Watch out, I'm GRUMPY

I am so fucking cranky. Everything, and I do mean EVERYTHING, is irritating the crap out of me right now. I feel like smacking quite a few of my coworkers. I feel like breaking a wine glass or two. I feel like complaining and cursing about things that are pissing me off. Lucky for me I have a blog, and blogs are perfect for bitching and whining about things you have no control over. Hell, they're perfect for bitching and whining about things you do have control over too.

We had a barbecue lunch in my office on Wednesday. There were shitloads of leftovers, so everyone took food home. I'm trying to eat healthy food these days, so I saved a bunch of barbecue and rice krispy treats for the Boy. Since I knew I would see him yesterday after work I left it in the office fridge overnight so I wouldn't have to take it home then bring it back. Yesterday morning I entered the kitchen to find a certain coworker helping herself to my rice krispy treats. I was immediately annoyed, as I can be quite territorial and as far as I'm concerned you don't fuck with other people's food, but I just laughed as she moaned about stuffing her face with MY krispy treats and nonchalantly mentioned that they were actually mine and I was saving them for Boy. I understood that she didn't realize that they actually belonged to someone, she probably thought they were just leftover from the lunch and free for the taking, despite the fact that they were hidden behind things and wrapped up in foil and not on the counter where we usually put communal food. I wasn't rude, I simply informed her that I hadn't felt like taking everything home with me then having to bring it back, and I wrapped up the goods and hid them behind more stuff in the fridge. She suggested I write my name on it, but I scoffed at this because I think this is ludicrous. What is this, fucking kindergarten? Should I start keeping my food in my Lion King lunchbox in my fucking cubbyhole? When did it become ok to just help yourself to anything in the fridge? If we usually keep the communal food out on the counter or the kitchen table so people can help themselves, then what on earth would make someone think it was ok to help themselves to stuff that was clearly wrapped and tucked away in the fridge? And why the fuck are people going through the fridge and unwrapping all the foil-covered items anyways? There are tons of foil-covered items in our fridge. No one knew I had put my portion of the krispy treats in the fridge, someone had to be a nosy little bitch and start unwrapping shit that obviously wasn't theirs, as if it's ok to just help yourself to anything in the god damned fridge. This is absurd to me. Fucking absurd. But whatever, I was happy to have salvaged some of the treats and left it at that.

Tell me why I went into the fucking kitchen in the afternoon and someone had laid out MY FUCKING RICE KRISPY TREATS on the counter WITH A GOD DAMNED KNIFE and tell me why THEY WERE ALL FUCKING GONE?!?!?! Oh the anger, the soul-gripping maddening anger. I fucking hid those behind a lot of shit. Someone fucking went through the fridge and helped themselves. I can’t help but think that this was a pre-meditated attack on my treats. Yes I realize that I'm complaining about freakin rice krispy treats and that this is retarded, BUT IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE SITUATION PEOPLE. If someone hides an unlabeled foil-wrapped item behind a whole lot of stuff, what on earth possesses a person to push everything around, retrieve said unlabeled ball of foil, open it, AND THEN FUCKING EAT THE ENTIRE CONTENTS??? WHO DOES THAT?!?!?!? WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!?! It's disrespectful, that's what it is, and it FUCKING MADE ME MAD.

You know what else pisses me off? People who ride the metro during rush hour and lean their entire body on the poles as if they need to straddle the god damned thing with their body in order to not fall down, subsequently leaving no room at all for any other riders to hold on to said pole. FUCKING POLE HOGGERS DID YOUR PARENTS NOT TEACH YOU TO SHARE? You are riding a crowded ass train and other people need to hold on to something too. This is not fucking Camelot's, you may or may not be a stripper, I really don't give a rat's ass, but rush hour is not the time for freakin pole humping. You only need one hand on that pole, maybe two, and you need to stand a fair distance away from it so other passengers can hold on to it too. And if someone almost falls over and as a result grabs the pole you are rubbing up against to keep from falling down, don't just stand there, MOVE THE FUCK OVER BITCH!!! My fucking hand is now uncomfortably lodged between your back fat and the pole, don't tell me you don't feel me there because I sure as hell feel you and I'm NOT LIKING IT ONE BIT. It seriously boggles my mind. I mean I understand that the metro during rush hour is not the time to be worrying about people entering your personal space because it's basically unavoidable but come on, I don't like touching random strangers and I don't like them touching me. I swear, people have no fucking common sense these days.

