I went to bed Friday night and awoke Saturday evening at Delta Chi circa 1999.

Oh what a night! Late April back in 2007...

Saturday night was insane. Absolutely insane.

I met Franky and CE at the Metro Center stop to cab over to JB's popped-collar and tennis skirt party in NE Capitol Hill. We brought with us a bottle of raspberry vodka which went perfectly down the ice luge. JB held a funnel from the second floor window for people outside on the porch to drink a beer. Hunch Punch was served out of a large plastic tub lined with a black garbage bag. And, basically, we got drunk in just under an hour.

We got a cab fairly easily on H & 12th NE, which I was worried about severely. Apparently though, there is a shuttle provided by several of the new bars called the Atlas Shuttle which runs from 10:30pm until 2:30am from H St. to Union Station for free. I was dreading the long commute to EP's Mardi Debauchery Party on 8th Street SE if there were no cabs, but, after considering the options, I was willing to take the commute over skipping the ice luge to drive my car around DC.

We got to EP's around 11:15pm and were met at the door with mounds of beads and District Belle. Then Peter, Ralph, Taffy, and others met us for some dancing and beer. The rest of the night was a bit of a blur but involved a pinata breaking while I was in the bathroom and a disagreement arising from whether or not we should leave Bon Jovi playing on the radio. Of course, there were also pictures of us doing silly and seductive things with the beads. What else!

And then we left around 2:30am and cabbed home where I spent the whole night and almost all of yesterday laughing at pictures I took and making comments on friends' MySpace and Facebook profiles about our non-stop fraternity rush party tour of DC. Woohoo. Rigmas Together Forever!

I have one thing to say- sashe Shante.

Ugh-

Trying to be responsible in DC while partying is frustrating as Hell.

Two of my parties tonight are in NE and SE. You'd think there'd be a simpler way to go to either. Um, not so much. Apparently, there's a high chance we could be stranded in NE if we don't drive. I want to drink. This is freakin' irritating.

What to do about "The Spot?"

The age gap continues. I am so not 21 anymore.

If you'll recall, my next door neighbors are in college and like to party. Unfortunately, the police are too busy most nights to deal with a noise complaint (thank heavens, honestly). The main problem remains that they don't actually give citations for noise complaints. Thus, breaking up the party is hard to do.

More problematic for the 4 mid-20s professional girls who live in the two apartments in my townhouse, we have no way to control the situation. I love my apartment, but this is getting to a point where I might have to move. My landlord is considering suing the owners who moved out of the country, had these kids sign a two year lease, and have not responded to my landlords complaints about them.

What is a property owner supposed to do in DC to ensure that their purchase is secure? It seems like DC isn't particularly concerned with monitoring this type of behavior. One would think that a purchase in Virginia might be more worthwhile. Taxes are lower anyways.

Here's the most recent update in email form:

I received your message from some colleagues of mine here at GW about some recent disturbances that have been taking place. Naturally, I wish we were hearing from you under other circumstances, but hopefully we can address your concerns to the best of our ability. At your convenience, I was hoping to be able to speak with you so that I can get a better understanding of the nature of the problems at hand,frequency, details, etc. I can be reached at...

I will look forward to hearing from you.

Sincerely,
Director, Office of Off-Campus Student Affairs
Director, Center for Alcohol & other Drug Education
The George Washington University

From my landlord back:

When we last spoke in mid-February you were planning to speak to my neighbors about their loud late-night activities. Did this meeting take place? I've recently learned from my tenants that, although things are calmer on the weekdays, they are still loud late into the night on weekends. It seems that every other weekend, they are hosting parties that only quiet down with police intervention. Perhaps you could have another word with them? There were four students living there last year. Two moved out for Junior year abroad. The current residents are...

Thank you. This will be very helpful.

From GW Director back:

Thank you very much for your email. While I cannot give you specifics about any student or any student meetings due to federal student privacy laws, you can rest assured that we follow our protocol which is that if we receive reports through our Community Concern Policy, we follow-up with every single student in some way, whether that be a judicial case or face to face warning meeting. If you would, I have a favor to ask. Please encourage anyone who has complaint about a specific property to contact the GW Community Concern Hotline at (202) 994-6110. It is essential for our follow-up purposes that we have a report to work from, and furthermore, local residents should also utilize the Metropolitan Police Department as we are able to work with them as well based on the reports they take and citations they write. Thank you for keeping me informed on the occurrences taking place. We will continue to address all situations that we receive reports on.

My landord back:

As it turns out, this situation is much worse than I had been led to believe. I am concerned that these students' behavior are going to jeopardize my ability to continue to place tenants in my apartments.

I will also advise my tenants to call your hotline in the future, but I trust that the details below will give you enough to work with. It is clear to me that the police have other priorities to deal with and cannot be expected to respond to every student nuisance complaint. I did file a"Special Attention Request" with the police about the location, but they made clear to me that they had more pressing issues to deal with.

Also,when my tenants have called the police with noise complaints, the police have consistently refused to file a police report or citation. Here are the notes that I received after letting my tenants know that I had contacted you again:

"Thanks. About three weeks ago, I had to go over there at 11:30 on a Monday night in my PJ's because I couldn't sleep and my wall is next to theirs. They did turn the music down (and stopped jumping down the stairs or whatever it is they were also doing). I forgot to tell you that."

and [my issues]

"Yeah, last week they woke me up 4 times. I yelled at them all 4 times.They didn't quiet down. The first was on a Tuesday. People were on the steps at 2am talking as loud as they possibly could. I came outside and yelled at them that it was a Tuesday and people pay high rent in the area,blah blah blah. I heard them laughing and then finally after about 30 minutes, they went inside. Then on Thursday, I was woken up at 3am b/c they were playing lacrosse in the streets. They apologized and quieted down enough for me to fall back asleep. On Friday night, they had a party. I called the police who couldn't come. Then, they all ended up on the stoops again. I came outside and told them that the police were on there way and they needed to be quiet. That we were calling GW. That we were hosting a charity even the next night at it was 1:30am. They didn't shut up. In fact,they got louder. Finally, at 2:00am I went back out and said "I don't even know what to do anymore. Can't you just go on the roof or to a bar?" They said they were going out to a Georgetown bar in the next couple minutes. It took them 30 minutes of loudness where I called the police several more times. Finally they left. It's getting to a point where I don't actually know that we can live in the apartment. It would definitely be worth looking into how to resolve the problem."

