Dramamine Please?

Let's discuss a little thing I like to call motion sickness. In addition to my perversion to all things leather and mayonnaise, my obsession with reality television, coupled with my catastprophic nature and downright awkwardness, I've also been suffering a lifelong battle with motion sickness. Man, am I a great catch?

This has been going on for as long as I can remember. I originally found this out on several trips to visit my gradparents. Usually, at some point along the 12 hour car ride, I would instruct my father to pull over so I could vomit or I'd just use a brown bag. Whichever came first. Most of these trips were spent with me strewn horizontally across the family minivan's backseat, the two seatbelts stabbing me mercilessly in the side.

Throughout elementary school, I was the nerd that sat in the front row of the bus. I was the girl that sat on park benches on choir trips to Hershey Park while her friends rode the rides. I was the girl that could never swing on a swing, play with a sit-n-spin, or even participate in a good round of Ring around the Rosie. For my pockets contained no posies, they carried dramamine for my queasy tummy. I relate my early years to John Travolta's character in "The Boy in the Plastic Bubble." I chose Travolta over Jake Gyllenhall, who played in the remake, because of his 70's feathered hairstyle. Yeah, I dig.

I bring up my lifelong battle with motion sickness because I'm nervous about how that's going to affect my 4th of July plans which consist of KEG BUS ROUND 2!

Kenny's thoughts on the trip: "Keg Bus? I'm scared for you. That was one of the worst nights of my life. Keg Bus is fun but it can become a nightmare. Be careful!" Great! Kenny doesn't even know about my "situation."

KEG BUS ROUND 1 started off innocently enough. Just a few friends getting together to celebrate a couple birthdays. Normally, I pregame the shit out of a night. I pregame if there's no game. I pregame before dinner and I pregame for a nap. This night, however, I know a pregame will not warrant a safe evening so I lay low and hope no one notices I am not enjoying a refreshing cocktail before boarding the bus.

Sidenote: I asked one of my friends why she wasn't drinking once and turns out she was knocked up. I probably don't have to mention that put a serious dagger on my St. Patty's Day festivities.

Upon boarding the bus, I head to the back (mistake #1). We take off and the party begins! I limit myself only to two Yeunglings the entire ride to the group's alma mater; Salisbury. Throughout the trip, the Keg-Bus host taught everyone the Solja-Boy and the boys perfected their bus flips (you can really tell they summered in Ocean City). Still laying low in the back, we arrive at our first and final destination of the evening; The Monkey Barrel.

There was an annoucement made about the potency of the beverages at the Monkey Barrel before exiting the bus. They can really F someone up so BE CAREFUL! The Monkey Barrel, I quickly notice, was named after the enormous monkey cage and their specialty drinks served in equally enormous barrels.

Deciding that I am off the wheels of the bus, it's time to play catch up (mistake #2) and I order myself a barrel. The remainder of our time at the Barrel was spent playing in cages, busting some moves and just having an overall great time.

The ride home is when the shit hit the fan. I mean the shit hit the fan and EXPLODED. Any passerby would have thought we had gone back in time and picked up the bubonic plague. Immediately, Robby and I begin fighting over the restroom to take throw ups in. I pass out with my head on the shoulder of a man they call "Animal." Surprising = No. Embarassing = Yes. I woke up to him stroking my arm. Lovely. I couldn't tell you what else happened on that Keg Bus ride home but I do know this incriminating picture has surfaced.

Basically, what I am saying is that I hope I don't end up like this on the 4th:



Yes, that's three heads in three trash cans.

One word. Petrified.

Romantic Date #7: Stalking the Real World House

Saturday evening Raquel, Bo, Amelia and I meet up in Dupont Circle for some cocktails, gossip and good old fashioned Real World stalking. I warned everyone to wear their bikini's under their outfits so we could be on call for late night hot-tubbing at the RW crib. No one takes me seriously. I, however, am so serious I wear my inauguration ball gown. For realz.

Naturally, upon entering the Front Page, I make my way to the bar to get us all a round of cocktails when a man in a chef's uniform asks me where I get my hair done. I just got it done a few weeks ago so it's still sort of fresh. I also went to the same place Bo, Alli and another one of my friends go and I gotta say I've been pretty satisfied with it.