Oh the angry rants continue. I've been seeing too much Starbucks shit everywhere recently and it's been pissing me off. There is one in Union Station. There is one in some random hotel like 2 blocks away. And supposedly now they are opening another one a few blocks away from that one. I. HATE. STARBUCKS. The place has given me bad feelings since I first encountered this yuppie coffee phenomena upon moving to the US at 16. I never really knew why, it was one of those "something's not right here" feelings you get in your gut, and hell if I know why but Starbucks gives me that feeling. Then I became all "liberal" and "activistish" at around 18 and got involved with Students for Justice in Palestine and some article was circulated that confirmed my dislike of the company and I started boycotting it, which of course wasn't hard b/c it's not like I went there much anyways. Of course now it's "cool" to hate Starbucks because they're a huge "evil" multinational, but I don't prescribe to that particular argument as I think that's a load of pinko commie horse shit. I do however agree with those that criticize their treatment of coffee workers. I for one don't think the sweat and blood of a million underpaid workers makes for tasty coffee, so I will continue to silently seethe every time I see that ugly green medusa logo thing as new freakin' Starbucks keep popping up within walking distances of each other. And I will not, no matter how cheery and lovey and "YAY-IT'S-CHRISTMAS-I-LOVE-EVERYBODY!!" I get, come the Holiday season I will not succumb to their evil attempts to get my money by buying any stupid eggnog chai. I curse the person who introduced me to those, b/c they are delectable and contain some sort of liquid crack because the urge to drink them is so strong it has on rare occasion overridden my extreme hatred of the place. This makes me fucking hate them even more. The whole eggnog thing covers up the sweat and blood taste pretty well. Of course, chai isn't coffee. But still. I don't want my dollars going to that tool-bag company.

I am also incredibly annoyed that I am missing the Argentina-Germany game, and I’m even more fucking pissed because they had to go into extra-time and I’M FUCKING MISSING IT!!! That and I HATE ARGENTINA and Germany better fucking beat them or I just might throw something.

Oh I’m such a grumpy bitch today. I only got like 3 hours of sleep, leave me alone.


Ok fine I'll post what few pics I have

Ok I don't have a lot of pictures. My computer is currently in a coma, so I haven't been able to upload the pictures from my digital camera onto the computer, which means my digital camera is now in a coma, so I rely on the cameras of others or my trusty little camera phone.

I have a number of pictures of the lovely cupcakes, which I took before I was too drunk to remember that my camera has a phone. (Sometimes I forget.)

I have recieved a few from party goers who had cameras, but not many, I am expecting (hoping?) for more.

This is what I have, or rather, this is what I have that I managed to post before Blogger started being a pain in my ass and I got frustrated and stopped.

My friend's apartment has horrible ventilation or something, b/c it gets so hot and stuffy and sweaty regardless of the fact that the air had been on the whole day, and I have yet to recieve any of the pictures that were taken pre-drunken dancing, so I look a mess in these photos. But aren't those just the prettiest cupcakes you ever did see?


Weekend Review

Oh man I have lots of catching up to do.

My Champagne and Cupcakes Celebration was a huge success. Every single person I have spoken to thus far seems to have enjoyed themselves immensely, and this puts me over the moon. I clearly had a blast, and it makes me feel even better about having had such a great time to know that everyone else had a blast too.

But let me not get ahead of myself. My birthday celebration started off with my parents on Wednesday night. We had lobster and they spoiled me by giving me a 60 GB video ipod, and a pink frying pan. Can you believe that? A PINK frying pan!!! My mom kicks ass. Both of my parents gave me the same birthday card. It says something on the front and on the inside it says “You’re fabulous!” This amuses me to no end.

The celebration continued at Lucky Bar at 9 in the morning on my actual birthday with I-66. I waited until after 10 to start drinking beer because it just didn't seem right to start before that. We lost. It was fun, but sad. I stayed to have one last beer after I-66 left and ended up meeting all these random guys who upon discovering it was my birthday began buying me birthday beer and shooters. Yup, I was drunk by like 3 pm. So I went shopping at H&M, then hurried home so I could get ready for dinner with the Boy by 7 pm. Yeah, I was late. Late and drunk. I was trying so so hard not to be a dumb drunk bitch, but seeing as I had been drinking since like 10 in the morning it was kind of hard. I felt so bad. Oh and I know I spoke to Ninja Man at some point b/c I still have his copy of the Express, but it's a bit hazy, I don't know if I was coherent or not. Supposedly I was going to meet up with some girlfriends in Adams Morgan after dinner but instead I went home b/c I realized that I was too drunk to be going out and drinking more. So I went home and cried a little because (A.) I was almost home when I realized that the heel to one of my favorite pairs of shoes had fallen off at some point, and I couldn't figure out when or where b/c I never tripped or anything, I seriously just noticed that my heel felt like it was sinking and I looked back and was like "WTF?!?!?" and (B.) I was pissed at myself for getting drunk before what was supposed to be a special birthday dinner and of course I also didn't bake any cupcakes, so I wept a little before passing out on my couch watching Casino. (Clearly I am the kind of girl you want to take home to Mom.......)