From my landlord to The Spot's landlords:

At this point, I believe that eviction is appropriate.

From my landlord to us:

Please note the hotline number provided by the GW official below. Please encourage anyone who has complaint about a specific property to contact the GW Community Concern Hotline at (202) 994-6110. Please also continue to call the police and send me an email. Documentation will help if I have to file a law suit. I am also engaging with a DC City Council representative.

From my upstairs neighbor to my landlord last night:

It's a little after 12, and I went over to ask the neighbors to lower their music and voices. They have a small, but very loud group of guests. I reminded them that this time of year, people leave their windows open at night. They said that'd close theirs. Just an update. Thanks again for all your help regarding this issue.

From my roommate to my landlord this morning:

Hi. I also called the GW community concern hotline last night about the noise per your recommendation. I left my name so they should have a record of it. However, I'll be honest, I wasn't particularly impressed by the person I spoke with - they seemed disorganized and didn't take the students' names though I tried to give them.

My friends totally bought me a man last night.

Team Cuttler's Date Auction was last night at Play Lounge. As a thank you gift from the Pea, the Master, and Suave for A Night of Mystique, my friends decided to donate to the campaign. So, they purchased me a man.

The bachelors and bachelorettes wore pink and blue bandanas. The happy hour was like shopping. I loved it! I had chosen this bio in advance:

Yet another Seattleite, this brown-eyed boy is studying Bioterrorism at Georgetown University. (P.S. He already has an MBA under his belt at the ripe age of 24.) A former NCAA football player, this Item also enjoys skiing and the great outdoors. His other passion? Drinking a nice pint or two. Now he only needs someone to share it with.

The awkward part, of course, was that someone I dated before was also in the auction. But, all is well between us, and I'm glad we can be friends and have a good time together now.

So, wandering around the room before the auction, I talked to Bioterrorism guy plenty. His friend asked me if we were each other's backup plans. I was flattered to think he thought I must be in the auction, of course. The interesting part was, I probably would have been into the guy.

Me to BG: I like Bioterrorism.
BG: What? Why?
Me to BG: Oh, no, I don't like actual bioterrorism. OMG! The guy in the auction. That's who I was talking about.
Noah later commenting on the conversation: I like bioterrorism and second to that, I'm a fan of famine.

The bidding started around 8pm. The Pea and the Master held a bidding war (using the same money) for Bioterrorism guy to get things started. We won him and $50 to the Carlyle. I told him I hoped he didn't care if I took my friends instead. I'd never go to a fancy dinner on a first date anyways! I'm a Bama girl. I like things lower key.

JK went for $375, because she's super hot. AM was bidding on her and convinced Brian Egan, the announcer, to throw in tickets to Faith Hill and Tim McGraw if he went up to $350. He still lost. JK's too hot.

After the auction, I headed over to Cafe Citron with Bioterrorism guy, his friend, Peter's hot friend who was in the auction too, Kix, and others. We danced until around midnight when my friend showed up. I think Bioterrorism was thrown off a bit. I was dancing with Kix, then dancing with my friend, and, though interested in him, not about to go home with a guy my friends bought for me. Well not yet at least.

Though, the big question remains, if I do hook up with him, did my friends buy me sex? Because, well, that's just weird even if it was for the Leukemia & Lymphoma society.

Ah, the dilemnas.

Pictures below:

That's Bioterrorism guy up for bidding. How hot is he! I love my friends.

This picture is for Peter. He thinks LG is the hottest girl ever. I thought I'd give him something for his bedside table as a consolation prize for missing a fun night out!

Here we are at the auction after the bidding had stopped. Hot, right?

We couldn't hate them because they were beautiful.

Though completely not into us.




Last night, Team Cuttler Plays the Field took on the pink team. The hottest guys in kickball hands down. Groomed, tan, and toned hotties. Completely gay. Damn the man.



I met the Master in Dupont and headed over to the field in shorts. Even in athletic shorts, I still look like a Soccer Mom. I'm just more the type to bring cupcakes and Kool-aid on I guess.



We lost by 1 point to the guys. I blame it on prohibitted alcohol in coffee cups (thanks to the Master on that one) and being blinded by the sun's glare bouncing off the thighs of the pink guys. Earlier, one of the changed into his tight black shorts right on the field. He was wearing pink briefs. I think we should have a "Men of the Pink Team WAKA Adams Morgan" calendar. That'd be hot.



We headed to the bar after a pit stop at Eye's for some freshening. The Mack and I proceeded to drink entirely too much and scout out the men. She settled on a guy with vintage Converse hightops. We now refer to him as hightop or Marty McFly, depending on if he's around or not. I decided the green team was fun, and spent the evening hanging with them until it was suddenly 1am and I was dining on french fries at Amsterdam Falafel. E-mail this morning to my friend on the green team:





From: Sam

Date: Apr 25, 2007 8:50 AM

Subject: Apologies, let the record show, I will be eating dinner before kickball from now on-To:


And, for no apparent reason, I was up at 6am and am now at work.

So, sorry for anything I said about 10:30pm onward. Don't hold it against me.



Response back:



Don't remember you saying anything that was too offensive...
You were a rock star last night! And not a lush!



So, I suppose that's a good thing.

I'm currently drinking a 20oz Red Bull. Work on Wednesday is so not a good thing during kickball season. Me to the Mack this morning: "Kickball is so scandalous! We must play again next year!"

I think pigs just took flight.

Tid Bits

GChat with the Mack.

