Of Crankiness and Pooches...

So my friend told me that Craigslist has a great “free stuff” section. Granted this friend is also a bit of a hippy and likes to dumpster dive, I figured there’d be no harm in checking out the section. She knows I’m looking for a dining room table and that I don’t want to spend a lot of money on one because I’m probably going to strip it and stain it myself anyways. Yeah, I’m crafty like that. Anyways, I was surfing around the free stuff section and was incredibly appalled to see that people use this section to try to get rid of their pets. People are offering up their cats and dogs and hamsters, free for the taking to anyone who responds. I find this incredibly disturbing. It infuriates me. Actually, I think I’d go so far as to say it instills in me a semi-homicidal rage that makes me want to take a baseball bat to the offenders and shove it in certain areas that don’t see much light of day. How can anyone just give up a pet like that? How can anyone make the conscious decision to get a pet, which is in my eyes like welcoming a new member to your family, and then just offer it to anyone through a website? I mean I realize that sometimes things happen in life and circumstances change and sometimes it really can’t be helped and you must give away your pet. I should know, I had to give my kitten to my parents, and I miss him every day. But I had to give him to my parents because I had a roommate who had a bad relationship with honesty and told me I could have him in our apt. before I moved in, (otherwise I wouldn’t have moved in) then went out and bought a ridiculously expensive couch, and comes to me all “will your cat scratch the couch?” Duh bitch, he’s a little mischievous kitten always up to no good, and no I can’t afford to reupholster your Bauhaus couch. Then I had to move very suddenly (again, thanks to her bad relationship with honesty, morals, etc.) and had to find housing quickly. By that time my kitten was so used to being with my parents that it would have been cruel to take him back, after he had gotten used to a huge house and lots of company all day I couldn’t very well bring him into my empty studio apartment. I wanted him back very badly, but had to do what was in the best interest of the cat, and that was to leave him with the parentals. Well now that I think of it I guess it wouldn’t have made a difference anyways b/c the apartment I ended up moving into doesn’t allow pets, but I wouldn’t have brought him with me if it did. Wait, my point is, that while I realize sometimes shit happens and you can’t keep your pet and not everyone is lucky enough to have parents nearby that love animals, but don’t get a dog then realize suddenly “OMG I’M SO BUSY I HAVE A LIFE” and go on effin’ Craigslist to give it away all whining about not being able to pay enough attention to it b/c you are just that in demand. Oh and you want a home for your 20 year old cat? Did he get too old for you? Jesus, we are talking about pets, not a sofa, not a kitchen appliance, not something that you go to use when you have the time or trade in for a better model when you get bored. They are living, breathing, loving bundles of smelly poochy kisses and furry kitty paws that love you and when I see you trying to give it away on CL b/c you don't have time for it it makes me cry and I don't like crying at work. Fucking asshats. I just feel that offering your pet up for grabs on Craigslist because you no longer have time for it is disturbing and this is my blog, so what I say goes.

I’m horribly cranky today, in case you haven't noticed. The same Boy responsible for the dirty AIM conversations kept me up on the phone until around 5:30 in the morning. Oh look at how quick I am to blame him, I stayed up willingly as clearly I really enjoy talking to him, it's just that I usually wake up at 7/7:30 and such severe lack of sleep has me seeing double. Stupid job, getting in the way of my social life like that. I set like 8 alarms because I knew that once I did fall asleep I would have a hell of a time getting up in less than two hours, and as I suspected would happen, I did in fact manage to sleep through all of my alarms and was late to work, although not horribly late so only my supervisor noticed. This Boy is a trouble maker and I love it.

Stupid Flower Companies

Well apparently I can still find something to bitch about in the face of sadness.

I am trying to find some nice and tasteful flowers to send to my friend and her family. All I want is a simple bouquet of white lilies. That's all. Nothing flashy, nothing huge, just a handful of white lilies in a simple vase.

I do not want white lilies in some vase that has silver crosses all over it. I do not want a bouquet that is bigger than me that will cost me my first born. I do not want "Tropical Tribute" or "Ray of Sunshine" bouquets. I do not want anything that has ribbon tied around it that has the word "comfort" printed all over it. And "Tender Thoughts Teacup"... Are you fucking kidding me? Is this a joke? Do people actually send these? Are there a ton of morons in the world sending these bouquets in sympathy and therefore making them in higher demand and easier to find than a simple vase filled with white lilies? Who are these people? Do they breed? And more importantly, can we stop them?