I managed to wake up early, of course I was passed out by like 11 so I guess this makes sense, and I was only a little hungover so I made tons of gorgeous cupcakes, all pink of course. My party was such a huge success, pretty much everyone I invited came, or everyone that mattered anyways, and we all just danced and drank champagne (or beer) and ate too much sugar and it was fabulous. I had even bought a bunch of fake plastic tiaras at the party store, I should have bought more b/c they were a huge hit, apparently I'm not the only girl who likes to wear sparkly princess crowns. We then went to Citron, but it was packed and nasty and sweaty so Boy and I peaced out. My fabulous leopard shoes were killing me so he let me wear his shoes and went barefoot, aaaww CUTE!!!

Overall, this was seriously the best birthday weekend ever.

And now I'm looking forward to getting smashed while watching Brazil whoop some dirty French bastards in this Saturday's game.


Soccer anyone?

Anyone planning on going to watch the USA/Ghana game tomorrow? Anyone by any chance going to Lucky Bar? Anyone want to meet up with a Menace (provided she gets out of bed, it is her birthday morning after all) and watch the game?

Oh, almost forgot: This is HILARIOUS!!!



So I had what had to have been one of the most craziest, unexpected and insanely bizarre weekends of my life. And I'm not even exaggerating or being a drama queen like usual.

It all started because of World Cup Fever. I blame it on soccer. Ok, and beer. Ok and inexplicable chemistry between two polar opposites that makes no fucking sense whatsoever.

I have been being friendly with a particular ex-boyfriend who I have mentioned in passing several times. (This would be the one who likened my drunken antics to an NFL linebacker. Also the one whose sister and I don't seem to get along.) I've said it before and I'll say it again, we really make each other laugh like crazy, so I thought we could do the friend thing and you know, just be chill like that.

Have I ever mentioned before that sometimes I am the dumbest blonde in the history of blondes? Ever heard that joke, about the emergency at the mall, when the escalator broke down and a blonde got stuck for hours? Or how about the one where the blonde got stuck on the roof? You know, because she heard drinks were on the house? All these blondes getting themselves in crazy situations. I'm pretty sure these are all based on me and the various insane and/or stupid situations I manage to get myself into on a seemingly regular basis.

I was conversating with said ex-boyfriend over the internets while bored at work last week. We were talking about how we both wanted to watch the USA v. Italy match at a fun bar, but neither of us had anyone to go with. Somehow this inevitably led to us agreeing to go together. Part of me was skeptical, largely because I knew booze would get involved and it did occur to me that this had the potential to be a very dangerous equation. But I guess I just figured that we were mature adults who were above drunken escapades and that we could just, you know, BE CHILL. (I'm not going to start talking about how I'm a dumb blonde again despite it's relevance to the last sentence I just wrote.) So we agreed to meet around 1 and headed to Lucky Bar to catch the end of The Ghana v. Czech match and try to find seats (hahaha yeah that didn't happen) for the 3 pm USA game.

The bar was packed, the atmosphere was great. I-66 wasn't kidding when he described the goosebumps and good feelings one gets as an entire bar sings the National Anthem. If you can imagine a somewhat large bar with about 3 "floors" filled completely to probably twice its legal capacity if not more, all singing the National Anthem and chanting "USA", boy it was an amazing thing to be a part of and I am so glad I got to experience that. I also have to give mad props to the person who came up with the idea to start singing the Team America World Police theme song. It is a unique experience in its own to be in a bar full of drunks all screaming, "AMERICA!!! FUCK YEAH!!!!" at the top of their lungs. Oh if only I had had a video camera, it was priceless. I kind of want to go back for Thursday's match but it's at 10 am and A. I won't have anyone to go with that early, B. It's my birthday and I might want to sleep late, C. I have lots of preparations to make for the Champagne and Cupcakes party on Friday and if I get drunk watching a soccer game at 10 in the morning I will be out of commission for most of Thursday. So I can't decide what to do.