Her away message: 1 day away from April 25!!
Sam: What's April 25th?
The Mack: hahah... It is my favorite quote day from my fav movie..
Sam: Oh Miss Congeniality=) I remember the Date Auction Evite response.
The Mack: YES!!!!!!!!! Stan Fields: Miss Rhode Island, please describe your idea of a perfect date. Cheryl Fraiser (Mis. RI): That's a tough one. I would have to say April 25th. Because it's not too hot, not too cold, all you need is a light jacket.
The Mack: And since junior year of college, I email my friends each April 25 with that message. Oh, so one of my biggest accomplishments of the day yesterday-
was figuring out (on accident) how to bold a word on gChat
Sam: No way. How do you do it?
The Mack: haha. word- * word * no spaces.

Sam: Check this out. I can write in bold on gChat now!
Peter: Uh, wow?

My New Theory: Crazy girls do best in the dating game.

I have a new theory I'm currently developing, but I'm convinced that overly dependant girls who call guys and basically whip and suffocate them (not literally, of course) might very well have the most game. I mean, they completely risk being called psychos if it doesn't work out, but I can't even tell you how many of my guy friends appear to be taken by girls who pretty much stalk them. Not that I'd ever intend to copy this method. I just think it's rather fascinating.

I'm debating emailing Pillsbury re: Grands Biscuits.

The damn biscuits almost always burn on the bottom. I know it has nothing to do with how I'm preparing them either. I pop the can, put some aluminum foil down on a cookie sheet. Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees. Put them in for the most minimal suggested cooking time of 13 minutes. And yet, always burnt on the bottom. Seriously? When I leave them in for less time, they come out doughy. I don't get it.

It's a Giant world after all.

Am I missing something? Did I suddenly enter The Truman Show and is everyone I meet just a reappearing cast member? (Come on, you know after you saw that movie, you started looking for cameras around you too.) So, I get a message from Franky that CE is doing a house share with the Giant and company this summer at Dewey totally randomly via a Craigslist add.

It's cool, #1 according to his MySpace page, the Giant is a taken man. #2 I genuinely like the guy and think he is fun to hang out with (since we were all already planning a weekend to spend at Dewey with CE so that I could get a firsthand account of this Spring Break party every weekend in Delaware). #3 It was bound to happen with the way my life seems to work these days.

Theme parties galore.

I haven't had a weekend where I didn't have a theme party of some sort in so long. Turns out my friend and his roomie's are hosting yet another one this coming weekend- guys in Polo shirts, girls in tennis skirts. Evite reads:

Details:

1) First, as you all should know by now, we do theme parties that involve, in many cases, thematic dressing. The G-d of parties came to us in a dream and told us- the time is nigh for you to hold another party. And so we made ourselves ready. Then the G-d of parties said, Women will come to this party. They shall wear tennis skirts. The G-d of parties went on: Men will come to this party. They shall adorn themselves in Polo shirts. Then the G-d of parties left us to contemplate the consequences of transgression. We decided it was better to be safe than sorry. Appropriate attire is mandatory (we will have loaners for the unprepared, to help them save their souls). So let it be written; so let it be done.

2) Help us, help you. We are going to provide beer, punch (the good stuff), and an ice luge. We would very much appreciate if you would bring hard alcohol to pour down the ice luge (i.e. Goldschlager, Vodka, Rum, Midori, etc), or if you want a fancy beer or wine. You get the picture.

3) Time is hazy (I have already been drinking) but show up around 8ish and I think there will still be some alcohol available. We'll be playing board and card games, shuffle board on our new table, and pin the tail on the Dave in honor of his birthday.

My Evite response: So, a party where girls must wear short skirts came to you in a dream? Hmmm.

The end my friends. Is it really only Tuesday?

A Weekend of Mystique to Cut Out Cancer

I wore a sequin dancer's costume with a tulle skirt, red elbow-length formal gloves, and feathers in my hair to Saint-Ex last night. None of the other hosts of Team Cuttler's A Night of Mystique were with me in their sequins. Oh, and I totally got picked up like a gazillion times and not one guy asked me why I was dressed like we were backstage at the Folies Bergere in Vegas.

The Pea, Vive, and I made hundreds of 100 proof vodka filled Jello shots on Friday night. Then we stirred up more bottles of alcohol than Paris Hilton's table at her own, namesake club to make the miraculously tasty Potion Punch (okay, now we can say what's in it: 2 parts rum, 2 parts vodka, 2 parts gin, 2 parts triple sec, 1 part peachtree schnapps, tropical punch Koolaid, and fresh mango juice). We had to keep tasting it throughout the night, and I can almost swear we were all a little drunk for the cooking. We didn't notice that the Costco Dixie cups we purchased were for cold beverages only and not lined in wax. The Pea looked in the fridge only to discover that a round of shots had become a cookie sheet long Jello shot. We double layered the cups, and it did the trick.

Cherry Jello stains, in case you didn't know. Our hands looked like we'd be sunburned on the tips of our fingers only.

We arrived at the Quebec House on Saturday morning at 9am to start the preparations. I'd last counted having 150 stars to hang from the ceiling and stick on the walls. I was wrong. I had 300. The room has no windows and good lighting. With the stars hanging, a disco ball, low lighting, and a black and white Houdini silent movie on the big screen television, the room looked like the prom in an "Amanda Bynes or Hillary Duff in high school" movie scene. Glow sticks, feathers, and ring pops were on tables throughout.

We had fortune cookies, fortune sticks, origami fortune tellers, fortune ask-the-fish, and a tarot card reader and palm reader/ handwriting analyst. A magician performed tricks on black felt. A belly dancer performed a 30-minute show in green sequins. The DJs spun a mix of upbeat dance tunes. And all the hosts wore sequin gowns and gloves. Jer wore a top hat, tux, and white gloves. He carried a wand around and did tricks for everyone. Margaret Allen was there to take professional pictures of the evening.

My handwriting analysis by Yossef was totally right on. I was told I have so many talents I'm not using at all... that I'm a creative story teller, but my stories come back to bite me in the ass (blog)... that I am good at making decisions but not high strung... that I put 100% into whatever I do.... that I'm a little disorganized. He suggested that I start spending time making round a's and o's in my cursive. It will be the hardest thing I've ever done, but it will help me straighten out my life more. I'll let you know if doing so changes my fate.

