SEEN & HEARD THIS WEEKEND
A woman's t-shirt:
(front) Men are like parking spaces
(back) All the good ones are taken and the ones that are left are handicapped
A homeless man and woman on the sidewalk:
Woman (in old drunk lady tone): Fffffffffuck you.
Man: Fuck you too, bitch!
Woman (again in old drunk lady tone): Fffffffffffuuuuuck you.
Man: Fuck you in your fuck you face. (ß best comeback ever)
Tour bus driver to me: Excuse me. Where's the White House?
ANOTHER ONE BITES THE DUST
I broke up with a friend this weekend. A strictly platonic guy friend. It sucks. We weren't friends for that long, but I thought we were pretty good friends. Turns out it doesn't matter if you are romantically involved or platonically involved – the majority of them will sell you out at the drop of a dime for a big butt and a smile.
BREAKING UP IS HARD TO DO
Then I have this other one that's kind of a friend, kind of something else. He's great. But the platonic friend who sold me out also made problems for me with the not-so-platonic friend which is making me think that maybe I should just cut it out with the not-so-platonic friend. Does this make sense? No? Good. It's not supposed to. This is the internet, for God's sake.
WE'RE GONNA GET BELIGERENT
I'm in trouble. Missmo is coming back this weekend. She can't get enough of the District. Which is what I want to see, because I want her to move up here. Unfortunately, however, I've been on these 7-day work weeks and 3-day going out binges, so I'm just about exhausted, and amazingly, BROKE. I even made a vow yesterday to cut back on the going out. BUT this time, she's coming with the bawsiest of the bawsy, Mr. G. Thompson. He's the man. He's a lot of fun, and let's face it girls, not too hard on the eyes. (He's so gonna read this and have a head the size of Texas.) (Hi, Geoff. Be sure to bring your boxer briefs up here with you because while Missmo gets to watch you run around the house in them all day, Jane and I could really use a little excitement in our house.) So I'm really excited. We're gonna have so much fun.
Monday, September 25, 2006
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
no subject
It has hit five o'clock and I can no longer focus on chest x-rays, pulmonary function studies, and presumptions of total disability. So I shall blog.
I love my life today. This whole week, actually. Monday I got my first paycheck as a professional. It wasn't that much, being that I am a government lawyer (or will be assuming I pass the bar), but it did buy me the four-inch black pointy toed heels that I've been fantasizing about for weeks. I saw them at the Nine West at the little mall at my metro stop, and at least once a week I would go in to visit them and subliminally tell them, "Don't worry, my little preciouses. In a short time, you shall be mine." So now I finally have them. They were a little hard to get used to at first. I could walk in them, but every time I caught my reflection, I'd be like "Oh my god. I look like a hooker." And they started killing me after having them on for one single hour. But now it's two days later, and now when I catch my reflection, I'm like "Oh my god. I'm so hot." And they don't really hurt anymore.
So yesterday I went down to this little place called Marvelous Market for lunch. They have all really good gourmet sandwiches and shit that I like to eat. I work in Chinatown, which is a pretty busy part of the city. "Vibrant," actually. So I sat up at the counter that faces the window so I could see the world go by, and I looked down at my four-inch black pointy toed heels and my gourmet sandwich and out at my city and for a second there, I was simply elated.
And today Missmo arrives. In two hours, to be exact. This makes my life today PERFECT. Don't worry, lovely readers, the next entry shall be "in our own universe part duex" and we shall have lots of stupid pictures to show you all. Perhaps we'll even get kicked out of the marine barracks…you never know…
I love my life today. This whole week, actually. Monday I got my first paycheck as a professional. It wasn't that much, being that I am a government lawyer (or will be assuming I pass the bar), but it did buy me the four-inch black pointy toed heels that I've been fantasizing about for weeks. I saw them at the Nine West at the little mall at my metro stop, and at least once a week I would go in to visit them and subliminally tell them, "Don't worry, my little preciouses. In a short time, you shall be mine." So now I finally have them. They were a little hard to get used to at first. I could walk in them, but every time I caught my reflection, I'd be like "Oh my god. I look like a hooker." And they started killing me after having them on for one single hour. But now it's two days later, and now when I catch my reflection, I'm like "Oh my god. I'm so hot." And they don't really hurt anymore.
So yesterday I went down to this little place called Marvelous Market for lunch. They have all really good gourmet sandwiches and shit that I like to eat. I work in Chinatown, which is a pretty busy part of the city. "Vibrant," actually. So I sat up at the counter that faces the window so I could see the world go by, and I looked down at my four-inch black pointy toed heels and my gourmet sandwich and out at my city and for a second there, I was simply elated.
