's promised to kill cock roaches and never cancel plans. It's been fun for me. I'm a dork like that.

Suave, Pea, and I went to the Grill at the Ritz for a Restaurant Week lunch. Limited selections, but good ones. I was surprised the restaurant wasn't fancier. It looked like a hotel restaurant. I don't know what I was expecting, exactly, but something more Trump Tower-like I suppose. Not that I like Trump Tower.... but I suppose more gold metallics and marble.

Lunch brought up an important evolution question. What came first, the terms Puttin' on the Ritz and Ritzzy or the Ritz Hotel? We asked the Concierge. He said the hotel. We then admired the Chihuly glass art on the wall and tossed real hand clothes in the bathroom into a bin. I would have stayed there all day, but we needed to get our nails done.

Not that I don't like Q West for my nails, but it's a bit of shlep from me and there's almost always a wait. The only thing in DC that's cheaper in NYC is a manicure/pedicure. And, where in NYC there's a place on every corner, in DC they are scarce. I wandered by the Advisory Board building on M Street thinking that there must be a place around the seven gazillion 20-somethings who work there. Nothing. I wandered into Salon Tara, but they wanted $45 for a pedicure. I know I've seen them throughout the city. Unfortunately, they all have the same silly name. VIP Nails or Pretty Nails or Glamour Nails. It's like the imigrants who start them think that we'll only come in if the name indicates American's superficial natures. I couldn't find one so my toes are ugly at the moment.

I'm going to meet Suave at the Australian Embassy in a bit for a happy hour. I was complaining that I've not been to one yet. I'm told it's not that great, but come on, this is DC. I have to go!

Thursday, August 17, 2006


Let’s talk about proper manners in dating.

I understand the thrill of the chase, ladies and dudes, but just so we are clear, it is not acceptable to do any of the following things. It’s just not polite. I hate that we’ve become a society of declared assholes and bitches when, the truth is, the following are just improper manners. They don't make you more wanted or more cool. They make you rude. Remember Scouts 101: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

-Don’t give your number to someone you don’t want to call you.
-If you do give your number to someone, answer or return the call. If you don’t want to go out on a date with them, at least have respect enough to say so.
-Don’t ask for an Email address. Have the courage to actually call.
-Know that the person calling has put themselves on the line to call you. Treat them with patience if they get nervous.
-Don’t plan something and cancel last minute unless you really need to cancel. --
-Don’t hang all over someone in front of their Ex.
-The person who asks for the date should expect to pay on the first date.
- Don’t expect to kiss on the first date.
- Men, do walk the lady home even if you don’t want to see her again. Do you want her getting mugged on your clock?
- Do follow-up with a call within 3 days if you want to see them again.
- If you made a mistake and ditched someone you shouldn’t have ditched, it is not fair to announce to them that you can’t stand to see them with someone else. You have no right to do so, and it’s just tacky. Either date them or don’t.
- If you don’t see long term future with the person you are dating, don’t talk about your long term future around them. Why instigate?

Lately, my single friends have experienced people whose manners are so pathetic they aren’t suitable for life in general, much less dating.

One attractive guy friend went to a party. He hung out with a girl who he’d met several times through shared friends. After dancing all night, she offered her phone number to him. Knowing he couldn’t do anything for 10 days in the future (busy socialite), he respected her enough to call anyways in less than 3 days and ask her in advance for the following weekend. She didn’t call back. He was worried about the message. Honestly, if she liked him, that wouldn’t really matter. But, even if she didn’t like him, she should have had enough class to call him back. It’s just rude. Now, he’ll see her out and, if she ever likes one of his friends, he'll say she’s got poor manners.

The Master met a guy who was in the same fraternity as APK at college. She met him through other mutual friends. I know him. I've always thought highly of him. Cute. Smart. Nice. They hit it off magically. They spent the first night they chatted looking deeply in one another’s eyes. He saw her 2 or 3 times afterwards. Each time was excellent. She didn’t call him. She didn’t email him. He pursued her. He made the dates. And then, he started to make them and cancel them last minute. No excuses. Two times. Three times. She forwarded me an email with only “WTF?” written. The only proper way to cancel a date is to explain in detail why you are canceling and then suggest another time and day to meet. Don’t expect that any person with any bit of manners will go out with you again otherwise. AND if you cancel one date, you need to redeem yourself the next time.

There’s also something to say about giving and taking. It is expected that if someone consistently invites you to do things, you should invite them to do things too. It is unacceptable to expect someone to continue to include you if you don’t include them. My mom taught me this in grade school If I was invited to someone’s birthday party even if I hated that person, I had to invite them to mine. My mom also wouldn’t let me do anything fun until I finished writing thank you notes. It is impolite to leave people out who include you. No one is that important. Eventually, you will be forgotten.

People always say I’m so generous. I’m not really. I just treat the people I care about as I would want them to treat me. And, I have manners. I grew up saying “Yes Ma’am” and No Sir.” Manners are important in dating, because they will follow you throughout the relationship. No one is taking you out for a fancy birthday dinner if you didn’t even offer to bring anything to their house when they hosted you for dinner. No one will ever call to check on how your doctor’s appointment went that day if you didn’t return their call until 5 days later. Manners = Karma.

Powered by Blogger