I tell him PR at Partners in Metro Center to which he then asks how much I paid. He then continues to tell me that it looks like shit and they did a terrible job. I am FURIOUS. Who is this fat, little mexican man in a chef's outfit telling ME my dye job is terrible and that he (a chef) can help me "take care of the situation."

I tell the girls what had just happened to me at the bar and tell Raquel to go over and tell him he's fat and she can help him "take care of the situation." Raquel is a life coach/personal trainer. Obviously, Raquel doesnt do this but informs him that it is not proper etiquette to mention these things to a lady. He apologizes with a round of shots.

This part of the story is neither here nor there. Dartmouth is meeting us at the Front Page. He is going to meet the gals and he's flying solo. I AM NERVOUS! He arrives and is as cute as ever in his khaki pants, polo and brown flip flops (not my style, I know). It feels like we've been together forever and I am instantly comfortable with the situation.

Playing my cards right, with Dartmouth, I have been revealing all of my crazy habits and everything very slowly. Interview style. Turning a negative into a positive. Yeah, I put you in my blog BUT I changed the spelling of your name. Your identity is anonymous. Switch up! Positive. I actually think he was flattered.

"Also, there is something else you need to know." I am OBSESSED with the Real World. I have been since my family first got cable in 1992. I can name you every cast member from every season, what the highlights of that season were and my favorite moments from each episode. I, officially, am a stalker. Remember when Flora got her boobies stuck in the window, when she was trying to crawl through to see who was gettin some in Miami? Remember when Stephen gave Irene the bitch-slap heard around the world in Seattle? Remember when Kara sang "Travelin Soldier" after 911? These are the moments that have shaped my life and I profusely thank Mary Ellis Bunim and Jonathan Murray for creating the Real World.

There it is. Out there in the open. What I heard next took me by such surprise, I almost passed out right then and there. "Me too," replies Dartmouth. HOLY F'in SHIT. My soul mate. Well maybe he's not as obsessed as I am but I'll take it. "Let's walk by the house!" After he suggests a stalkerish walk-by, I am ready to sleep with him right then and there.

Obviously, I have the address memorized but for fear of revealing way too much, I pretend I do not know. "Come on Carrie, its right down the street, 2000 S Street, NW."

Oooohhh. Emmmm. Geeee! He knows the address and knows how to get there. I am beside myself. We hold hands, he gently rubs my shoulders and we stop several times along the way for some smooches because he "just cant help himself."

Unfortunately, I am sad to report there were no cast member/crew sightings but I do know that they are there. The lights were on in the basement (crew/production offices) but that was it. It was about 1am and I assume they were out celebrating their arrival to the nation's capitol.

After walking by twice, we decide to go catch up with the girls. Apparently, you cannot get into 18th Street Lounge with flip flops, so Dartmouth and I decide to continue with the Real World stalking and walk by serveral of Dupont's hot spots. After, 45 minutes and no success we call it a night.

The next morning Bo, Raquel and I meet up for some brunch. As we are sipping on our mimosa's outside at the U-lah Bistro, a camera crew rolls up to Ben's Chili Bowl, which is directly across the street. HERE IT IS! The first RW sighting. I send Bo over to confirm and snap a few pics of her talking to a camera man. I was a little bummed to find out that it was some show on the Food Network but there are still 6 more months to go and the possibilities are endless. After all, it is the year of the ox.

RW! RW! RW! DUPONT!

IT HAS BEEN CONFIRMED! The real world is coming to DC. They are coming in 5 days! Filming begins on the 20th of this month. For those who dont know, I am obsessed with this show and have been for years. They will be living in Dupont, which is a mere minutes from me. So many emotions are overwhelming my body as I type...feelings of excitement, nervousness, and fear.

Excited to see where they go, what job they have...if they pick a local and do I know them? The black guy from Austin was from DC and went to Howard (obvi) but thats all MTV has ever had to offer.

Nervous because I may have a run-in with the camera crew. As much as you think I would enjoy this, I think we all know my luck and I'll probably just end up embarassing myself on national television. This would probably happen because I am stumbling drunk somewhere and give someone my stink eye, fights ensue, asses are kicked and Im known all over the city as the drunk girl who got knocked out by a boom mike.