And today Missmo arrives. In two hours, to be exact. This makes my life today PERFECT. Don't worry, lovely readers, the next entry shall be "in our own universe part duex" and we shall have lots of stupid pictures to show you all. Perhaps we'll even get kicked out of the marine barracks…you never know…
Monday, September 11, 2006
9/11/01
Well, it's that date. That one date that conjures up feelings of fear, anger, sorrow, and solidarity all at once. Last night, my roommate and I watched a special on CBS about the firefighters who lost their lives in the World Trade Center. It has been about a year since I really sat down and watched the whole thing happen again on television. It reminded me of that day, how confusing and scary it was, and how surreal it was. Still to this day, I don't think I really understand the totality of what happened. I was in Florida when it happened, getting ready for my Biology lab. I hadn't been to New York in years, and at that point in my life, I had never been to DC. I had seen the towers before, but I was very young. I still can't really remember how tall they were; how grand they really were. In 2003, I visited Ground Zero. I remember looking up at all the other skyscrapers and thinking to myself, "These buildings are so tall, but they're nothing compared to what those towers were." I stared into the void that is now where the towers used to be, but I still couldn't wrap my mind around what had really happened there. I wonder if I'll ever truly understand.
There is one image that I've seen on television over and over again that makes it real to me. I watched as the second plane crashed into the tower; I watched both collapse in real time. I saw the people running down the street, crying and screaming, and since then, I've seen the footage of the staircases - people in business suits going down the stairs; men in fireproof jackets going up the stairs. But still, there is just one image that makes my heart sink as low as it will get and gets me all choked up every time I see it or talk about. It's a young woman, with dark curly hair if I remember correctly, standing on a corner in Manhattan, holding a picture of another young woman, her eyes wide with desperation, holding the picture to the camera and pleading to anyone who will listen "Please, I need to find her. This is my best friend. Please."
I'm even getting a little emotional right now writing about it…
This is the image that makes it the most real to me. The planes, the towers collapsing, the people running through the streets – it seems like a movie. The firefighters climbing up the stairs – I don't know what it would be like to be them. Did they know they were climbing to their deaths? Were they scared? I have no idea.
But I know how that woman felt. My heart breaks with her every time I see her. I know about having a best friend, a friend that you just couldn't live without. I don't know what it would be like to be her at that very moment, but I know how I would feel if I were her. I know that getting there and finding her would be the only thing that I would be able to do with my life. I know that I would stand on the street corner with her picture, day in and day out, pleading, hoping, fearing, crying, searching. Nothing else in my life would matter.
I wonder if she ever found her. I hope so.
There is one image that I've seen on television over and over again that makes it real to me. I watched as the second plane crashed into the tower; I watched both collapse in real time. I saw the people running down the street, crying and screaming, and since then, I've seen the footage of the staircases - people in business suits going down the stairs; men in fireproof jackets going up the stairs. But still, there is just one image that makes my heart sink as low as it will get and gets me all choked up every time I see it or talk about. It's a young woman, with dark curly hair if I remember correctly, standing on a corner in Manhattan, holding a picture of another young woman, her eyes wide with desperation, holding the picture to the camera and pleading to anyone who will listen "Please, I need to find her. This is my best friend. Please."
I'm even getting a little emotional right now writing about it…
This is the image that makes it the most real to me. The planes, the towers collapsing, the people running through the streets – it seems like a movie. The firefighters climbing up the stairs – I don't know what it would be like to be them. Did they know they were climbing to their deaths? Were they scared? I have no idea.
But I know how that woman felt. My heart breaks with her every time I see her. I know about having a best friend, a friend that you just couldn't live without. I don't know what it would be like to be her at that very moment, but I know how I would feel if I were her. I know that getting there and finding her would be the only thing that I would be able to do with my life. I know that I would stand on the street corner with her picture, day in and day out, pleading, hoping, fearing, crying, searching. Nothing else in my life would matter.
I wonder if she ever found her. I hope so.
Wednesday, September 6, 2006
yo quiero tacobell
Somebody in my office is cooking microwave popcorn or something, and it smells like a chicken and cheese quesedilla from Taco Bell. Now I really, really want a chicken and cheese quesedilla from Taco Bell. And I want it NOW.