Seriously, if someone sent me a floral arrangement that was tied with a ribbon that said "comfort" all over it, I think I would throw it at a wall.

I do not want to attempt to take away your pain through flowers. I cannot fathom the pain you are in, and I'm not going to try to act like I can make it better by sending you a Peace Lily that has a fucking ribbon wrapped around it printed with the word "comfort." (Clearly this particular arrangement really disturbed me.) I am not going to send you some bright and frothy melange of flowers in an attempt to "cheer you up". I do not want to send you a plant that will live on long after the funeral that you will now be faced with the responsibility of caring for, that may or may not remind you of how you aquired it every time you water it. I just want to send a simple, plain bouquet that informs you that I am sorry for your loss and that you and your family are in my prayers. Just tasteful white lilies. That's it. And of course I can't find this simple bouquet ANY-FUCKING-WHERE. If I see one more "tasteful" arrangement of floral vomit with a name like "Teary Tulips" or some shit I will scream.

Sadness

When you spend your weekend witnessing the kind of raw emotion usually seen only in movies like Mystic River, your sense of humor kind of dissapears for a while.

My best friend lost her father this weekend and witnessing her pain caused in me a kind of heart break I am unfamiliar with. For this reason I don't feel as if I have much to say about the world, except for incredibly sad observations about life and death and how it affects people, as all else seems somewhat trivial to me at the moment. I would rather not write about such things. And bird poop and delusional ex-boyfriends are pretty damn insignificant in the grand scheme of things, so I'd rather not write about any of that nonsense either.

Forgive me if I dissapear for a bit.

The STOO-PID List

Oh it's just lovely to get to work and realize you posted while drunk last night, and it's even more lovely to barely be able to understand your own post. I didn't even think I was that drunk, geez.

Anyways, various events that have occurred this week have inspired me to compose a list. The STOO-PID list. A list of various stoo-pid things I have done this week, or have been done to me, or I have seen done.

1. DON'T GO ONLINE WHEN YOU ARE DRUNK. STOO-PID MENACE!!! You do not have extreme literary talent, despite what you may think at 2 in the morning after several Goose and tonics. What you write will make little sense to anyone, including yourself, when you realize you posted the next morning. And the only interaction you seem to have with Thursday night's doorman in your building has been while you are on some sort of substance. You do not need your apartment building thinking you are an alcoholic floozy. STOO-PID!

2. DON'T CHASE KAMIKAZE SHOTS WITH A DOUBLE GOOSE AND TONIC!!! I don't think I need to elaborate here. STOO-PID!!!!

3. DON'T LAUGH AT YOUR BEST FRIEND WHEN A BIRD SHITS ON HER HEAD!!! Because a bird will shit on your foot while you are waiting for your sushi on your lunch break. Can we say karmic retribution? STOO-PID!!

4. DON'T HAVE X-RATED AIM CONVERSATIONS WHILE AT WORK!!! Not that any of the old fuddy-duddies in this office even know how to find said conversation on the main computer brain thing, but knowing me and my luck I will get found out and will get fired and a scandal will ensue and my sex life will be plastered all over the news: "Blonde Fired for Dirty Talk on The Company Dime!!!" I can see it now. STOO-PID!!! (But a very VERY fun stoo-pid, nonetheless.)

5. DON'T TRY TO FIGURE OUT WHAT THAT SHIT WAS ON THE GROUND THAT YOU WALKED BY ON YOUR WAY TO WORK! Because when you realize that it is vomit and start to emit little screams and take off running, PEOPLE WILL THINK YOU ARE A CRACKHEAD!! STOO-PID!

6. DON'T CLOSE THE METRO AT MIDNIGHT ON A THURSDAY! Some of us can't wait until Friday to get krunk. Some of us are semi-recent college grads who like to pretend like they are still in college and don't have Friday classes. Some of us are under-paid office assistants who need the metro to be running when they stumble home at 2 in the morning so they don't spend $15 bucks on a fucking 5 minute cab ride. CAB ZONES IN DC: ALSO VERY, VERY STOO-PID. Oooh. Flashback from last night. DON'T YELL AT COPS, OR CALL THEM "DUDES." Those cops did actually have every right to honk at the cab driver for stopping in the middle of the street to let you in. Yelling "DUUUUDES I HAVE TO GO HOOOOOME I HAVE TO WAKE UP AT 7 MAAAAAAAN!!!" will not change the fact that no cabbie should stop in the middle of the street. And when the cop tells you this don't go "BUT DUUUUUUUUUDE" and whine, just shut up and get in the cab. STOO-PID, STOO-PID and STOO-PID. And makes me wonder if I should still be saying "dude" at 22. Probably not.