Anyways, back to Saturday's game. Between the two of us we drank about 4 pitchers of German beer. Needless to say, we were both drunk. It was hilarious, and more fun than I've had in a while. Between the friendly insults exchanged with our neighboring fascist Italian fans who kept threatening to steal our beer and the laughter we shared over the fact that the ex was actually rooting for America for once (he's a leftist pinko commie, so it's a bizarre thing), it was an all around good time. If it weren't for the fascist Italian soccer players who felt the need to overact and just be plain corrupt match-fixing fascists (albeit gorgeous ones) I think we could have beat their asses, I was surprised at how well our team was doing, especially considering we were playing 9 to 10 towards the end. Of course, I also haven't played or even really watched soccer in years and had little to no faith in our team, so what do I know. Oh yeah, and I had about 2 pitchers of beer in me. And I just like screaming "FASCISTS!!!" at people. Oh and I did just read that De Rossi wrote a letter of apology for elbowing McBride in the face. Asshole.

But yeah, the inevitable happened. The drunker we got, the more flirtatious we got. Except instead of harmless drunken making out, which I have to admit I thought was a possibility, it led to an incredibly serious and emotionally charged conversation that has since left me in a bit of a shambles. Basically I am now faced with some even more tough decisions about what I want his role in my life to be, and I am more confused than a republican gay man.

I have since started a dialogue with myself about whether or not one can actually be friends with an ex. I am starting to think that perhaps there are some exes that you just cannot be friends with. Well, I guess it's all circumstantial. I've managed to stay good friends with the only other ex in my relationship history that actually matters besides this one, but he was a FOB who moved back to his country in North Africa like 3 years ago and hasn't been back since, so that kind of made it hard to be anything but friends. But I can honestly say I have no feelings for this man whatsoever, and even if I were to see him I don't think it would rekindle anything at all. Now as for the current ex, clearly he and I are not at a place where we can just be friends, and it makes me wonder if we ever will be. I've known him for 3 years and we have tried to date twice in that time period, basically failing miserably each time. Maybe we didn't wait long enough after our last break up to try to be friends? Or is there really some sort of inexplicable pull that keeps bringing us back to this? If there is, should we embrace it or ignore it? Will the third time be the charm? When is enough enough? I wish I could answer these stupid effin' questions.

To the few loyal readers that I do have, what are your thoughts on friendships with exes?


On plastic bags and things that sparkle...

I've been kind of MIA, sorry folks.

I've had a lot on my mind lately and have been feeling very restless and somewhat cranky. I think I'm being all weird and introspective partly because my birthday is next week and I'm getting older and this is freaking me out again. It's making me question my goals and my dreams and all that generic stuff. That and I'm kind of having boy issues. But not really. See it's weird like that. It has me feeling slightly confused. And slightly helpless, slightly enamored, slightly disappointed, slightly contented, among a host of other feelings I wasn't quite prepared for... It’s making me feel a little overwhelmed because it all kind of came from nowhere, and I feel like I don’t know what to do with myself. On top of this work kind of sucks right now. (Although I did get to serve Pascal Lamy coffee, which made me feel a little star struck.) Aside from that I have spent the majority of the week taking undeserved shit from a coworker and searching for a new job, which combined with everything else has left me feeling somewhat uninspired to do much, write much...

Although I did see a really funny old lady yesterday that made me laugh, and also made me ponder a number of things. She is basically me in 50 years, I swear. There are a fair amount of old people in the building I live in, and I've seen this lady once before but was so amazed by what I saw that I think I half thought that I hallucinated her, but yesterday I had the pleasure of riding in the elevator with her. She's the kind of old lady that has reached that age where she just doesn't give a fuck about what anyone thinks because she won't be around much longer, like that whole wear-red-hats-and-purple-dresses thing, I don't remember what that's called. But yeah this lady couldn't have been more than 5 feet tall and was wearing what had to be the largest and tackiest neon pink sunglasses I have ever seen. They were of course framed with nice sparkly plastic rhinestones, for extra glam effect, and with these glasses she had on a bright pink knitted poncho and pink ugg boots. She was also carrying a pink leather clutch, and the flowers in the pattern on her skirt were, wait for it... Pink. It was quite a sight to behold. I decided she was fabulous immediately. I told her I liked her purse and asked her if pink was her favorite color, and she got very solemn and said, "Oh yes, of course, I do love pink." I smiled and stroked the pink yoga mat I was holding and told her it was my favorite color too.

It made me very happy to see this lady wearing all these fashion don'ts all at once for the sheer fact that it pleased her to do so. In my opinion, this elevated all of her perceived fashion no-no's into one big fabulous yes.