Fear. I fear that MTV will be frowned upon in this city. Ive read a few articles and every journalist seems to have something against this genre in general (Real Housewives is being bashed as well). As much as I am nervous, I am so into it I could skip to the metro for a week straight! So, in spite of all the criticism, I would like to be the first to welcome MTV and the Real World to our Nations Capitol!

I promise to keep all you readers (all two of you) abreast of everything RW. Praise the Lord!

The Traps.

So last Saturday was the first and last annual Shenandoah Valley camping trip.

Alli and I ride down together and really are not to pressed to get there quickly. Upon our arrival, Nick and Pete set up our tent. We put everyone else's significant others to work since we have none of our own. Since the tent has two rooms, we dubbed one the living room, while the other was our bedroom. We also had a front porch. During these charades a bee stings me in the forehead.

Bo and Joe are the last ones to arrive. We had decided that I would help her with the doggies over the course of the trip. I pick up Addy, her yorskire terrier, to hold her while Joe parks the car and gets everything situated. Addy pees on me twice. I change my clothes and get back into the swing of things.

Pete eventually gets a fire going and we begin the traditional wiener/marshmallow roasting, all the while sipping on some beers. I make a pact with Dede that this fatgirl will eat 6 hotdogs. I tell her that I will even dip them in water to sog up the bun like the championship eaters do. I AM NOT AFRAID!

By the time I get to my third wiener, it begins to downpour as I am puttin all the fixings on it. Allison and I run and sit in the car to wait out the rain. In the car, we make fun or Nick's poncho and Pierre's sisters Gilligan hat. Eventually the rain subsides and we continue with our bonfire festivities.

About 15 minutes later a MONSOON arrives. Alli and I head back to the car. Our car is directly facing our tent. After about 30 minutes we notice that the two sides of our tent are waterlogged and look like they may cave in. We run into the tent where Allison takes charge of the living room and I am captain of the bedroom. Right away I notice our sleeping bags are wet.

Allison and I spent about 30 minutes poking the top of the tent with sticks to allow the river on our roof to run down the sides of the tent. It begins to rain harder and I obviously freak out. The walls are caving in from the water collections. "Alli this tent is going to cave in and we are going to suffocate and die in here. No one is helping us and we would be left for the bears, bobcats and other woodland creatures." The only thing left to do was abandon ship.

Sidenote: Kayce was also staying in Camp Catastrophe and was no where to be found during the great flood. An entire beer, may or may not have been spilled onto her sleeping bag. Never tell! For realz it was an accident!

At this point Alli and I are soaked, pissy and ready to throw in the towel. So thats what we did. We packed up the car, rolled up the tent and drove off of the mountain following Kristin and Pete, who also decided they had had enough.

The way home was nice and relaxing - minus the fact that the three hot dogs I ate gave me "the traps." The Traps is a term Alli and I coined/patented/trademarked on the way home. It is inescapable gas that feels like appendicitis. You know it's "trapped."

Dillon, Bo's chihuahua, hated camping also so he decided to ride home with us. I spent the entire ride petting him in my lap. "Dillon, you know I hate it when you lick me, it tickles!" My right upper thigh is tickling so bad. "Dillon! Stop it!" Finally I cant take it any more and look down. At the moment I look down, we pass a street light, which lights up the chunky, white liquid in my lap. Yes, Dillon was so scarred from this trip (and my traps) that he had taken a throw up in my lap. An excellent way to bring this camping trip to an end.

So next time, I propose we venture to something a little more waterproof, like a cabin...or a spa.

Search and Rescue

I am so stoked up for this camping trip, you have no idea. I may have to refrain from any hiking or other types of adventure seeking. Knowing me, Ill probably fall off the mountain and die. Reasoning being:

Exhibit A: The California death hike. For further clarification please refer to the Cali blog entry entitled "The death walk."http://rachel-socaltripnov08.blogspot.com/

Exhibit B: My ankle is still not right from the time I rolled it tripping off the curb in front of the Austin Grille in Bethesda. For those of you who do not recall this incident, it occurred on the way to meet Pec when she was last in town. High heels are still a problem.

Exhibit C: My Earth Week biking mishap. For those who do not know about the biking please refer to "Dude, What Happened to Your Face." Anywho, I still cannot kneel on hard surfaces from that one. I' sure all you pervs get a kick out of this one but the knee remains tender. Read up.

