Rage Against Real Estate

I disappeared for a while because I am ADD and got bored of blogging. I think I am too ADD to be a steady poster. Or maybe it's cuz I'm probably the only 23 year old single female in the District who does not have an internet connection inside her apartment. Yep. That's me.

But you can always count on me to come back.

With exciting ass news too. Guess where I'll be on July 28th????

FUCK YEAH I'M GOING!!!! AND I'M STOKED TOO!!!

I've even come up with a special revolutionary cupcake idea, I'm thinking "magic" cupcakes (cough, cough) with militaristic green icing and little guerrilla guns on top. I'll call them, "Guns and Butter[cream]."

(Sometimes words can't describe my brilliance. If only I knew where to find sugar-crafted guerrilla guns.)

In other news, I am now officially condo shopping. Yep. Condo shopping. Kind of weird. I met with a real estate agent today for the first time ever, and, well, let's just say I've already found another arena of life in which I will continue to be hopelessly awkward and completely clueless.

I got to the condo first, and I didn't know whether to wait inside the building or outside. I got worried that he might already be there, standing in the unit all annoyed that this "un-serious house buyer" was wasting his fancy real estate agent time by making him wait in there. So I followed some guy into the building, because see, there was no front desk and you needed a key just to get in the front entrance, but this didn't ease my worries, I didn't want this important guy waiting. So I go and discover that this, um, "quaint" little building had no elevator. That's fine, only the third floor... I haven't smoked since I was 16 or anything so the third floor is a piece of cake for these thirsty lungs... So I ran up to the third floor (WHEEEEEEZE) and of course, he wasn't there. So I ran back down, now afraid that he was angrily waiting for me in the lobby (if you could call it that) but he still wasn't there. So I sat on the bench in the lobby and waited. And waited. And got to know the little old lady who speaks no English in 101. Then I stood up, thinking I should call him when lo and behold, I see him sitting outside on a bench waiting for me, and not looking pleased. I rushed outside all flushed, apologizing and explaining that I was waiting inside, and he sort of paused and looked at me, taking me in, and then he quietly pointed out that he had assumed that I would be waiting for him outside because there was no front desk to let me in. Naturally.

Strike 1 Menace.

So he shows me the unit and the kitchen was so small that I could barely bake a dozen cupcakes so I immediately vetoed it. Oh well, I figured, you win some you lose some, it was so nice of him to come out and show me this property anyways, maybe soon we can get together and see those other 6 properties he emailed me about.

Except, then he starts ushering me in to his car, talking all "when we see this one" and "oh this one this and that" and I realized that he intended on showing me all 7 properties tonight!!!!

Whoa. Whoooooooooooooooa.

I thought he was just going to show me that one and then I'd just go home, make a nice dinner and watch my guilty pleasure, America's Next Top Model. How can I watch this if you are dragging me to all corners of the city, to SEVEN different places? I didn't sign up for this?!?!

And then of course I felt pretty stupid b/c I started having flashbacks of house hunting with my parents when we first moved here, and how bored I would get as they dragged me to house after house, and I realized that this is how it's done, isn't it, and you'd think as good as I am at homemaking and interior decorating that I'd have a blast doing it but no, I don't want to deal with it and I'd rather look at floor plans and pictures online and do research and see it after I've decided I at least like it a little bit. I have to become familiar with it before I can commit to seeing it, that's a big step in the relationship man.

Of course this guy was just sooooo sweet and nice and I couldn't tell him any of this, so I went along with it, and off we went to the second property. Which I loved. But it's a co-op and not a condo which I don't love, and then he put me on the phone with some banker and next thing I know she's talking finance and credit and loans and that's when they really lost me and my eyes got that glazed over "I just woke up from a deep sleep or have been smoking pot for the past 4 hours" look and I was done. Strike two.

So I managed to get out of the other visits without hurting any feelings, and he starts to drive me home. This guy was such a patient and understanding fellow, but his car was old. Like super old. The seat belt had 2 separate pieces to insert, those old electronic ones that slide over your shoulder when the door closes and the separate piece that goes over your lap? Yeah, one of those. Which is fine, Lord knows my car is an old piece of crap. But this, this is an abnormal seat belt that just sets people up for disaster, that's all.