It also made me think about youth, and the similarities I see in extremely young and extremely old people. Maybe this is a silly observation, but it seems to me that really young children and really old people care less about what other people think about them then everyone else. Children, until they reach a certain age, often do/say/wear things just because it makes them happy. They don't realize that some things are frowned upon in society or that some things might get them laughed at and they continue to do as they please until they reach that age where they suddenly notice that people can be mean, they develop the desire to "fit in" and subsequently cease most behavior that made them previously stand out. Not to say this is always the case. But I know that when I was around 3-5 years old I went through various phases involving animal noses, 7 dwarfs costumes, star-shaped sunglasses and pink elbow length gloves most commonly worn with a blue pill box hat (complete with purple veil) and a white faux-fur stole. I wore these things all the time, everywhere, and when I say everywhere I mean EVERYWHERE - to the point where I was somewhat infamous on the tiny island we lived on, or so I'm told. Apparently my mother's attempts to dress me like a normal little girl were futile. (Seems I've always been more stubborn than a mule.) But I digress; eventually I got older, went to elementary school, and at some point realized that I would get made fun of if I wore a tiara to school every day. So eventually I guess I just stopped, despite the fact that wearing glamorous fake jewels and pink gloves obviously made me incredibly happy. One could say I just grew up, or grew out of the phases, but seeing as I still love wearing tiaras and jewelry and sparkly things in general I don't know how accurate such statements would really be...

Then I see old people like this fabulous pink lady, or my grandmother, who do and wear what they please b/c they don't know how much longer they'll be on this planet and have stopped caring what anyone has to say about their actions. My grandmother is going to be 90 in September. I have never met someone so intent on living life to its fullest and for that reason she is my hero. She taught Latin for years and didn't retire until she was in her 80's, and the only reason she retired was because she felt that she was traveling too much and not devoting enough time to her job. Some of her recent trips include a cruise to Antarctica where she went for a swim (a bit chilly she said), a trip to Mongolia simply b/c she'd never been, a D-Day tour of France and England, a trip to Austria to celebrate Mozart's 250th birthday, a trip to Nepal where she rode an elephant around the base of Mt. Everest (a little bumpy), a trip to Dubai (whose luxury she found rather gauche) and the list goes on. She is currently planning some conference for this club called the Ninety-Nines, which is an organization started by the first women pilots ever (of which she was one) and she's doing this while planning her 90th birthday bash in between frequent trips to Manhattan to see every opera and play known to man. She does all this because it makes her happy. Her answering machine message is hilarious, her little voice crows through the phone, "CARPE DIEM!!!" every time you call and she's not there, which is frequent. If you happen to be stuck next to her on an airplane/train for an extended period of time I guarantee you she will find out your life story by the end of the flight. She doesn't care what anyone thinks. She took me to lunch yesterday and got lost on the way to my office and soon had 2 different random strangers using their cell phones to try to find me. She carries a plastic bag in her purse for leftovers; in case she eats something "divine" and wants to take the rest home with her for later (this is the woman who paid for my Cotillion and my debut, if you can believe that). She also doesn't care that her 22 year old granddaughter does find this last particular trait a tad bit embarrassing when she tries to pull it out in The Oceanaire. She's beyond the point of caring in the slightest what people think and if her actions could be interpreted as tacky, the point is that she does it simply because it makes her happy and content with life and I think that's just grand. (Although you won't see me carrying around a plastic bag anytime soon, but you have to admit it does take balls though.) It’s as if you reach a certain age and just realize that you don’t have to care what anyone thinks, that it’s ok to live your life for you, as long as you don’t intentionally hurt anyone in the process and are smiling at the end of the day. Maybe you lose the fears that we all have that keep us from doing the things we most want in life because you realize that death really can interrupt your life at any given moment, and I imagine that’s a bigger fear to deal with than, say, fear of traveling to such-and-such place b/c of how it might interfere with your career or something.

I don't know, I guess my point is that it seems to me that really young kids and really old dudes know where it's at. Everyone has bizarre quirks, why not embrace them and celebrate them? Why wait until we are old enough to die at any given moment to do the things that make you happy? I may sound like a generic commencement speech or a Hallmark card right now, but I know I have a good point.

So if you see a blonde in leopard print shoes and a tiara next weekend, it’s probably me so introduce yourself and take a birthday shot with me....


Of missing penguins and nicknames...

Ok someone just left me a comment that said my blog was mentioned in the Express? Has anyone seen this? If this is true does anyone have it, and can you save it for me? When was this? I didn't know about this?!?!