Which brings me to Exhibit D: This is the main reason I will be refraining from the hiking activities camping weekend. My father was an Eagle Boy Scout so every summer we would go on an intense camping trip. The worst was the week long canoe trip in bear country Michigan. We still have those goddamn canoes in the backyard shed and I still have nightmares of bear attacks.

I must have been about 14 years old when my family went on our last camping trip to Rocky Gap State Park (same location we will be attending). I think we camped for 4 days...always one day too long. One morning, we packed up some bottled water and trail mix and set off on a hiking excursion. There was a total of 3 grown men and 6 children. We hiked up to the cabin where a hermit lived for an unreasonably long time with no contact with civilization. It was pretty tight, we all imagined what it would be like living on top of a moutain and off of the land. Time to head back. Only no one has any clue where we are. We are lost. We are lost for 5 hours. We are panicking. It is becoming dark and I think that my imagining the hermit lifestyle may quickly become a reality.

We were hoping our mothers would send out a search and rescue team. Finally, we find a break in the moutain. FYI-it was just as steep as the hike to the H-Wood sign. We slowly inch down it, pass a family of wild turkeys (I thought about having to butcher one of them for food) and eventually make it home. This was a terrifying terrible experience and to make it worse there was a lizard in the toilet. This all occurred at Rocky Gap.

So to answer your question of what I will be doing while everyone is on the hiking excursion...It will be me and my two BFF's hanging out at the site...Myself, a book, and good old Samuel Adams....maybe some fresh baked chocolate chip cookies! Hey I need a little adventure this weekend! Livin' on the edge.

Are You Superman?

What a way to start off hump-day! A nice little surprise on my morning commute. So, as I mentioned before, I switch trains at Gallery Place/Chinatown. Today, I ascend the escalator, take my normal place leaning up against a column towards the end of the track while sporadically wiping beads of sweat from my upper lip/forehead/neck area. This is when I catch myself mid yawn, eye up a familiar face. I quickly straighten up, cover my mouth and stand there in all my wrinkled skirt glory. Yes, Darmouth, my boyfriend from last weekend, is waiting for the same train.

“Hey,” he says and quickly explains to me that he is on his way to one of his sisters graduation, hence, the suit jacket. He’s embarrassed! I eye him up and down. Full on nerd potential today for Dartmouth. He’s really embracing the scientist within. The suit jacket is brown and looks like it has been made out of recycled materials and he’s wearing glasses. Yes, glasses. Oh, how I love a man in glasses!

If you haven’t heard my take on a man in glasses here goes: they have that superhero appeal . They remind me of Clark Kent, who at any time may rip off their white collared button up to reveal the red, blue and yellow superman uniform. They then fly off and save the nearest damsel in distress/save the world from perishing. We then meet back at the daily planet as if nothing has happened, yet there is this strange sexual attraction…uhh maybe this is just my fantasy?? Anyone?

Dartmouth looks me up and down as well. Besides my wrinkled skirt, I am surprisingly well put together today. I am wearing my stewardess costume which the gentlemen at my work seem to enjoy. So we board the train and shoot the shit for a few minutes (still discretely swabbing the sweat from my face). He gets off at Metro Center (one stop) and I let out a huge “whhhhhhhhhheeewwwww!” HUGE sigh of relief. This is too much for a Wednesday Morning! I sit down next to the woman in front of me who smiles at me. It’s unsaid but we both know what just happened on this particular morning commute. “It’s hot as balls in here this morning,” I say to her. “Don’t I know it. Girl, don’t I know it.”Now I shall spend the rest of my humpty dump day with butterflies in my tum tum. Happy Wednesday!

Homicide, Life on the Streets

There has been a homicide on my street. I know this because I walked by this tree that was covered, leaves to roots, in stuffed animals. Usually seeing this sort of scene would make one think, car accident. We've all seen them on the side of the road with the crosses, flowers, teddy bears, etc. I also knew it was a shooting because I heard it said in a passing conversation. There were TONS of middle school aged children hanging around the memorial and I heard one say"yeah yo, those bitches shot him and ran like an m-f'er."

For some reason, this didn't scare me at all. I guess it really didn't sink in until I walked by today and there was a reward on the tree along with all the memorial paraphernalia. REWARD: $25,000 to anyone with substantial information regarding the homicide of this person (picture).