So I'm all involved in conversation and we shake hands and say our good byes and I undo the shoulder seat belt (it was broken and didn't slide when the door opened) but me being me, I completely forgot that this seat belt had two parts, one of which was gripping me tightly to the front seat to ensure I didn't fly threw any windshields should we be faced with a head-on collision. I don't think I really need to elaborate much more, but chances are if you put me in a situation that has the slightest chance of something going wrong, with of course the end result being me looking like a blubbering idiot, then I'm just pretty much shit outta luck. Because you know I tried to get out of the car with the seat belt still on. And you know it wouldn't let me get out. And you know this involved some droppage, some swearing, some bumping of my head, and some serious red-faced good old-fashioned blonde humiliation.

Strike three.

BUT I'M SEEING RAGE AGAINST THE MACHINE SO I DON'T CARE!!!!!

Of cupcakes and scandal....

I have been so busy I can hardly BREATHE I tell you.

My newest stalker seems to have gotten bored, seeing as she deleted her journal and seems to have stopped harassing me, which is nice. Maybe she finally realized she had absolutely no evidence on which to base her absurd accusations, or maybe she was finally committed.

So I’ve had a kind of big head lately (bigger than usual anyways) because of a conversation with a certain Fox 5 producer that didn’t just make my night, but seems to have made my week because I’m still feeling flattered and special and cooler than just about everyone.

On Tuesday Morning Fox 5 hosted an event called “Blogapalooza” at Busboys and Poets. One of the producers emailed me last week and told me he thought I had one of the most interesting blogs he had found and that he thought I should come. He gave me his number and told me to call him for details.

Because I’m lazy and sort of douchey at times, I forgot to call him until Monday night. This is when I found out that it was a live tv special, and that it was from 6:30am to 9:00am.

First of all, The Menace doesn’t really function before 10ish, so getting me on camera before then is just not a plausible idea.

Second of all, seeing as I kind of got fired by my last job b/c they found out about my blog and didn’t like it, I’m not exactly rushing to announce my blogger identity on a local television station. So I talked to the producer and told him this, and while he did try to persuade me to come anyways, he seemed to understand. I love my job. And I’m not trying to have my psycho ex-roommate see me on tv and try to kill me. I mean she did get me fired, so I wouldn’t put it past her, this woman was insane.

Anyhoo, the producer did tell me that if they ever decided to do a more in-depth segment on blogging that he would definitely want to interview me. He said that they would have fun with it and totally “Darth Vadar” my voice and blur my face or put me behind some silver screen, all scandalous and Dateline-Style. How fucking cool would that be? Instead of blurring my face all trailer-trash-Cops-style I could wear a huge black hat with a huge black veil and huge black sunglasses and dab at my eyes with a lace hankie, all dramatic and Film Noir with my matching little lace gloves. I think I would wear bright red Chanel lipstick and smoke a cigarette out of a rhinestone encrusted filter to contradict the harsh croak of my new Darth Vadar voice. God sometimes I’m so brilliant it hurts.

The producer then went on to tell me that he could already tell that “I would make really good tv.”

I have a crush on you, Mr. Producer, because sometimes flattery really does get you everywhere.

In other news, if I were a free-lovin’ leftist tree-hugging hippie I would totally rock this shirt all the time:

I heart Johnny Cupcakes hardXXXcore, and I think he might be my soulmate.

Craziness Man....

Today was interesting.

I have discovered that I am having an affair with a married man I have never met. Since I wasn't aware of the fact that I was sleeping with some one's husband, this all came as quite a shock to me. I must have been asleep or drunk the whole time. I didn't know it was possible, but apparently it is, because there's this dumb bitch who has been harassing me and my friends and if she says it's true then it must be, right?

I mean, apparently this girl looks like me (based on my lovely enhanced blog picture with my face covered by gigantic sunglasses) so it obviously has to be me, right? What more proof do you need? It makes total sense to accuse a complete and total stranger of sleeping with your soon to be ex-husband and breaking into your email based on an enhanced photograph as your only evidence, doesn't it?

I wasn't kidding when I said I attract loonies and whack-jobs.

I also severely burnt my boobies today, which was not fun.

My place of work had a themed lunch in the cafeteria that included empanadas. I love me some empanadas and haven't had one in ages, so I decided to split one with a friend. It was quite hot but I was in a hurry so I took a bite of the crust, you know to avoid the steaming center, and it squeezed the filling right out of the damn empanada and smack dab in to the middle of my cleavage. Mind you the majority of my cleavage was covered by a shirt, seeing as I was at work, but it slid underneath the shirt and oozed in to what my friend called the "catcher's net." It was extremely painful, and the spot where it hit is now bright pink and sensitive to the touch. I will have to tell my non-existent married lover to be careful when we have sex.