7. DON'T APPROACH A GIRL BY SAYING "YOU REALLY NEED A GUY LIKE ME" and then proceed to tell her your family owns the largest dry cleaning company in DC as if you think that is going to impress her. Do not proceed to ask her and her friend, a dozen times, if they have heard of said dry-cleaning place, b/c chances are if they said no the first time you mentioned it that just might mean THEY'VE NEVER HEARD OF IT!! DO NOT FOLLOW THIS GIRL THE WHOLE NIGHT AND RANDOMLY POP INTO HER CONVERSATIONS WITH OTHER DOODS TO TELL HER THAT YOU LOVE HER. YOU DO NOT KNOW HER. Flattering, I suppose, but STOO-PID.

8. DON'T STEAL MY FRIEND'S PURSE AT SUBWAY BECAUSE YOU ARE A DOUCHE-BAG-NO-GOOD-TEEN. What are parents teaching their children? When did it become ok to behave like total assbags and not have a conscience about it? Is it because I grew up in very Catholic countries in Latin America that I have this thing we call "conscience" and feel guilty even when I drown a gnat in my bathtub? WTF??? STEALING?? WTF!!!!?!?!?!?! It boggles my mind so much that it leaves me speechless, and I tell you, that's rare.

9. DON'T COMPLETELY DISREGARD SOMEONE ELSE'S FEELINGS JUST TO GET A LAUGH. This is perhaps the winner of the STOO-PID award. Don't decide to play a "joke" on your brother's ex-girlfriend because you are a dimwitted immature idiot who is bored at work and can't think of other ways to entertain yourself. Just don't. It's childish, cruel, creates unnecessary drama, and if you are finally in college then you should act like it. Don't respond to kindness with cruelty. It's like kicking a puppy for God's sake. If you contact me and I tell you that I am happy to hear you love college and that I hope you have a nice summer, don't be an asshat about it, just accept the fact that someone just said something nice to you in response to your stupid joke and leave it at that, why go out of your way to make the person (i.e. ME) feel shitty and stupid? I really can't wrap my mind around it. Catty queen-bee behavior belongs on the playground, and apparently, so does this chick. Double STOO-PID: DON'T LET YOUR SISTER DISRESPECT THE FIRST WOMAN YOU HAD A SERIOUS RELATIONSHIP WITH, WHO YOU SUPPOSEDLY LOVED VERY DEEPLY. She may not be perfect, but neither are you and she loved you so very much and only ever wanted to make you happy, just because you guys weren't meant to be doesn't mean you have to be an ass. Respect what was at one point in your lives a beautiful thing and leave it at that. SSSSTTTTOOOOO---PPPPIIIIDDDD. And mean.

10. DON'T LET STUPID BITCHES GET TO YOU. STOO-PID. Sometimes you can't help it, but try to accept the fact that there are a lot of twisted people in this world and learn not to let it bother you. You will never understand what motivates some people to act in ways that are clearly harmful to others. Be it a silly ex's sister, an old roommate (or like 3 old roommates if you have exceptionally bad luck like me), or some random dude, you will only get weighed down if you allow every mean person who crosses your path to hurt you. And if you do get hurt, acknowledge that you have just encountered a stoo-pid beyotch and be glad that you aren't the kind of person who behaves like a stoo-pid beyotch. Make like Plato and do your best to be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harder battle. And take kamikaze shots with your girlfriends while toasting "fuck stupid bitches" and be thankful for the wonderful people you are blessed to have in your life.

Of Evil Pigeons and Bird Poop...