Our internet has been down for the ENTIRE DAY. It just now started working again. We already had next to nothing to do today b/c most of our staff is in the Midwest at this conference thing, so oh my Lord has it been a slow and boring day. I was so mad b/c I really wanted to spend the day catching up on reading everyone's blogs b/c yesterday was actually really busy, but I doubt I'll be able to before the day is done. I'll try to catch up with everyone over the weekend if I can. I was so bored that I wrote 2 posts, I was going to post them both at once and do a 2 for 1 thing, but that would make this the longest post in blogger history so I'll save one for later. It makes me look really pathetic anyways, or more so than usual at least, as it was a description of an incredibly frightening encounter I had last night with a silverfish that turned into a saga longer than the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. I don't handle bugs that have inhumane amounts of legs very well, I'd say I react much the same way I do to vomit, and while the situation was indeed a horrible one in my eyes, my dear friend Shay who happened to be on the phone with me throughout the incident was rather amused. I for one am still exhausted, because after the incident I could not go to sleep without the lights on. I think I'm a tad irrational at times.

This has nothing to do with anything but I am just so beyond excited right now that I am sharing this with anyone who will listen because I have a big mouth like that. I'M GOING TO THE ZOO TOMORROW!!!! I love the zoo. I am seriously giddy with anticipation, I can't wait to visit the hippos and otters and they have a new baby kiwi bird!!!!! EEEP EXCITING!!! I am going with the AIM Boy, and I think we are going to cook dinner together afterwards and watch movies, so it should be a really good day. Now, I haven't been to the zoo in like a decade so I don't remember much, but the website seems to be telling me there are no penguins. I'm hoping this is a mistake, because a zoo that doesn't have a penguin house disturbs me to my very core. This is another arrangement that I would usually blame on some crackhead, but I seriously doubt that our former Mayor had anything to do with this so I will keep my mouth shut.

Anyways, so I mentioned how we have this conference thing going on out in the Midwest. One of our producers called here this morning looking for some information. I answered the phone and before I even finished my standard greeting he goes, “Hey Trouble. So I hear you got the interns drunk.”

Now this man has called me “Trouble” ever since I met him when he came to a conference here in DC last fall. I was very close to the intern who was with us at the time, and she and I were taking full advantage of the open bar at an event our office hosted. We had about 6 producers following us at any given time, bringing us drinks and trying to convince us to go dancing after the event. This was where this particular producer started referring to us as “Trouble 1 & Trouble 2.” I seriously don’t know how I get these nicknames, I wasn’t drunk that night, I had only been working here for a month or so and I didn’t want to get sloshed in front of my coworkers, yet this man could see through my composed, professional demeanor and called us both out on what we really wanted to be doing with all the free wine. You know, getting sloppy drunk.

So he calls here and immediately starts in, “Oh yeah I heard all about you taking those interns out drinking. I didn’t even ask about you they just offered up the information.”
“But Mr. --------, as a native Washingtonian it was my civic duty to take them to bars. I didn’t have a choice in the matter.” He then confessed that he was out drinking with them the night before, because this man is as much trouble as I am.

I don’t know what it is about me that seems to make people want to call me all these bizarre nicknames. Just last night I spoke to one of my closest friends and most favorite people ever, and the minute she answered the phone she says to me in an excited tone,
“Ok, so you know how people come up with acronyms for everything?”
“Uh... Acronyms?”
“Yeah, you know, like acronyms for stuff.”
“Uh... Yeah, I guess so...” (A smile starts creeping on my face, this girl is such a hippy stoner, she comes up with the craziest ideas, I love her.)
“Well I totally came up with the perfect acronym for you last night when I was trying to sleep, it like just came to me.”
“Me? An Acronym for me? What is it?”
“You’re my FNB.”
“Yup, FNB.”
“What does it mean?”
“You’re my Fabulously Neurotic Blonde.”
*Brief shocked silence followed by lots of laughter.*
“I figure that most of your neuroses stem from your fabulousness so it’s perfect. I was pretty sure at the time that it was ingenious but it was really late at night so then I thought that I might just be crazy.”
“No, it’s definitely brilliant.”