Just a little FYI - if I were to have one now, it would be my first sober chicken and cheese quesedilla from Taco Bell experience. Missmo and I always share one on our way back to the house after a night out, but I don't think I've ever had one during the day. They usually serve as a little appetizer until we can get in the house and get into the Grilled Stuffed Burritos with extra sour cream, please.
Jesus Christo. And I wonder why I'm not a size 4.
Just a little FYI - if I were to have one now, it would be my first sober chicken and cheese quesedilla from Taco Bell experience. Missmo and I always share one on our way back to the house after a night out, but I don't think I've ever had one during the day. They usually serve as a little appetizer until we can get in the house and get into the Grilled Stuffed Burritos with extra sour cream, please.
Jesus Christo. And I wonder why I'm not a size 4.
Tuesday, September 5, 2006
rain, rain, go the f away!
One thing I hate about being a city girl: making the mile walk to the metro at 8:45 a.m. in the rain. HATE IT!!! By the time I got to the metro this morning, my pants were soaked up to my knees, and I was slipping and sliding out of my flats that I must wear because after all, the walk is a mile. I shudder to think of all the nasty little organisms that I picked up from the nasty city puddles and that are probably colonizing between my toes as we speak. But here's the absolute best part - that my big bootylicious booty sticks out from under the umbrella a little bit so my ass is also soaked.
What a miserable start to the day. Good thing Missmo will be here in one week and one day. And good thing I have an office with a door that I can close and listen to Esthero all day long.
On a final note, guys are so confusing. So confusing.
What a miserable start to the day. Good thing Missmo will be here in one week and one day. And good thing I have an office with a door that I can close and listen to Esthero all day long.
On a final note, guys are so confusing. So confusing.
Wednesday, August 9, 2006
further proof that you can't trust 'em as far as you throw 'em
Bill Clinton.
JFK.
My mom's ex-boyfriend.
Missmo's ex-boyfriend.
Brad Pitt.
Beer on the Lap Boy.
What do they all have in common?? An extremely slimey disposition and a complete inability to uphold even the lowest standard of morality.
So Beer On the Lap and I spent about a week trying to make plans. I thought it odd that he would only make tentative plans - never anything definite, and always call the next day with some reason why we couldn't get together. However, I thought it considerate that he would call each time and never make any promises, so I continued answering his calls and inviting plans.
This was the week that DC was on fire from the heat wave, and simply stepping outside would cause me to become a puddle of sweat, which is totally unsexy. Moreover, he was a hippy like me and had no car, so the easiest plan was for him to come over to my house, and we'd sit on the porch, drink some beer, smoke some cigarettes, and just hang out.
So the day finally arrived and the plans came through. He arrived at my door promptly after work, dripping with sweat, and we sat down for a beer. I started trying to initiate the conversation, and I noticed that he wouldn't look at me when he answered my questions and all his answers were monosyllables. I started to feel a little uncomfortable, and started to drink my beer faster. Finally, after the third beer, the awkwardness disappeared. We talked, we laughed, we joked, we were really having a good time. I told him about myself, my family (i.e., Missmo, my mom, and my mom's big fake boobs), Dougie's adoption story, etc., etc. He told me about his home state, college, his friends, his parents, etc., etc. He was getting along splendidly with Dougie, which always makes my heart melt. Then, after a few more beers, he'd tell me how hot I am, what a nice girl I am, how very cool I am, etc., etc. I'd tell him "thank you." Then he started pulling the grab-and-kiss move, which is my absolute favorite. Very sexy, very cool.
However, during one of these grab-and-kiss sessions, it all fell apart. Whilst caressing my cheek, and again telling me that I'm just such a nice girl, his whole demeanor changed. Suddenly, he had to go, he had to leave, he had to go RIGHT NOW. Confused and a little drunk, I followed him out to front porch for one more cig before he left. There, he jumped on his cell phone, started calling everyone he knew to come pick him up. I heard him talking to the one who ulitmately came to get him, and I heard him telling the friend that he was BEGGING him to come get him and to SPEED THROUGH INTERSECTIONS. A little drunk and a lot of mad, as soon as he got off the phone, I lamented to him that I was compltely and utterly insulted by what had just happened and WHAT THE FUCK was going on???????
At that, he tried to hold my hand and told me that it wasn't me, it wasn't me at all, it was him. I, of course, would have rather held an octopus's hand than his at that point, and told him "Okay, George Castanza."
"No," he replied. "Really. I haven't been very honest with you."
"What?" I asked.
"I have a girl."
Goddamnit, people!!!!!!!!!!! Am I destined to be a fucking spinster for the rest of my life or what???? I mean really, what does it take in this world to find a nice, fun, cool guy with who does the grab-and-kiss move????