I don't like the birds at Union Station. Correction: I don't like the seagulls. I don't like them flying about over my head and squawking and doing whatever bird-like things it is that they do. Birds poop at random, and I know in my heart that one day I will be walking along, minding my own business, and one of these wretched Union Station birds will poop all over me and my Blonde hair. Where the hell do they come from anyways? Are we THAT close to a body of water that seagulls need to claim Union Station as their own? My supervisor just told me that seagulls live everywhere, regardless of your proximity to large bodies of water, that they live near garbage. I thought they only lived near the SEA, I mean why the hell else are they called SEAgulls? Is this a blonde moment I am having, or have other people believed this misconception to be true too? I don't think I've ever seen seagulls in Manhattan. There's lots of garbage there. I mean yeah it's an island and all, but I feel like seagulls only belong near docks and boats and shit. Not that I'm looking for them when I'm in NYC, but I think I would have noticed them if I’d seen them, I think it would have seemed odd to me. Pigeons, now those little fuckers rule that city. I was almost attacked by a one-eyed pigeon once, but now that I think about it, I think that was here in DC. Pigeons in NYC are brutal, they probably have a dictatorship that exiles seagulls. This is besides the point, but I think it would be really cool to train a flock of pigeons to do your evil deeds. Like give them some bread and then say "Pigeons: Boss, now" and off they go to poop all over your boss or ex-boyfriend or something. That would kind of kick ass.

Anyways, this was going somewhere. Ah yes, I was driving a while back with my sun roof open, just relaxing to the catchy pop tunes of our favorite child molester of yesteryear (Jacko, duh), and it occurred to me that it could be possible that a bird could poop and still hit me through my sun roof. This seemed highly unlikely to me though, because what are the chances that a bird's poop would fly through the air at an appropriate angle at the precise time your car is driving underneath, so the poop would then fly through the tiny hole in the top of your car, and land precisely on your head? What are the odds of that happening? Slim to none, at least that’s what I thought until this morning.

One of my best friends texted me around 10:30ish: "I had my sun roof open in my car just driving down the road and a bird shit on my head. I am repulsed."

After I laughed hysterically at her expense it dawned on me that what I thought was hardly possible had in fact just happened to someone I know. It is possible. And if it's possible that a bird can shit on your head through the sun roof of a moving car, then surely those of us who like to walk to Union Station on our lunch breaks are doomed.

In other non-poopy news, I think I am going to order customized pink m&m’s that say “fabulous” on them for my Champagne and Cupcakes party. I can’t think of anything more ridiculous and fantastical.

Of Mid-Mid Life Crises and Cupcakes...

In exactly a month from today I will be.... 23 years old.

*Cue dramatic music and blood curdling screams*

While I realize that in all reality this is really not that old, but given that half the time I feel like I'm still a clueless flat-chested-zit-faced 7th grader this does in fact feel REALLY REALLY OLD.

Regardless of whether it’s true or not, I feel like the decisions I make now are the ones that are going to shape the rest of my life, and this gives me all sorts of anxiety. Perhaps it’s because I still don’t know what I want to be when I “grow up”. Maybe I’m just overwhelmed because I have so many interests and women have so many options these days and there are so many things I could do with my life and it all gets me slightly confused and flustered to think about and when I get confused and flustered I tend to get anxiety which leads to panic because I’m just that high strung like that. Why, just last week one of my closest friends told me she really thinks I need to start smoking more pot because I’m too high strung. I don’t think I’m THAT high strung. Maybe just a little.

My Mother was married when she was 23. I also realize that in this day and age it is no longer the norm to be married by 22/23, but it doesn’t change that fact that she was married when she was my age and it makes me think about when marriage is going to be a relevant topic in my life. Despite my drunken tendencies I actually have a strong maternal streak, one that rivals those of Jewish mothers, or so I’m told, and part of me wants to get married and start having babies. Little girls with little curls that I can dress up in patent leather mary janes and lacy socks and pinafores and all that nonsense. Little blonde devils, oh how adorable. I should start babysitting again, that’ll remind me real quick that I don’t want kids. I have friends that are engaged, some that are already married and some who already have kids. I swear it seems like just yesterday that this one girl and I were taking buttery nipple shots at Ozio and getting trashed, and now she’s a mom. Moms shouldn’t drink buttery nipples, something about it just seems wrong. My last boyfriend mentioned marriage, not to me mind you, just marriage in particular, and I freaked out. He said his Dad was married at this age too and that he thought he should be married in like a year. I proceeded to panic, then hyperventilate, then break out in hives, and we aren’t together anymore.