This launched a conversation about how some women have nets where they can catch all the food they drop, and some don't. We both do. Ample nets. Sometimes I am glad I have this net, and sometimes I am not. I can be very clumsy when I eat with my hands, so if I am forced to do so, I usually find crumbs down there later on. I know that's pretty gross, but unless you have big ones then you wouldn't understand how easy it is to lose stuff down there. It really can't be helped. I'm a pretty neat person (well, except for my apartment) and have been known to be slightly obsessed with manners, so it's not just me being a slob, I assure you. But if I didn't have a net, then whatever I dropped would travel all the way down my shirt, getting my tummy and shirt dirty as it fell. Or maybe it wouldn't, I don't really know, since I've had a net since I was like 14.

Now my friend thinks I should have eaten what was caught in the net, but I found this to be rather gross. I was too busy worried that my superiors would see me fishing around for beef in between my breasts to think about what to do with the stuff. I was trying to very discreetly reach down there and wipe the goop up so no one saw. She thinks I should have eaten it, since no one did see it happen. I think that's a little weird. So I guess it's nice to fill out my shirts, but it's not so nice to find your lunch in your bra at the end of the night. And the backaches, those aren't fun either, but that's a different story.


Anyways, my boobs are pink and I found out I'm having an affair that I wasn't aware of, so I'd say it's been a pretty eventful day.

Crikey!

Wow, I've been back in Blogworld for less then a month and I'm already being stalked and threatened by another psychotic bitch, except this one I've never even seen before.

Aren't the internets exciting?

Someone needs to take up knitting or find some hobby to occupy her time instead of trolling the web making false accusations to complete and total strangers.

WTF?!?!?!

Ok someone in England just found my blog by googling “lesbian mud wrestling.”

I am not even joking.

Why the fuck does my blog attract all the pervs and wierdos?

Twice as Sweet as Sugar, Twice as Bitter as Salt

Ok I just found out that Grandmaster Flash is going to be performing at the 9:30 in April and I am psyched. In fact psyched doesn't even describe it accurately. GRANDMASTER FLASH PEOPLE!! Can't you just hear the magical little twinkle noise that starts out "White Lines" at the mention of his name? OMG. Oh the memories, oh that song has a special place in my heart. For uh, no particular reason of course, I just dig the beat... And Busdriver is opening for RJD2 in like 2 weeks, the night before I'm planning another trip to NYC. EXCITEMENT. God I wish I wasn’t such a lazy ass because then I would have gotten my computer fixed, like, a year ago when it broke, and then I could have all MY music on my ipod, and not my Brazilian best friend’s. I love bossa nova and all, but man…. No worries though, I’ll go to the concerts and get my fix on lyrics about cocaine and killing your employers.

Ok, so I have mentioned how much I love Sitemeter and how amusing I find it to see what people googled that led them to my website. Well this past week it got a little crazier then usual, so I thought I’d share what the world is googling that leads them to my blog.

A few obvious ones:
"being blonde"
"5 reasons why being blonde is more fun"
“blonde nicknames”
"obnoxious drunk" (wow, that’s classic.)

Amusing:
"evil pigeons"
"why does birds poop on peoples car" (Helloooo, grammar?)
"puke phobia definition" (HAHAHAHAHA. I am the definition my friend.)
"haven't seen a brown man since grandparents bought one" (RATM lyric people, don’t get any racist ideas.)

WTF???:
"star shaped plastic bags"
"starbucks rice krispy treat"

Perhaps the saddest one, in terms of what it says about me and my past relationship:
"getting sucked back into unhealthy relationships" (While this did make my friends and I laugh hysterically, how sad is it that someone can google that and find my blog? Lord of my soul. Menace, stop dating tools.)

Definitely the most disturbing one:
"drunk passed out blondes" (Someone in San Jose, California is just plain sick.)

And perhaps my personal favorite:
"ramifications of public urination in Florida" (I would hope any man (or.. woman?) would want to be prepared to face the consequences should they decide to take the plunge and pee in public while visiting Florida. Talk about useful information right there.) WHAT IS IT WITH PEOPLE AND THEIR AVERSION TO TOILETS? TOILETS ARE YOUR FRIEND!!!

Oy vey. That’s too much for me, I need to go to sleep.

Where I bitch about the Gallery Place Metro for a little while…

The Gallery Place Metro stop has become the bane of my existence. I think it’s rather fitting that the platform lights have been replaced with red bulbs, as red is a color that is often associated with Satan and I am convinced that this Metro stop is a portal of evil.