Upon further inquiry, I found that he has been with this girl for FOUR YEARS, and he followed her here from the friggin' midwest for graduate school. Also, she had called him three times while he was with me so he was pretty sure that she was going to know that something was up. Finally, since he had just met me, and I'm so cool, looks like he was going to have to dump her, or at least could we just be friends??? Of course my answer everything was "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. DO NOT EVER CALL ME."
He didn't take my advice, however, and called me fifteen minutes after he left (with my cigarettes, might I add. Motherfucker stole my cigarettes!) to apologize once again because again, I'm just such a nice girl. Then, he had the nerve to call once more at 3:30 in the morning the next night. I of course didn't answer and he left no voice mail but I wish he would have only because I'm so curious as to what the objective of the call was. Another drunken, slurred apology? A declaration that he had left his girl, could he come over? Or to propose that both he and his girl come over????????
Dudes. Can't trust 'em as far as you can throw 'em.
JFK.
My mom's ex-boyfriend.
Missmo's ex-boyfriend.
Brad Pitt.
Beer on the Lap Boy.
What do they all have in common?? An extremely slimey disposition and a complete inability to uphold even the lowest standard of morality.
So Beer On the Lap and I spent about a week trying to make plans. I thought it odd that he would only make tentative plans - never anything definite, and always call the next day with some reason why we couldn't get together. However, I thought it considerate that he would call each time and never make any promises, so I continued answering his calls and inviting plans.
This was the week that DC was on fire from the heat wave, and simply stepping outside would cause me to become a puddle of sweat, which is totally unsexy. Moreover, he was a hippy like me and had no car, so the easiest plan was for him to come over to my house, and we'd sit on the porch, drink some beer, smoke some cigarettes, and just hang out.
So the day finally arrived and the plans came through. He arrived at my door promptly after work, dripping with sweat, and we sat down for a beer. I started trying to initiate the conversation, and I noticed that he wouldn't look at me when he answered my questions and all his answers were monosyllables. I started to feel a little uncomfortable, and started to drink my beer faster. Finally, after the third beer, the awkwardness disappeared. We talked, we laughed, we joked, we were really having a good time. I told him about myself, my family (i.e., Missmo, my mom, and my mom's big fake boobs), Dougie's adoption story, etc., etc. He told me about his home state, college, his friends, his parents, etc., etc. He was getting along splendidly with Dougie, which always makes my heart melt. Then, after a few more beers, he'd tell me how hot I am, what a nice girl I am, how very cool I am, etc., etc. I'd tell him "thank you." Then he started pulling the grab-and-kiss move, which is my absolute favorite. Very sexy, very cool.
However, during one of these grab-and-kiss sessions, it all fell apart. Whilst caressing my cheek, and again telling me that I'm just such a nice girl, his whole demeanor changed. Suddenly, he had to go, he had to leave, he had to go RIGHT NOW. Confused and a little drunk, I followed him out to front porch for one more cig before he left. There, he jumped on his cell phone, started calling everyone he knew to come pick him up. I heard him talking to the one who ulitmately came to get him, and I heard him telling the friend that he was BEGGING him to come get him and to SPEED THROUGH INTERSECTIONS. A little drunk and a lot of mad, as soon as he got off the phone, I lamented to him that I was compltely and utterly insulted by what had just happened and WHAT THE FUCK was going on???????
At that, he tried to hold my hand and told me that it wasn't me, it wasn't me at all, it was him. I, of course, would have rather held an octopus's hand than his at that point, and told him "Okay, George Castanza."
"No," he replied. "Really. I haven't been very honest with you."
"What?" I asked.
"I have a girl."
Goddamnit, people!!!!!!!!!!! Am I destined to be a fucking spinster for the rest of my life or what???? I mean really, what does it take in this world to find a nice, fun, cool guy with who does the grab-and-kiss move????
Upon further inquiry, I found that he has been with this girl for FOUR YEARS, and he followed her here from the friggin' midwest for graduate school. Also, she had called him three times while he was with me so he was pretty sure that she was going to know that something was up. Finally, since he had just met me, and I'm so cool, looks like he was going to have to dump her, or at least could we just be friends??? Of course my answer everything was "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. DO NOT EVER CALL ME."