I don’t even know what career path I want to take. Obviously I loathe being an office assistant, but I haven’t really made any serious attempts to find a new job because I have no fucking clue what it is I want to do. I did want to be an event planner for a while, but now I think I want to be a chef. I love to plan parties and I love to cook. But I don’t like to work for people. I have problems being told what to do. There’s a voice inside me that says “fuck you I won’t do what you tell me” for no other reason than I just don’t like doing what people tell me to. It makes my ass twitch. Ok, and usually I’m right and they are wrong so my way is usually better anyways. I am more stubborn than a donkey on crack so when I don’t want to do something it becomes a long and languorous process and a never-ending battle of procrastination. I am the procrastination queen I tell you. And I suck at keeping my mouth shut and my opinions to myself. At our staff meeting this morning it was my turn to tell everyone what my tasks were for this week and I almost said “myspace, facebook, blogs, shopping” just because. I need a new job. I have all these fantastic business ideas, but starting your own business needs mucho money that I don’t have.

I also want to do the whole “backpack around Europe” thing, except I don’t make enough money right now to really afford anything except for hostels, and if you know me, then you know hostels just aren’t an option. (Even more so after that ridiculous bloody movie.) My Arab ex-boyfriend wants me to meet him in Spain for the summer and all I’d have to pay for is the ticket. This is one of those terrible ideas where you tell yourself it’s secretly a good one, like a good idea in wolf’s clothing or something, but deep down you know it’s probably one of the stupidest things you could ever do. I’d end up kidnapped and it would be “Not Without My Daughter” all over again.

Ok that’s it I’m starting to give myself a mid-mid-life-crisis-panic-attack thinking about it, enough of this subject.

The only thing I do know for sure is that for my birthday I am going to crowd as many people into my studio apartment as is comfortable and throw a huge Champagne and Cupcakes birthday celebration and get everyone drunker than a Kennedy.

On Hurling and Lesbian Night....

I drove to work today. I was almost killed by two different metro buses and a cement truck. Oh and a dumb bitch in a beetle. I.HATE.METRO.BUSES. How's that for emphasis? I hate dumb bitches too, but not as much as I hate metro buses. I really do feel that I have become a happier person since I stopped driving to work, as the events of this morning proved to me.

Why did I drive to work today you ask? Because I feared for the lives of the people on the metro that's why. And why would I need to fear for such a thing? Because I woke up this morning a whole new shade of green, and did not feel that my stomach could handle the metro. Now you're wondering how this could affect the lives of metro riders. Obviously I was feeling hurlacious, but if you think hurling is nasty, and chances are you do, you will never be prepared for Menace hurling.

See I have an irrational fear of vomit. It's true that it mostly applies to other people performing this atrocious act, but I don't react well to my own vomit either. If someone else yaks, or if I hear/see/smell it, I freak out to absurd and abnormal proportions. Usually I hyperventilate and take off running in whatever direction gets me farthest away from the source of the offense, there have been occasions where I've come close to passing out. I didn't ride a rollercoaster until I was like 15 because I was afraid someone would barf on me. I realize it's ridiculous so I don't need you to point it out to me, thanks. You know what happened to me my very first night in my dorm my freshman year of college? A dude puked all over my legs. It wasn’t pretty. I have successfully blocked most of the incident out of my memory completely.

But anyways, when I vomit it is accompanied by a whole slew of dramatics that include wailing, moaning, coughing, crying, groaning and yes, hyperventilating. It is the most painful experience in the world to me. I would rather get 40 shots in my ass then have to vomit, ever. Ok maybe I'm exaggerating a little, I don't think I'd like 40 shots in my ass either. But because God likes to mock me (read above incident about my first night in college) I have the queasiest, most irritable stomach known to man. This means I hurl a lot. ESPECIALLY after a night of boozin’.

Ah, booze. Here I am revisiting this topic, AGAIN. I swear I am not usually such an alkie.

See I ended up drunk last night. This was not the goal mind you, the goal was to hang out with an old friend I hadn’t seen in a while to catch up. The setting was Gazuza in Dupont. Ridiculously overpriced sushi and martinis were had by all. The Scoop Nazi from Larry’s joined us. Then hookahs became involved. And shots of Patron. And like 3 goose and tonics. It was safe to say we all became pretty inebriated, pretty quickly, which is why I woke up feeling so hurlacious that I couldn’t even ride the metro for fear of exposing DC to my horrible puke-phobia. Anyways, that Scoop Nazi is one funny motherfucker I’ll tell you what. I feel like I did crunches yesterday or some shit, my abs hurt from laughing so much.