This brings me to another thought. A baffling one at that. Let's dicuss memorials of unfortunate deaths such as a shooting or car accident. Flowers, I get. Crosses, Im right there with you. Teddy bears and other stuffed animals, I do not understand. What, are we at a carnival? Six Flags? What is up with all the oversized, flourescent kiddie toys? The person that passed, at least in this homicide situation, was not a child. I feel like the street vendor across the street should switch from hot dogs to cotton candy and funnell cakes. Shit, let's send a 3 ring circus down the street while we're at it.

Humidity: 57.3% Humiliation: 100%

Ok so...outing number 3....The Cook-Out at Dartmouth's pad. As you can see from previous entries I was scared shitless, slightly hungover but, I gotta admit, still lookin pretty bangin. I put on my favorite maxi dress and mapquest the directions. It cant be that far, we live in the same metro stop area. TWO MILES. I'll walk it. I decide there are three upsides to this:

1. Time to relax.
2. Get some exercise.
3. Its absolutely gorgeous outside.

So I grab my phone, a bottle of water, my humidity detector and walk out the door, directions in hand. At this point I realize I really need to up my game. I look and feel like I am living in 1998. I copied, in pencil, the directions on a peice of pink, wide ruled notebook paper. Why, oh, why do I not have a blackberry? Carrie, step into the 21st century.

My walk took me through Howard University. I could not understand why everyone says its such a bad area. Its beautiful and I got to stop into my favorite clothing store, Up Against the Wall. It the largest one I have ever been in so you can imagine my excitement. Is it kind of cliche that Howard University WOULD be home to the largest Up Against the Wall in America? Enough pondering that, I am grateful. I browse and then head on my way, noting that this is a great spot for an emergency outfit.

This is the point when I really start sweating. It's pouring down my face. I will relate it to Sarah's sweat attack at her engagement party. Hopefully, I looked as collected as she did.

An hour later, I arrive at the BBQ. After meeting all of Dartmouth's friends, who all look like they just stepped out of a sailing competition (I guess Dartmouth will do that to you), I take a seat in a lawn chair. Not knowing anyone and feeling a little shy, I strike up a conversation with the gentleman seated next to me. Obviously, he asks me “what do you do?” I cant stand this question. Well I DO a lot of things but I assume you are asking me about my work so I guess Ill start there. I explain to him that I work for a property management firm…yadda, yadda, yadda….I actually have an air quality tester in my purse. I cant stay long because I need to head over to my girlfriends house and give her a reading.

I realize something else about myself at this moment. Not only do I get nervous around professional athletes (Ovie), I also get nervous at BBQ's. Clearly, I was mute again. Several embarrassing moments later after telling my Alex Ovechkin pole dance story, the weather comes up in conversation. “It’s a beautiful day out. Not really humid. Perfect for sittin outside, having some brews and relaxin in the sun.” “Yeah,” someone else chimes in, “I wonder what the temperature is.” All of a sudden my new friend pipes up and announces that I can let them know the temperature and the humidity. Kill. Me. Now.

All heads turn in my direction with inquisitive looks on their faces. How does this random girl know the humidity levels? Do I have a sixth sense? Can my breasts tell it's raing a la Karen from Mean Girls? At this point I wish any of the above were plausible. I undesirably pick up my purse and ever so slowly pull out the tool. I grabbed the part that shows the read and pull from there. The next thing everyone sees is a long, thick phone cord and finally the fan. People are laughing at me, or at this device. I am not too sure. I. Want. To. DIE!

Sidenote: This humidity decetor device looks like what soldiers used in WWI to call for backup. Think, the musical South Pacific. Take a look: http://www.grainger.com/Grainger/items/4PC72 (the one I have has a fan, not a probe)

What I did next, I know John, the engineer who lent me the tool, will appreciate. After turning it on, I flick my wrist like never before. Flicking your wrist is key to humidity detection. I am laughing, not because it was funny, but because I am so embarrassed. As I am flicking, someone asks me a question about the device. I didn’t answer because at this point I am laughing so hard tears are streaming down my face. They then retort that using this 1953 time warped looking device requires mayjah concentration. Still flicking, I announce that the temperature is 82 degrees with a 57.3 percent humidity. Normally, I would not have cared about being laughed at but:

Number 1: I am completely sober.
Number 2: This all occurred in front of my new manfriend (who graduated from Dartmouth and is a scientist). Needless to say, the first thing I did this morning was call up Jon and give him the device back. I want nothing to do with that EVER again. So bad luck. So over it.