To begin with, it is one of the smelliest metro stops I have ever entered (Foggy Bottom is a very close second.). 9 times out of 10 I will step off my train and notice a distinct odor that I can only describe as a metallic-burning-body-odor-cocktail. It has become a test of strength to see if I can make it to my transfer without breathing in order to escape the nausea that this smell induces. Add to this that the screens that tell you when the next train arrives don’t function the majority of the time, and you are left breathing icky stench for an undisclosed amount of time.

Speaking of these screens, or whatever they are called, they seem to act independently and of their own will. I’ll be waiting for my yellow train and the screen will tell me that it isn’t coming. In fact, it will say the green train is on its way. Next thing I know, a yellow train has materialized, seemingly out of thin air, and despite the screen saying that it is supposed to be a green train, it’s actually yellow, and I thank God I was paying attention b/c if I hadn’t been I would have assumed it was green and ignored it. (When you have as much trouble as I do waking up early, these kinds of details become life-sparingly important. 1 minute makes all the difference.) This is not to mention the numerous occasions in which it will say that only green trains will be entering the station for the next 20 minutes, when again, as if God beat down Satan to allow the yellow train through, the screen will magically say “Huntington, 2 minutes” and my commute resumes as planned. Thankfully I’m used to the schedule of the yellow train and I know that for the most part, despite the fact that it says no train is coming, one will appear within 2 to 5 minutes. But what if I was just a tourist trying to catch a flight at Reagan? It sucks that the station is so unreliable in terms of reporting train arrivals, it is agitating and anxiety inducing, and I feel for the people (yes even tourists) who are not familiar with the train times. And that’s saying a lot b/c I normally don’t like tourists in my Metro. They mess up the traffic flow on the escalators at the most inopportune times.

Which leads me to bitching about traffic flow in this particular metro. Well, that and public urination. There was this one time I was waiting, standing near some parents with a group of 5 year olds in tow, when a rather drunk looking man stumbled over to the edge of the platform, whipped it out and started urinating onto the tracks. He was drunk and sloppy, and that’s putting it nicely, and it’s the sort of scene that’s so disgusting and shocking that you almost can’t tear yourself away because you can’t believe you are actually witnessing it happen, right there, in the middle of a Saturday afternoon. I felt sorry for the parents watching the kids, b/c they looked like tourists, and they looked like they had landed themselves in the city from Hell. I felt like saying “Don’t worry! Most Washingtonians use real bathrooms!! With toilets and urinals and everything!! I promise!!”

Then of course there was the time that I almost plummeted on to the tracks, taking other innocent riders with me, because some asshole couldn’t seem to deal with the crowded metro platform during rush hour. I think the escalator rule should be applied to platforms as well, walk left/stand right, or some means of traffic organization should be established to present jack-asses like this guy from murdering me on my way home from work. It’s not my fault the majority of DC gets off from work in a window of time commonly known as RUSH HOUR. It’s not my fault metro usage subsequently increases during this time. It’s not my fault you chose to stand smack dab in the middle of the platform as people are trying to get around you so they can either exit the metro station or choose a spot to stand and wait for their train. If you choose to park your fat ass in the middle of the platform chances are you are going to get bumped in to. Which is what happened when I walked by this punk and my bag apparently came to life and vehemently shoved him, because that’s what he turned around and did to me. The motherf#@$er shoved me, and he shoved me hard, and cursed at me in some foreign language I didn’t recognize because I had been peacefully jamming out to A Tribe Called Quest on my ipod. Since I am a clumsy human being instead of just tripping or falling forward, I fell much like a weeble falls when it is punched. Down and around in a circular motion, taking out everything with inches of me in the process. I seriously thought I would tumble on to the tracks. I was too shocked to really do anything aside from apologize to those around me and point him out as the original offender. He turned around and walked away, presumably b/c he realized that he is a prick who just shoved a girl in public, causing her to fall and take others down with her. NOT COOL.

God and to think I secretly really want to move to Chinatown, then I’d have to deal with this metro stop ALL THE TIME. What to do, what to do…

The nerve.

I am visiting my gentlemen friend and he just febreezed my feet. I am currently shocked and appalled.

Granted, I have been wearing leggings and sheepskin boots all day (Marc Jacobs thank you very much, I don't do UGGS.) and my feet may not smell like spring flowers, but for God's sake, don't febreeze my feet when I'm not looking.

Little bitch.

Someone isn't getting any ass tonight.

Excuse me while I go watch a movie and make out with MYSELF.