I'd made an astrological match-up chart (the most basic one I could find), and we had tags that people could put on with their star sign. The goal was for people to meet others who they were supposed to get along with and see if the stars were correct. Well, at the table, I overheard the following conversation by two guests I didn't know. "OMG! You're supposed to be my match. I'm..." The two ended up dancing together all night and making out in a corner. We done good.

After the party, I was drunk. Too much Potion Punch for sure. I followed the Lost Boys to Saint-Ex for some dancing and more drinking. The light came on at 3am. I got a ride home with a friend and woke up this morning feeling like the solar system had collapsed on my head.

We all met at the Quebec House at 9am to clean up the mess we'd created. 4 labor intensive hours later (and 3 trips to the bathroom for me to throw up), we finished cleaning with plenty of the day left to recover. I attempted to sleep, but gave up after an hour and caught up with friends on the phone instead.

I'm going to bed. Practicing some cursive first though.

Graham and Sam

I haven't talked to my best friend Graham since right after Ali's father passed away. Before that, I'd not talked to him since college.

On the phone last night: "Sam, you realize I was so in love with you in college right? You might have been the only girl I was ever that in love with."

Oy vey.

Graham and I met at a Delta Chi party two days before freshman year of college began. Ali and I had met at orientation and were insta-best friends. We went to our first fraternity party together that night. A cute blond boy who resembled Anthony Michael Hall circa NYPD Blue started talking to us. He was rushing Delta Chi. His name was Graham.

We became friends that night and started going out with him and a couple other guys who were rushing than pledging Delta Chi. Graham and I talked on the phone every night about everything. We met in the coffee shop on campus for breakfast or lunch or dinner. We were basically attached.

Once he moved into Delta Chi second semester, I would happily stay in his room if I was drunk and couldn't drive home, and he'd stay at Chi O with me if the same was true of him being near me. This continued all the way through sophomore year. Girls he dated couldn't stand me being around, and guys I dated couldn't stand him. It was a pseudo-boyfriendship. My first of many in my life.

My parents came in town, and he came out with us. I was driving in Graham's car with my parents following behind on the way to dinner. My dad, to this day, laughed when he saw the bumper sticker on Graham's car, "Orgasm Donor."

Graham and Sam. Sam and Graham. For the first two years of college, that was something I was used to hearing daily.

The only problem was that Graham had feelings for me. I knew this, but I chose to avoid the issue.

The first blow up happened Junior year. Graham sort of told me how he felt on my 21st birthday. I chose to pretend I didn't remember, because I was so drunk that night. Then, he came over one night for a game of poker and crashed in my bed. We overheard my roommate having sex. He tossed and turned a bit. Finally, he stood up and said, "Sam, you need to decide if you want me in your bed or not. End of the story."

He got up and left. I followed him out to his car. "No, don't go. Really? You're going."

Our friendship was hanging on a thread. I tried my best to call and see him more. It didn't really work. We stopped talking for several months. He began dating Kim. Kim hated me for obvious reasons.

On my 22nd birthday, I went to Delta Chi to hang out with my friends there. Graham was there. He walked me to Lyss's car. My friends and I were all going to Niagra Falls the next day for the weekend. I had invited him to come. I had decided, "Maybe I do want Graham in my bed. Maybe."

Drunk outside of Delta Chi in the parking lot, Graham was leaning against his car. "What's going on?" he asked me. "Let's do this. Why haven't we done this? I mean, how do we even know?" I asked him. "Sam, you're drunk. I don't want this to happen drunk. Besides, I have a girlfriend now. It might be too late."

The next morning, I didn't call Graham. I didn't show up to pick him up. I went to Niagra Falls without him. We stopped talking for several months again.

By second semester senior year, we were on slight speaking terms again. Kim was always a complete bitch to me. I found out later he'd told her, "don't worry about Sam. She finally said she wanted me, and I turned her down for you." Yeah, that was going to make the girl stop hating me. Guys are such morons sometimes.

We graduated and lost touch. After Ali's dad died, I called all of our close friends from college to arrange having them at the funeral. It was the only thing I could give her for her loss- my ability to gather the troupes. I called Louie for Ryan's number and Ryan for Graham's number. I wanted to talk to Graham.

"Sam! Well, I'm in Providence now in law school. Kim and I are engaged. How are you? Last I heard, you were living with some guy in New York." At the time, I was living with Jerk.

I called him a couple times here and there. We played phone tag more than anything else.

Then, I finally started using my MySpace account. My friend Pam (a good friend of Graham's. Yes, at times it was Sam, Pam, and Graham hanging out. I know.) messaged me through MySpace that she was married to her college boyfriend, running a magazine in Naples, and happy. "Oh, and have you spoken to Craka (we called him that for obvious reasons)? Kim and him are done. Woohoo! Call him!"

So, I called and emailed Graham. We played phone tag some more. Nothin' back.

Saturday, I got a MySpace message from him: "I haven't checked this in months. My father passed away. Kim and I split. She took my Grandma's heirloom ring. I dropped out of law school. Call me. Been too long. Number's the same."

Last night, we caught up. Finally. "You still mumble! Man, I forgot how you mumble!" "Are you still staying up for days and then popping Tylenol PM by the thousands?" "Wait, you're not a size 0 anymore. Thank goodness. You were emaciated." He's coming to Ali's wedding with me in August. Ali this morning on the phone, "wow. You know you both always had sexual tension, right?" I don't know. Who really ever knows. We were best friends. I think I'm just happy to have my best friend back. Sam and Graham. Graham and Sam. Generic packages are never quite the same as the original. Ingredients always seem to be missing.

Excuse me sir, may I have another?

99 bottles of alcohol in my shopping cart (I've never shopped with a cart at a liquor store before!). 99 bottles of alcohol (Much like the bags of generic cereal in the supermarket, the cheaper alcohol bottles are way on the bottom shelf. I gave the liquor store employees quite a showing of my ass). Take one down, pass it around...