He didn't take my advice, however, and called me fifteen minutes after he left (with my cigarettes, might I add. Motherfucker stole my cigarettes!) to apologize once again because again, I'm just such a nice girl. Then, he had the nerve to call once more at 3:30 in the morning the next night. I of course didn't answer and he left no voice mail but I wish he would have only because I'm so curious as to what the objective of the call was. Another drunken, slurred apology? A declaration that he had left his girl, could he come over? Or to propose that both he and his girl come over????????
Dudes. Can't trust 'em as far as you can throw 'em.
Thursday, August 3, 2006
everbody's working (or not) for the weekend
Good thing last weekend was so fun because this week SUCKS! It's been full of inconveniences, such as:
1. This goddamn heat wave. Like, WTF????? I think Al Gore's on to something here. It's so fucking hot I can't even go outside without sweating. It's really not much different than Florida, except I don't feel like I need a knife to cut through the thick air. But holy shit!! And of course, I'm off all week, and I could be out doing little touristy things like checking out the Smithsonian or going to see the Lincoln Memorial and shit like that. Or even go grocery shopping. But I can't because that would require going outside during the day which means I would melt. Which leads me to...
2. Being a hippy with no car. I can't even go grocery shopping because there's no way in hell (or DC because it's fucking hot as hell) that I'm going to walk the mile to the metro in the middle of the hot-ass day. Thus, I've been eating a lot of toast and drinking a lot of water lately.
3. My computer crashed. Thankfully, Jane left hers behind while she's off being a jetsetter in the Rich Coast so I can check my e-mail and blog. But in the meantime, I had like 18 hours of music on mine, and now I can't listen to any of it. I have my Ipod, which has about six hours, but I'm almost sick of all those jams because I've been listenting to then for about 65 hours.
4. I'm off all week. There's no studying to be done. There's no work to be done. THERE IS NOTHING TO BE DONE!!!! This is the first time in FOREVER that I've had absolutely NOTHING to do. I kind of hate it. I ordered a bunch of books from Barnes & Noble and I am like sitting by the door waiting for the mailman to come because I'm bored out of my fucking mind. I've seen all the movies currently on HBO like fifty thousand times (Shark Tale is so cute, by the way) and the only thing I really look forward to is old school Roseanne at 4 p.m on Oxygen. I CANNOT WAIT FOR MY BOOKS TO ARRIVE!!! A little aside - once they do arrive, the first one I'm reading is Pride and Prejudice, for the first time. And this will be the first time I actually sat down and read and finished a novel since I started law school.
My IPod battery just died. Fuck.
Thank God for Julia Gulia, who entertained me the past two evenings. Tuesday night I spilled my entire beer in her lap. Apparently, this is my new modus operandi.
1. This goddamn heat wave. Like, WTF????? I think Al Gore's on to something here. It's so fucking hot I can't even go outside without sweating. It's really not much different than Florida, except I don't feel like I need a knife to cut through the thick air. But holy shit!! And of course, I'm off all week, and I could be out doing little touristy things like checking out the Smithsonian or going to see the Lincoln Memorial and shit like that. Or even go grocery shopping. But I can't because that would require going outside during the day which means I would melt. Which leads me to...
2. Being a hippy with no car. I can't even go grocery shopping because there's no way in hell (or DC because it's fucking hot as hell) that I'm going to walk the mile to the metro in the middle of the hot-ass day. Thus, I've been eating a lot of toast and drinking a lot of water lately.
3. My computer crashed. Thankfully, Jane left hers behind while she's off being a jetsetter in the Rich Coast so I can check my e-mail and blog. But in the meantime, I had like 18 hours of music on mine, and now I can't listen to any of it. I have my Ipod, which has about six hours, but I'm almost sick of all those jams because I've been listenting to then for about 65 hours.
4. I'm off all week. There's no studying to be done. There's no work to be done. THERE IS NOTHING TO BE DONE!!!! This is the first time in FOREVER that I've had absolutely NOTHING to do. I kind of hate it. I ordered a bunch of books from Barnes & Noble and I am like sitting by the door waiting for the mailman to come because I'm bored out of my fucking mind. I've seen all the movies currently on HBO like fifty thousand times (Shark Tale is so cute, by the way) and the only thing I really look forward to is old school Roseanne at 4 p.m on Oxygen. I CANNOT WAIT FOR MY BOOKS TO ARRIVE!!! A little aside - once they do arrive, the first one I'm reading is Pride and Prejudice, for the first time. And this will be the first time I actually sat down and read and finished a novel since I started law school.
My IPod battery just died. Fuck.
Thank God for Julia Gulia, who entertained me the past two evenings. Tuesday night I spilled my entire beer in her lap. Apparently, this is my new modus operandi.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