So now I can add FNB to the list of nicknames I have been given throughout the course of my life. I have had several, the one that has stuck with me the most is “Fabulous F------,” (the ----- representing my real name), which I believe started b/c of my first serious boyfriend when I was 18, although it could have been b/c of my gay friend who I went to prom with, or maybe it was some combination of them both, I don't remember. Of course there is also the Blonde Menace, and the man who came up with that also used to call me Hurricane Blonde. In Nicaragua it was La Chela (the blonde) or La Gringa Loca (the crazy gringa). Those two actually stuck around too, I still get called Chela by some of the friends I keep in touch with. Well, there was also La Gringa Rappera, which was the result of a not so small obsession I had with the Notorious B.I.G and Lil’ Kim that I was somewhat known for amongst my peers... Oh geez and at one point when I was in sixth grade the entire 4th grade called me Sparkly, which did eventually spread to some of the other grades as well. (Elementary school in Bolivia was 1st through 6th grade.) This was my Mom's fault. She taught 4th grade and for some reason (that I still to this day do not understand) she felt it was appropriate to share some stupid childhood story of mine about how I swore I was the 8th dwarf (You know, Snow White and all that) when I was like 4 and my name was Sparkly and I refused to talk to anyone unless they addressed me as such. God I am such a crackhead. And now I am the Fabulously Neurotic Blonde. Oy.


On being ridiculous and eating chalupas...

So I got mentioned on Wonkette on Monday and traffic to my humble little blog exploded yesterday. I'd totally be lying if I said that didn't make me feel supercool for the majority of the day. Ok fine I still feel pretty supercool, even if traffic is basically back to normal now. Thank you Wonkette Editors, you made me feel like a Bad Ass Blogger indeed.

Except now I feel like I need to write only supercool stuff and secretly, deep down, I'm not very supercool. I'm kind of a dork. I mean I am a fabulous dork, but I'm still a dork nonetheless. A neurotic one, that likes her booze.

Do you know what is NOT supercool? The DMV. Guess where I get to go tomorrow? Yeah. I have to register my car in the district.

I have been putting off this daunting task for some time now, since I moved into my apartment in January to be exact. I'm not really sure if my car is currently registered anywhere or not. Someone told me once that if your plates are not expired, then your car is still registered in whichever state your plates are from. I've been kind of relying on this information as being truthful regardless of whether or not it really is, because clearly I have no idea. It has occurred to me that if I wanted to I could google this and find out if it is valid. Of course, the fact that this thought has not really crept into my mind before this very moment combined with the fact that I am not actually going to google this information should stand as testimony to how much I really care about registering my car. Meaning, I don't. It's just such a looooooooooong process, insert-whining-hereeeeeee. Well, it's not so much that I don't care... I think it probably has more to do with the fact that on occasion I can be more stubborn than a mule when faced with something I don't like one bit.

I tried a few times. I went to the DMV. I waited in line. I found out that I have to have my vehicle inspected and I need to get a DC license first. No problem. Or so I thought. It seems that in DC there is only one inspection location. No, you can not go to just about any gas station as we civilized Virginians do. You must go to the one and ONLY inspection station in the entire city. Now I don't know the reasoning behind this, but I strongly believe that this is the kind of arrangement that only a crackhead could come up with. Given whom our former mayor is, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. (And no, I don't actually know whether or not Mr. Barry really had anything to do with this ludicrous system, but he's a crackhead and therefore I shall blame him anyways. Yeah it's like that.) I don't care how "small"this city is. This is ridiculous and to me is simply more proof of the incompetence of DC government. Or government in general, but I'm not trying to go there.

So anyways, this station also happens to be located on the "other" side of the tracks, so to speak. During my first few years in NOVA people would always warn me: "DUDE don't ever get lost in SE/SW man, you'll like totally get mugged and shot you know." Whether or not this is actually true is beside the point, the fact is that people often refer to SW and SE as the ghetto, and if one is told this repeatedly then the stigma can get hard to shake and subsequently neurotic anxiety-ridden worrywarts like myself will get freaked regardless of whether or not there is actually any need to be. Like I freaked the one time I did attempt to go to the inspection station. I took the morning off from work with the goal of getting there early and getting it over with. Well, then I slept late, actually, this has happened several times, me taking the morning/day off to register my car then sleeping late and getting lazy and never actually making it there that is. But anyways, I made it there this one time, not until around noon or so of course, and the line of cars stretched around the block and down quite a ways. I drove around a little and immediately got freaked out about waiting in line in this "dangerous" area for an extended period of time. I do realize how incredibly ridiculous this is, and looking back I don't seem to remember thinking the area was all THAT shady looking, but of course when you've spent most of your life in under-developed third world countries you don't always find things as shady as people who have not had similar experiences to you do, so who am I to judge DC-shady, as opposed to say, slums-of-Nicaragua shady. I mean shit man if you compare pretty much any part of DC to a barrio in Nicaragua I'm guessing you'll find things a lot better off here, but what do I know, I'm just a dumb blonde half the time. Anyways all I know was that everyone tells me this area is Shady with a capital S and I didn't feel like waiting around in my car for a few hours to find out. So I did what I had to do. I went through the drive-thru of the Taco Bell next door for a chalupa and some Dew and peaced out.