So, I went to Virginia to buy the alcohol for A Night of Mystique last night. Lots and lots of liquor. Like, I had a shopping list-style liquor shopping.

A dirty old man winked at me. I would have winked at me too.

ABC Employee: "Do you need any help?"
Me: "Um, where would Everclear be located?"
ABC Employee: "What?"
Me: "High alcohol volume vodka."
ABC Emploee: "We don't sell that."
Me: "Okay, well any other brand of high volume alcohol."
ABC Employee: "Let me check. Javy, Javy [yelling to storage area]... Everclear?"
Javy: "No, that's illegal in Virginia."
Me: "Oh, okay. What else is higher volume for Jello shots?"
Javy [smirking]: "Jello shots?"
Me [clammy palms and blushing]: "Um, yeah. For a party I'm hosting. I'm 27. I haven't made a Jello shot in a long while. I don't really like them. I didn't know Everclear was illegal in Virginia. That's really how little I know about them. Because, well, I don't drink them often. I'm just hosting a party. I'm 27. Wait, did I say that?"

--- yes, I'm a tool ----

Javy: "Well, the highest volume alcohol we sell is 100 proof. Will that work?"
Me: "That's just great, thanks."
Javy: "How many bottles? Let me get some from the back."
Me [wondering if this is coming from a bathtub somewhere or if I'm supporting Al-Qaeda]: "Um, two please."
ABC Employee: "Will that be all? Just these 11 bottles and the 2 bottles Javy's getting?"
Me: "Yes."
ABC Employee: "Can I see your ID?"
Me: "Yes. Here."
ABC Employee: "Your hair is not the same in this picture."
Me: "Yeah. It's curly."
ABC Employee: "Oh. It's not now."
Me: "Right. I straightened it today."
ABC Employee: "Oh. Why?"
Me: "I felt like it."


Yep. So that, in a nutshell, was my evening. Enough said. Let's drink.

Team Cuttler Plays the Field/ Bar- Week 2

We had the early game last night. At 6:25 pm, we arrived at the Adams Morgan field layered in our warmest sporty attire. We were playing the Steptoe Ballers, a team composed of a bunch of coworkers at Steptoe & Johnson. We got our butts kicked. Me to SV: "What's the score?" SV, "I stopped counting. We lost."

So, yeah, I realize that I'm completely dead weight on the team. Perfect happy baby and tree poses don't translate to kickball athletic abilities. But, the BIG issue about our team semi-sucking, we have 4 triathletes (including 2 Ironmen), 1 personal trainer, and a host of other athletes on our team. So the Master showed up in her cleats with a Proenza Schouler sweatshirt and Chanel sunglasses and I forgot to take off my diamond studs before getting to the field, the truth is, we're the only ones with excuses for not being good. HK, "Well, our team should suggest that the game last for 9 hours. Then we'd rock for our endurance."

After the massacre, we headed to Adams Mill for drinking. The problem with a super early game is you have about an hour with only 2 other teams to hang out before the other people arrive. This is bad for the drinkin' type, because, well, you drink.

Our team took to flip cupping against the Steptoe employees, though no actual lawyers were present, which was sort of funny. The team danced together and took shots to a point where the Mack and I wondered how awkward their tomorrow was gonna be at work.

Bitchy comment of the night: the Mack and I checking out the teams playing flip cup upstairs, "let's not come to the bar after we play that grey team." The Mack, "I think they're all hooking up with each other tonight." Me, "so long as they don't procreate."

I left around midnight after dancing to "Come on Irene" with my teammates and making some new friends whose names I don't remember.

I requested nudity from the Steptoers at one point stating that I wanted the full kickball experience as seen in Peter's pictures. No one got naked. I was a tad disappointed. This blog is sure to be boring if I don't at least see something obscene!

Eatin' like a chick-

There was a very attractive dude in line behind me at Social Safeway on Sunday. Okay, so yeah, he was definitely an undergrad somewhere in the area. But, hey, that's legal, right?

I was buying groceries to make dinner and also have some food in my fridge for the week. I noticed him scoping out my assortment. Smart Ones, Healthy Request Campbell's soup, fat free Wishbone Italian dressing, egg beaters, skim milk, tomatoes, Smart Balance light butter spread with flax seed oil added, Diet Pepsi, fat free feta cheese, Baked Lays...

The boy behind me plopped down a bunch of Hot Pockets, frozen pizzas, salsa and tortilla chips, and the largest grin ever planted on such a cute face.

The thing is, I don't completely eat like a chick. I definitely eat my share of pizza and Chinese take out. But, the bigger question remains, what would a guy rather see a chick have in her fridge- a bunch of crap or a bunch of low-fat foods? 99.5% of the girls I know swing one way or the other only. I don't know many girls who have a fair mix of the two things.

Being on the smaller, um, size of things in DC (size 6 is being defended by JLo. I don't know how I feel about being qualified as a "larger" girl in Hollywood standards. This is why I'll never move to LA, for the record.) I always feel like I look like I have bulimia when I buy a bunch of crap food at one time. I'm generally buying the food for a party or gathering, but I'm totally that girl that feels the need to defend it to anyone looking on in the grocery line with judgement. I'll completely call up a friend, just for effect, and say something like, "Hey. Yeah, so you think 2 bags of Hershey mini bars will be enough for feeding the challenged youth we're volunteering with tonight? Do you think they like Hostess cupcakes too?"

So, which is better? When I'm buying all low fat foods, I do worry that a hot guy behind me in line might think to himself that I've got serious FP (fat potential, for the non-5th graders reading this). I could totally see them thinking, "Wow, she eats like a starving bird and can only get to a size 4-6. Hmmm. Moving on."

I mean, I suppose, ya know, maybe it'd be a grand idea to just eat whatever you like whenever you like and not confuse nourishment with ways to attract men.

But I do think about it. You know you do too...

As American as Apple Pie.