Did I mention that Wednesday at Gazuza is lesbian night? We had no knowledge of this. Apparently my dinner date noticed, but I certainly didn’t. I wear glasses. I need them to see things that are far away. If you are too far away from me then you are a blur and in order to see you I will have to squint a lot, but obviously I don’t do that unless absolutely necessary b/c I don’t want wrinkles at such an early age. Duh. Anyhow, I do not wear my glasses very frequently, in fact I don’t even know where they are at the moment. I really only used them in school or while driving. And I get along fine without them while driving, I don’t care what my passengers have to say about that. That’s besides the point, the point is that I didn’t have my glasses on. And I kept seeing a group of men at the bar staring at me. I wasn’t in vixen mode so I wasn’t too interested, I was all about catching up with my old buddy that night. Then I saw an old friend who happens to be gay who pointed out to me that it was lesbian night. I looked around. The place was packed. With all women. Those men ogling me at the bar? Those weren’t men. Those were butch lesbos my friends. I was ogled by lesbians, and I am so blind that I didn’t even realize it. Needless to say some of the evening’s events made a lot more sense after we realized this. I thought I was just meeting really friendly, outgoing women. Sometimes I am denser than a dictionary.

And now I get to drive home. I swear, if any fucking metro buses cross my car’s path, I might just explode in a blurry blonde rage.

An Alcoholic Linebacker???

It seems this pitiful blog now has somewhat of an audience, which causes a new kind of performance anxiety I am unfamiliar with. What if what I write isn't good enough for my new readers?

Well if that's the case then I can think of a few choice words for you, and none of them are kosher words at that. There goes my performance anxiety.

Anyhoo, I feel like I should say "Hi. Welcome." or something lame and toolbaggish like that. I don't know what blog protocol is. Is there such a thing as blog protocol? I'm a newbie to the blog world. I am not a newbie to blogs if you consider livejournal a blog, but I don't consider livejournal to be a blog. Livejournal is for when I am being emo and narcissistic and want to keep my friends from high school who now live all over the place updated on the fascinating goings-on of my life. This is different. I keep reading all these neat blogs too and I want to link to them but am not sure about protocol for that either. Do I have to ask someone first before I link to them on my page? Because if that's the case then I'm one lazy mo'fo and I'll end up never having a links section on my blog. As it is I'm being really lazy about figuring out how to set up the whole thing, fucking html, who has the time? The patience? Clearly I am of the brand of Americans that like things quick and easy, b/c html is just mind boggling and time consuming in my opinion. Fast food was made for people like me. Yeah there was that one freshman year website requirement thing that was done entirely in html, but that was a long time ago. Not to mention a royal pain in my arse. Ugh. Screw that. Of course I haven't spent more than 2 minutes looking at how to add links to this page which means I've probably just made myself look like a royal idiot b/c it is probably retardedly easy and I just wrote a whole thing about how it's too complicated for me. Ah well, whatever.

Anyways, so it's only my third post and I'm already writing another blog with an alcohol related title. Sad? Probably.

So I was just chatting with my ex-boyfriend over AIM today and the subject turned to me, or rather, me while drunk. Now, this particular ex-boyfriend and I have a long history. We have known each other for something like 3 years. We have dated twice, both times failing pretty miserably at anything resembling a normal healthy relationship. Yet we have been through a lot together and as much as we may hate each other sometimes there is no denying that we make each other laugh and I figure it can be hard to find people sometimes that really REALLY make you laugh, so best not to let stupid past-relationship drama get in the way of what could be a normal healthy friendship, and one that really makes us laugh at that. At least that's my logic. If you read about my adventure on the baggage claim then you know my logic can sometimes be skewed.

So, back to the topic of conversation, me while drunk. See ex-boyfriend has been there through some rough times for The Menace. The Menace used to have a teensy weensy boozy problem: I went to college and got drunk all the time. Oh, you did too? Well, it seems I have a flair for the dramatic, and this gets UBER amplified while I am incredibly drunk, and by incredibly drunk I mean shitfaced, which is no fun for anyone, including myself. So I was joking around about my last drunk stunt that involved... actually, I'm not going to get into that. So basically he tells me that I remind him of a linebacker when I am drunk. I got confused. While I am a brilliant Blonde there is only so much knowledge my beautiful skull can hold; sports unfortunately falls to the wayside. So he sent me this link: http://youtube.com/watch?v=AatXR6N0xFM&search=footballs%20greatest%20hits

This little video montage is made up entirely of huge ass men in skin tight uniforms plowing into each other. All to the tunes of Prodigy, of course. (Although I have to say I think it would have been far more appropriate to use "smack my bitch up" instead of the song they used) This, to describe me, the daintiest and most lady-like of blondes. Oh the shame, oh the outrage.