But yeah, tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow I will get my damn car inspected and I will wake up EARLY like the responsible adult that I am and I will get things accomplished. 10 am seems like a reasonable hour to wake up...... Ok maybe 10:30.......


On sitting on Porsches and obnoxious asshats...

So we finally got some good corruptible interns here at work. I took them to Adams Morgan on Saturday and we all got drunk. My friend Chad came with us and we spent the night bouncing around between various random bars and then ended the evening in Jumbo Slice. The end of the evening is somewhat of a blur, I remember sitting on a Porsche outside of Jumbo Slice despite the fact that everyone was all "OMG DON'T SIT ON THE PORSCHE!!!" but in my drunkeness I decided that only a douche-bag would park his Porsche in front of the Mecca of drunken behavior (Jumbo Slice) and therefore deserved to have it sat on. I think one of the interns took a picture, it's probably a scary one. For some reason the cops blocked off the street so cabs couldn't get by, so we had to walk somewhere to try to find a cab. I say "somewhere" b/c at that point I really had no idea where we were. All I know is my nice new leopard print shoes were killing me so I was walking barefoot through the streets of Adams Morgan, complaining about how I was going to have to boil my feet when I got home to sanitize them. It took like 30 minutes to find the interns a cab, we were competing with a rather obnoxious fellow who kept trying to run to the cabs before we could. After getting the interns in a cab I finally found one after like 10 minutes and sure enough, the obnoxious fellow and his friend decide they are going to share the cab with me. The friend of Obnoxious Guy somehow saw the wallpaper on my phone (which is wierd b/c I wasn't sitting close to him or anything) which happens to be a picture of me in a pink trench coat shooting a rifle, and he then decided that he was in love with me. To the amsuement of the cab driver they tried so hard to get me to go home with them. Somehow I ended up giving the friend my business card, I don't know why b/c I wasn't attracted to him that much, I think I'm still just thrilled that I have my own business card so I am too eager to offer it up when asked. Anyways, so they figure out that they know people who live in the same apartment building as me. They start asking what apartment I'm in. I wasn't about to tell them, so they decided to tell me not to worry, that they would find me, all they had to do was knock on every door until I answered, or follow me in to the building. I'm sitting there, drunk, thinking to myself how fan-fucking-tastic it is that I am forced to share a cab with these assholes who are now threatening to stalk me, and how the hell do I get myself into these situations, and finally we get to my place. Both guys offered to pay for my portion of the cab fare but for some reason I decided to pay myself, I think I felt bad that the cab driver had to put up with so much obnoxious drunkeness. So anyways, I was about to get out of the car when Obnoxious Fellow, who was sitting in the front, turns around and starts reaching for me and starts saying something about me "sucking some cock." I then proceeded to flip the fuck out. "HOW DARE YOU TALK TO A LADY LIKE THAT!?!?!!! DOES YOUR MOTHER KNOW YOU TALK TO LADIES THIS WAY? DOES SHE KNOW YOU USE SUCH FOUL LANGUAGE WITH FEMALES? DO YOU DISRESPECT WOMEN? WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE TO TALK TO ME LIKE THAT??! YOU DISRESPECTFUL MOTHERFUCKER HOW DARE YOU!!!! I LET YOU IN MY CAB BITCH!" The wrath of a drunk Blonde Menace is scary. It's all a blur, but clearly it didn't occur to me that this man was trying to grab me, I was just so appalled at his bad manners that I sat there and screamed at him. Looking back, I'm somewhat surprised that the cab driver didn't do anything, although I'm not sure what he could have done. I tried to grab my business card back but was not quick enough, so I started yelling at him to give it back, so he ripped it and gave me 1/4 of it, so I screamed more, so then he gave me 1/2 of what was left. He looked like he was going to cry. He was trying to apologize for his friend I think but I was not having it. I then proceeded to run into my apartment building as fast as my newly blistered feet could carry me.

Needless to say I now find it all very amusing. Nothing like yelling at someone for disrespecting a lady and using FUCK as every other word while you're doing it. Ladylike indeed.

I am currently trying to grow some balls and call Elizabeth Arden to set up an appointment for a Brazilian bikini wax at some point before Saturday. I am being a chicken shit about it. Oh the torture we girls put ourselves through for boys.