I tend to match people to songs. Like, I constantly have a soundtrack running through my head where almost every song I hear reminds me of someone. When it comes to guys, I realized I've had a ton of men I've dated remind me of "American Pie." Second up would definitely be "Cheeseburger In Paradise." And then there's another category for Beach Boys songs like "G-d Only Knows." I suppose you could say I like my men about as wholesome as an apple a day. Ideally, I'd like a guy who loves football, barbecues, RVing, lab puppies, Polo shirts, country music, Head & Shoulders... ya know, Tim McGraw minus Faith Hill, tehe.



Missdy planned a birthday party for Eye on Friday night. We met at Eye's apartment at 8pm, and I drank half the bottle of wine with "subtle hints of apple" in it. The girls took shots. By the time we arrived at Lucky Strike for the bowling portion of the evening, the world was twirling around me even more than the disco lighting. I still managed to take 56 pictures. The ones from the later part of the evening weren't exactly of people as much as they were of people's backs.

Eye declared in the bathroom that she was the drunkest she'd ever been. The picture above (one of 3 pictures I have of Eye taking shots) might help enlighten you to why this actually could have been the certain case.

Saturday morning, I awoke slightly hungover and headed over to DC Central Kitchen to volunteer for Kids in the Kitchen . We worked with mothers and daughters who are enrolled in a year long program to teach teenage girls life skills. A DC Central Kitchen chef taught the girls to chop vegetables and make a healthy pizza and apple crisp. Then, a nutritionist explained the new food pyramid which emphasizes portion control and exercise.

I met Jer Saturday evening at CAN's kickoff party at an overly packed McFadden's. I arrived after the 6pm-9pm slated time for the gathering. I looked at the line to get in and called Jer's phone to declare that I wasn't planning on staying long enough to wait in a line (honestly, I just refuse to wait in a line to get into McFadden's). The CAN player cards for McFadden's state that you can skip the line at any time. Jer annoyed the bouncer until they let me in. I felt like the biggest loser ever for exerting that much energy into entering McFadden's.

Yesterday evening, I met District Belle and others at Christ Church to help make food for the homeless. Salvation Army has a van that stops at different places throughout the city each night. Different churches in the area fund 150 brown bag meals and provide volunteers for the preparation and delivery of these meals each night. Christ Church provides food every Sunday and Monday night. The Salvation Army requires that at least 150 meals are made (District Belle was on the van serving last night and said it was terrible when they ran out of food) and that women are served before men. I assume this has something to do with the fact that homeless women often have children to feed as well.

I cooked apple crisp myself last night for myself and a friend. Looking at the extra in my fridge this morning, I thought about the weekend. As American as apple pie unfortunately doesn't apply to everyone in America. This blog is not meant to be a political commentary, as I've said before, so I'll leave it at that...

Word Freak

My mother got me into Scrabble. She'd play this old game for hours against the computer rival, Maven. I'd never really been into the game until college when I'd make trips home. On my third or fourth trip down, I noticed I'd picked up on many of the 2 letter words and got at least one bingo per game. She burned me a copy of her game, and I took to playing it in the evenings as I watched television and relaxed. Now, I admit, I play the game in the mornings while I eat breakfast before work and watch the news. I play the game in the evenings before I go to bed. I've even discovered the Yahoo game which has new words that have been added to the dictionary in the last couple years (my game's from 1996) like "qi" and "ae." I'll download the game for the free 60 minutes and when that runs out delete the program from my computer and download it again (I should probably just pay the $19.99 and save myself some time, but I'm a bit cheap.)

So, there you have it. I'm pretty much a closeted Scrabble dork.

But, it gets worse.

I also have another word freak quirk.

I do anagrams in my head all the time. Like, on the metro, I'll take a word or phrase I see on a poster and turn it into as many words or phrases as I can. Constantly. If I'm bored while talking to someone or in a meeting, I'll think of the person's name and try to come up with as many other names as I can within that name. It's a little sick. I've really only ever admitted this to my mother. She does it sometimes too.

Last night, I met someone in Silver Spring for drinks. We got on the topic of Scrabble and then I just mentioned my anagram quirk. (I was so embarrassed after it came out of my mouth!) "I do that too!" he laughed. "No you don't?" "Yeah, really. How strange! I've never met anyone who did that!" "I know how strange! We're both closeted word freaks!"

It was so bizarre and fantastic I just about took his name and turned it into seven other names in my head!

Quality girls play kickball-

Peter: New girl on my [kickball] team from last night: "I am so excited to meet some guys in kickball. I haven't dated in 4 months! I would take ANYthing right now... seriously, masturbation is getting sooo boring."
Sam: OMG! Can I quote that on my blog?
Peter: Hahaha. I was like, ummm. Then, the whole night she was trying to pick up guys. But the thing is, she's actually pretty cute.
Sam: Um, can we say serious emotional issues!
Peter: Nah. She was just horny =P
Sam: Who the hell says that?
Peter: Someone who's drunk
Sam: I'd say chances of an STD: HIGH RISK carrier.
Peter: Hehe

My A-list

Someone asked me the other day how I manage having a multitude of friends and not compartmentalize the diversity of relationships in my life. In case you hadn't figured out, I'm pretty much the queen of tossing the most random people together and just assuming they'll get along. Perhaps it's a tad bit of arrogance on my part- thinking that if I like someone everyone will like them- but, I just don't see the point in having a bunch of friends if you can't bring them all together whenever you want to see them.

During senior year of college, I held dinner parties for my close friends every Monday night. I was a sorority girl from Bama who'd lived on the Cape for summer, taken writing and art and business and literature classes, been a member of the Theatre guild, and managed to make friends with athletes in just about every sport the school offered. So, I'd bring the closest of my friends together once a week to chat and dine. My "sorority" friend Adriana ran into my "baseball" friend Jesse in Boston a couple years ago drunk and remarked, "Oh yeah, Jesse from Monday night dinner parties! How are you?"

The truth is, we all have an A-list, B-list, and C-list of friends. When Jer asks, "how come you've yet to add all of DC to my party's Evite list?" I'll ask how many people he wants there and then choose from the lists.