And, to add insult to injury, I showed my supervisor, who, after laughing, said, "Yeah I can see that." I need to stop sharing things with my supervisor. I have a big mouth.

Ok so maybe I'm not such a dainty and lady-like blonde. At least not ALL the time. But I hardly think I am out to "destroy things" when I get drunk, as the ex so eloquently put it. So maybe once in a while I get a little klepto and "borrow" lighters from the gas station when I think they aren't looking, and ok yeah sometimes I've made out with a chick or two but you know, who hasn't.... And there was that one time at Citron that got us all kicked out... Actually, now that I think of it, all of my friends have gotten us kicked out of Citron at one point or another, so that's a bad example.

This is actually how I became known as The Blonde Menace. Like many great ideas, it began with booze. I believe it was my dear old friend Khalil who coined the phrase in reference to me and one of my partners in crime, Menace # 2. She and I are are bad news blues when combined, but in the best possible way of course. We are a force to be reckoned with. We have a blast. We get dolled up, we go to bars, and then all sorts of crazy shit happens. Sometimes I don't know how we get ourselves in the predicaments we end up in, but then I remember: oh yeah, we were drunk.

Anyways I had some points I was going to make but got called away from my ever busy job of being everyone's bitch and have since forgotten them.

All I know is it's hard as hell not to drink a lot when all of your friends are blossoming alcoholics. And now that even more of them have graduated from school and are joining the ranks of 9to5er's it only means one thing: more people to go to happy hour with after work.

What is a girl to do?

Join them.

The Lexus and the Anarchist Tree...

So I have decided that I adore riding the metro. I haven't had a choice in the past few days because my car has been in the shop, but today I opted to ride the metro instead of driving to work. I have decided that driving to work makes me an angry person, and besides, I like to people watch, and I like to do it even more when I have a nice angry soundtrack like Rage Against the Machine blasting from my headphones. I find it humorous to watch all these people looking so polished in their business suits with their briefcases while Zach de la Rocha is screaming "THESE PEOPLE AIN'T SEEN A BROWN SKINNED MAN SINCE THEIR GRANDPARENTS BOUGHT ONE." It entertains me, and as is often the case it doesn't make much sense, but who am I to quit doing something that entertains me?

Anyways, it seems that the advertising companies have taken it upon themselves to start advertising from within the metro tunnels. See, clearly it's not enough to plaster the sides of a Metro car with McDonalds adds, now Lexus and Lincoln have begun advertising from within the dank and dark depths of the mysterious tunnels beneath DC. It scared the shit out of me when I first noticed it, and it happened so quickly that it left me speechless for a few seconds, wondering to myself if I had in fact just seen a car or if I was just hallucinating from being really high and not realizing it. I could tell the guy sitting in front of me was experiencing a similar thing. From the way he kept shaking his head and pressing his nose to the glass, I was comforted to know I wasn't the only person mentally screaming "WTF WAS THAT?!!?!" It's quite brilliant really, it's like those flip books you used to play with as a kid. Well, at least I used to play with them, so I assume everyone has encountered a flip book at some point in their lives. You know, you flip them and the images on each page come to life in a jauntily animated sequence. That's what the adds do. This morning I was able to see some shiny rims on a Lincoln Navigator spin, and I was able to watch some new Lexus go for a leisurely spin down a winding road. I wonder how many people who ride the metro to work everyday would be able to afford a shiny new Lexus or Lincoln. Seems to me it would make more sense to stick with the McDonalds ads, or perhaps wireless service ads or something more useful to the general public. If I could afford a Lexus there's no way I'd be riding the Metro, angry driver or not, I'd be driving that Lexus everywhere man I guarantee it. Shit, I'd live in that car, it's probably roomier than my freakin' apartment.

Ah, life in a capitalist society.

Of functioning alcoholics and the baggage claim...

So I decided today to start a new blog. It was one of those whims, that just came to me, and here I am, in my blonde and fabulous glory, wasting time at work writing pointless crap that not many people will read.

So anyhoo, I was just in my supervisor's office watching The View with him and the intern. The intern's last day is tomorrow, so I have taken it upon myself to take her to the bar next door for happy hour in a late attempt to get her drunk.