A-lists are those people you do things with one on one. In terms of numbers, I separate my lists by party invites. 10 people at my house for dinner... that's my A-list.

Like Ari came over last night to catch up, order in food, and watch America's Next Top Model (only one comment of the night. Dude, Kim looks so much better than she did when she was on the show! But, um, not like that. Sorry, I don't swing that way kids.) and the Search for the Next Pussycat Doll. (Incidentally, she wants a new name. Since she's got pretty light eyes that sparkle, I'm switching her name to Franky.)

B-lists are those people who might eventually move to your A-list, like friends of friends, but at the moment are more the type of people you'd invite to an event that had less than 50 people.

C-lists are basically just acquaintances. People you know enough to drink with or attend parties for, but they wouldn't be at a party you were planning unless you were inviting more than 50 people.

Anyone outside of that isn't a friend, they are just people you know.

As for drama, I notice my anxiety of impending drama only really exists when it's hitting close or within my A-list. That's when my stomach does knots and ability to sleep disappears. I'm a proponent for some form of drama keeping life interesting. Obviously, I'd prefer positive dramatic events like a friend going on a hot date, but the negative kind does keep life entertaining. I'm only good with the drama being external of my A-list though. A person my trust their A-list at all times.

I've also noticed that it's easy to bump B-lists to C-lists (say someone fails to show up at parties you invite them to for months) or C-lists to B-lists (someone always shows up). It's easy to bump a B-list to an A-list (you get to know them better, or they start dating one of your friends). But, by far the most difficult move is bumping an A-lister back to a B or C. That usually involves drama, trauma, or all around badness. As I've gotten older, it's become even more difficult.

So, there you go. That's some of my classic terminology for ya. May the force be with you.

Kickball Take 1

I saw a girl's bra last night at, like, 9:30pm. My introduction to kickball is now complete.

My brother and arrived at Adams Mill at 7:30pm as instructed by our team's Evite for the event. No one from our team was there yet. My response, "this is why I'm never on time for things. I hate waiting. And, damn, I didn't look at the map of where the field is." Josh, "so what if no one shows up?" Me, "um, guess we're not going."

Around 7:45, our teammates arrived. We had drinks upstairs and watched the teams who'd finished playing earlier games start on their flip cup madness. The schedule for the games isn't overly ideal, and teams get stuck with 8:45pm games one or more weeks. Luckily, next week we have the 6:30pm slot.

I spotted the bright pink shirts of one team, and recalled to the team about how Peter had that color shirt last year. He had me laughing talking about what would happen if you stayed over at a girl's house after a kickball game in a bright pink kickball shirt. Do you turn it inside out or just own the morning after walk? One of the guys in the pink shirt asked me what I'd just said, so I re asked the hypothetical question. He responded that his whole team had requested that color. Then he showed me his matching pink bobby socks. Turns out he was gay, so the real question would be if you stayed at a guys house I guess. Sorry Peter.

We walked to the field in the cold and started the game. The other team was very competitive. The Master was yelling out orders like a castrated army officer. Suave, who'd come to watch and cheer, "I'd be scared to play on the Master's team. She's tough." Who knew?

We lost by one point and then some of us headed back to the bar. I just wanted to see what the bar scene was like at 9:30pm for future reference after later games. Everyone was already pretty drunk and four members of the dark green team (it's confusing- there are 3 green teams- light green, evergreen, and dark green) were dancing on a bench downstairs. For no apparent reason, one of the girls stripped off her shirt. "OMG! Did we just see a bra? Already?" "At least it was a lace, satin thing."

Yeah, this is going to be one interesting sociology experiment. I gotta remember to wear cute bras, ya know, just in case...

Let the BBQ Season Begin!

I love the smell of hickory chip smoke in my hair after lightin' up the charcoal and noshing on burgers and dogs with my friends. I love barbecue sauce and baked beans and pasta salad and Ruffles served with beer and much laughter. My favorite thing about the end of winter has become the promise of nights spent on the back porch of my apartment.

Last night, we gathered to fire up my Weber and celebrate Suave's 27th birthday. A catastrophe involving using my Match Light charcoal that I stored away from last November (and didn't work anymore, apparently), didn't stop us from enjoying pieces of turkey burger (I didn't defrost all the way), soy burgers, chicken, and dogs.

My brother's still in town (that's him above in the picture on the left), so it was nice for him to see the low-key side of DC. He interviewed yesterday which got me thinking about my new favorite party game: Asking people classic interview questions but to get a real answer.

I tried some out last night. Here are some of the funnier responses:

What are your real strengths and weaknesses at work?

Strengths: Never taking a lunch break. Typing fast. Attention to details. Ability to align PowerPoint labels quickly. Outlasting people at anything. Amazing softball player. Covering for coworkers when they go get a manicure mid-day. Offering to get coffee for the whole office regularly even if it's just an excuse to get out of the office. Multi-tasking by IMing while on boring conference calls. Looking busy even when not doing a thing. Playing tech support to moronic coworkers.

Weaknesses: Spider Solitaire. Social networking sites. Being ultra-moody when PMSing. Pedicures in the afternoon. Personal phone calls. Going to the water cooler regularly. Taking 30 minutes to do something that you bill a client 5 hours to complete. Listening to Broadway musicals and annoying coworkers without caring. Zoning out when being talked to about projects. General contempt for everything and anything. Picking nose in office when no one's looking. Spitting on the floor.

Name a time you took a risk that paid off?

Driving home slightly buzzed. Stopping on the side of the highway to puke. Peeing in an alley way with a cop on a side street. Using a really bad fake ID to get into a bar. Hooking up with a friend's ex boyfriend. Having sex in a public place. Stealing a soda from the office fridge. Dancing on a bar filled with truckers. Deciding drunk that Divinyl's "I Touch Myself" is a wonderful karaoke song choice for a group of girls to sing in front of fraternity guys.

Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

Knocked up. Married to Prince William. Firing people like the interviewer for dressing poorly. At Neiman Marcus lunching with the ladies on the Upper East Side rather than working. Getting Botox injections. Wondering why people ask these types of questions in interviews. Legally changing names after being caught for looking at porn on-line. Married to a movie star. Reading about finally finding out who the father of Dannielynn Hope Marshall Stern.

The game could go on and on. I suggest playing it your next event. It's pretty freakin' funny.

I'm not so out of shape.

I went to step class at the JCC with Suave last night. One hour of cardio and strength training. A definite change from the calm poses of yoga and pilates. Gloria Estefan was playing overhead at one point.

And, the good news, I'm not as out of shape as I thought I was...

Okay, yeah, so I was the only one in class without risers under my step last night. But, I worked out with Suave the whole class. I do well in classes, because I'm competitive and vain. Hell if I'm going to be the one who doesn't make it through the whole thing. I couldn't quite get the arms and legs to move together as instructed, so mainly I stuck to my footwork and pumped my arms back and forth in some demented rowing motion. Not that anyone was paying attention.

This morning, I picked my car up from NT Auto Body in Alexandria. The back door is finally fixed from the run in I had with a pole near my parking spot last April. NT had it finished in a week for $150 less than they quoted me. Gotta appreciate honesty when it comes to auto repair.

My brother comes in tomorrow! I'm so excited that he might be moving to DC. He'll get to meet everyone at Suave's birthday on Saturday night. Last year, Gene was in town for it. Strange how that happens.

And that's all folks. Hope you have a most excellent weekend.

Pictures of Peaches

I just uploaded my pictures of Peaches chewing on her greenie. I miss her so much!

Sniffle. Dogs can't talk on the phone to you or come visit you for a weekend. It's depressing to leave something so cute behind.

Sweetness

Crossroads, seem to come and go, yeah. The gypsy flies from coast to coast. Knowing many, loving none. Bearing sorrow having fun. But back home he'll always run.

Things I can control: my weight, my skin, my health, my work, keeping my closet clean, my time, the dent in the side of my car I postponed fixing since last April...

Things I can, but probably shouldn't, control: my emotions, my curly hair, my trust in others, my ability to tune out the entire world and paint...

Things I wish I could control: the weather, my relationships, my friendships, my PMSing, my hunger, my sinuses, other drivers on the road, the cost of housing, the number of people trying to get on a metro, sales on Diet Pepsi at Safeway, etc.

Last night, this gypsy met Vive at her apartment in Cleveland Park for a long walk all the way down to the Dupont area and then for dinner at Luna Grill.

"I want to do something aerobic," I've been declaring to most of my friends. I'm going to step class tonight with Suave. Trying kickboxing next weekend with Ari and body sculpting this weekend with Kate maybe.

gChat with Peter yesterday:

Sam: So what activity can you and i do that's aerobic? Are there batting cages anywhere or wanna go to a driving range?
Peter: Batting cages and driving golf balls are not aerobic.
Sam: Well, they're activities that don't involve alcohol. Fine, what else could we do? Tennis?
Peter: You don't play any of these sports!
Sam: I could play all of these sports if I wanted to.
Peter: Not well =P
Sam: You're not being very encouraging.
Peter: If you want an aerobic activity, there's an ancient eastern tradition that has been passed down for centuries and is supposed to be a really good cardio workout that I heard of....
Sam: Oh yeah?
Peter: It's called running.
Sam: Thanks for the support.

My Dog is Precious.

My dog, Peaches, is 16 years old. We bought her from a breeder when I was in the 5th grade. She was supposed to be a Peekapoo. Josh and I went to either get another Yorkie, after our first dog Moppy (again, who let's a 3 year old name a dog? It's lucky I didn't name the dog Hairy.) was hit by a car, or another miniature dog. Peaches looked different than all her litter, but she ran to the front and started licking Josh's hand. I was busy playing with another puppy with round circles around his eyes. Josh held Peaches in his hands saying, "I want this one." I wasn't sold, but Josh never demanded anything. I put down the dog with glasses, and he handed me Peaches. She began to lick my face, and I knew she would be our new puppy. We have no idea what breed she is. Her mom was a slut and apparently might have slept with a Cocker Spaniel too (appropriately enough). We now say she was a very expensive Cock-a-peekapoo. A very expensive mutt.

Peaches knows about 4 tricks. My mom had her in doggy boot camp when I was in 6th grade. I was supposed to practice tricks with her, but, of course, I thought it'd be more fun to teach her some random tricks instead. So, the Peach knows how to sit, give you a high five, a low five, and, if you cover your eyes and say "peak-a-boo Peaches" she uses both paws to tap your eyes.

I was such a trouble maker.

But Peaches was my confident and my best friend. She slept with me every night on a special pillow at the end of my bed. I'd cry to her about everything, and she's listen patiently and lick away my tears. My mom often says, "if Peaches could talk, I'd love to know all the horrible things you said about me during high school."

Now Peaches is old. She has cataracts and can't hear very well. She spends most of the day sleeping and makes noises because she can't hear herself making them. She sleeps at the bottom of my parents bed, or if she's too tired to jump up, curls up on the carpet. It breaks my heart to leave home after a visit, because my greatest fear is returning home without her there.

My visit home this time around was calm. I got in Friday night late, slept in each day, shopped with my mom, got tapas with a friend in downtown Mobile one night and a glass wine with another friend another night, and basically just hung around with my dog and parents. I was tempted to go to Biloxi and see Gene who working their from Denver, but I needed a long weekend off.

My dog is precious. My mom hates that word. She thinks it sounds too Southern and uneducated. It's the best way to describe my Peaches though. She's so cute and meaningful and fragile. I'm a bit home sick for her.

Live from the Ghetto of Bama

I'll update everyone tomorrow once I'm back in DC. I fly out in just a bit. For the time being, I'd like to share with you a video Valli, a friend from high school, posted to YouTube featuring John John and her husband Kai. Watch it for their pretty faces and because it is hilarious. In the Bama Ghetto (with our massive SUVs, drinkin' our Bud Light, pullin' our cars out of mud pits with winches)....