I had been wanting to try to get the intern drunk for a while now, but I am a douche at making plans sometimes so the "office happy hour" I suggested, like, 4 months ago, never actually took place. So tonight I will try to get the intern to take some shots with me. She has already refused my suggestion of shots, but she looked intrigued when I explained what a shooter was, so perhaps I'll get her to ingest some kamikazes.

Why am I trying so hard to get this poor, innocent soul drunk you ask?

Why not?

She's a sweet girl. A sort of old-fashioned farm girl, from a hog farm in Minnesota. We don't have much in common, other than the fact that we both seem to enjoy laughing at me. She laughs at me a lot. Not in a mean way mind you, in a sort of "OMG THIS CHICK IS ON CRACK AND IT'S FUNNY AS HELL" kind of way. I get nervous when people laugh at me like that. I become uber conscious of the fact that she has never quite met anyone like me before and that she is sort of laughing at me in this kind of semi-shocked way, as if she can't quite believe I'm real and that people like me actually exist.

People like me you say? What is a person like me? I don't know. I'm blonde, I like pink, I'm bubblier than Moet, I'm cynical and sarcastic as all hell and I am obsessed with Martha Stewart and everything that entails. I wear my heart like it's the latest handbag and Disney movies make me cry, but if you get me drunk chances are I'll start using "bitch" as every other word and I just might make out with you. Or slap you, you know, whatever is required for that evening's dramatic effect. I am fabulous. My nickname since early college has been "Fabulous + myname." However I will not include my name, which is kind of unfortunate b/c it starts with an F and is the perfect marriage with the word fabulous, but for the purposes of this blog, I am The Blonde Menace. Or Hurricane Blonde, you know, whichever you prefer.

I am the kind of person who required a leash as a child. I remember it fondly, it was orange and plastic and springy-looking. It went around my wrist. You may think putting a leash on a child is cruel, but I can assure you I deserved it. I just shared this story with the intern and from the looks of her reaction, she agreed. I mean it's no big deal, really, I just had an incident in an airport. Who can blame me really. I don't remember all the details, seeing as I was about 2 at the time, but we were in an airport, most likely arriving or returning from Egypt (Daddy was a Diplomat) b/c that's where we lived at the time. I'm thinking I was just incredibly excited to be off the plane, as I have never much liked planes, although I handled them a lot better when I was a child than I do now. Anyways, children should not be allowed to even LOOK at the baggage claim. It's a big fat tease, that's what it is. What child, in their right mind, would not want to get on the baggage claim? I mean come on, it moves relatively fast, but not fast enough to scare you out of your three year old wits or make you hurl, it goes through little tunnels into secret areas that no one can see, it's begging for you to climb on it and join it's circular trip through the airport world. Except no one likes it when you act on your desires and actually jump onto the baggage claim. I should know. I had to wear a leash after I tried this one. My Mother started chasing me, in her heels and dress (people used to dress up to travel you know, it's just how things were done) and I became even more excited because now not only was I on this fun new ride, but Mommy decided to join me and from the looks of it, she wanted to play tag! So I kept crawling around, going down the chute with all the bags, oblivious to the fact that people were freaking out all around me. Cut to the chase: I told you I deserved the leash.

So sometimes I don't have much common sense, and I am very impulsive, and I have problems saying no to myself. I don't always think things through before I do them, I am stubborn as hell, and I do my own thing regardless of what others say, think or do. This was clear back then, and it's still true today. This can be both good and bad. If I'm going to be all happy-go-lucky-my-glass-if-half-full-bitch about it then I'll go so far as to say that it is usually good, because even when it's bad and I do stupid things that make you shake your head and maybe even want to hit me and rip out my lovely golden locks, chances are in a month or 2 (or a year, you know, somethings take time) whatever it is I've managed to do will probably make you double over in laughter if for nothing more than because you'll sit there wondering "what the fuck is wrong with this chick" and then we all have a good laugh at the absurdity of the things that make so much sense in my head that may not make sense to anyone else. Besides, isn't laughter what life is all about?

Well it's also been made apparent early on that I have a slight case of ADD and easily lose track of whatever point I am trying to make because I get distracted by the details and end up telling completely different tales than I had intended. It keeps me on my toes as much as it does anyone else, I assure you.

Toodles for now,

Le Blonde