Connor, as in Roseanne.

Announcement! I did something last night I haven't done in YEARS! I, Carrie Cooper, went on a date. (Raquel and I are currently arguing the meaning of the term date but that's neither here nor there) So I took Alli to the Nationals game for her birthday last week where we spent the entire game at the Red Loft Bar. Being as it was a Tuesday evening, everyone came straight from work. I spot an extremely good looking man there where we eyesex each other for hours. I write my number down on a napkin and slip it to him on the way out the door. Ballsy, I know! I haven't been this bold since the time I wrote my number down on a stripper's card, hired a body guard and slipped it to a man with the longest mohawk in America. Moving on...

We have a quick chat on the way out of the stadium. I find out that his name is Connor (like Roseanne) and he lives in my neighborhood! Last night we flirtatiously text and meet up at a bar in the neighborhood. Raquel and I part ways after a little while and Connor and I venture to the Chi Cha lounge. At Chi Cha, Connor orders a strawberry houka and 2 miller lights. We relax, sip, smoke and get to know each other. "Im sorry, I just cant help myself," he says as he plants one on me, while gently grabbing my face in the way that makes us ladies weak in the knees. We are into each other. Hand holding and further kissing ensues as we continue to get to know one another.

He is sexy. I know I always date hideous looking creatures but he is the first guy that everyone might agree is good looking. Raquel can vouch. He is from Virginia and went to Dartmouth. From this moment forward he will now be referred to as "Dartmouth." Again, sexy. We are now dancing. The entire time, he is not letting go of my hand. "Wanna come over?" Shit! I am not ready for this. As Kelly Clarkson says in her new song, I do not hook up. I lay it out there and let him know that I am NOT sleeping with him and at most, heavy petting, is all he will get. So, Ive kiss and told too much already but I woke up in the nook. AM snugglefest at its finest. As my boss woud put it, I have turned into a "Big P."

My phone is vibrating out of control. I check it and find out that Raquel has lost her keys. She is locked out and sleeping on the neighbor's (who we do not know) couch. I will take her text to verbatum, "SAVE ME!" I obviously finish up the snuggling and then hop in a cabby (thats what we do in DC). It was my first inner city hook-up. I call Raq to tell her I am home and she meets me on the front stoop. We descend the stairs to our apartment where I immediately notice Raquel's keys left carelessly in the front door. Welcome to my life.

So in conclusion, I am not going to marry this guy but I'll take it as practice. Mr. and Mrs. Connor and Carrie Cooper. I dont think so.

La Cucuracha!

Some of you may have noticed my new Facebook status. It reads "times like this, I wish I had a boyfriend. Times like this."

So, as mentioned in my previous blog, I take a personal day today. I passed it by watching a movie, doing minimal work from home and looking for part time jobs. This is a recession and if Im going to keep up my dirty habits, Imma need some extra cash flow.

Sometime around noon, I decide the least I can do is clean the house for Rachel. I decide to start in the kitchen, first filling up my glass of water. "OH SHIT! OH SHIT! OH SHIT!" La cucuracha the size of Dani's big toe.

Sidenote: I have recently learned that La Cucuracha is spanish for cockroach. I find this interesting. So the childrens song I sang growing up was about a goddamn cockroach.

Sidenote 2: In my college days, we gave Dani's feet the nickname "booger pickin' toes." They are long, boney, slender and pretty much resemble a a chickenfoot.

Ok back to the roach in my kitchen. Petrified, I decide I need to flush it down the toilet like I normally do. Ugh yes, I do this normally. I grab the dustpan and throw it down next to La Cucuracha only to find all of its legs start squirming for dear life.

This brings me to my dilemma. Do I try to scoop it up taking chances that it may flip itself over, run its big toed looking ass toward my face and bite me, giving me a terrible flesh eating disease that I die from in an hour. OK Overdramatic I know but what would you do?

So now I am sitting on the couch typing this. Raquel is on her way home and has already informed me of her massive PMS. Im scared times two! I need to get this cockroach and I need to get him fast! I have 15 minutes. Back to square 1. Say a prayer....

I just tried again. I ended up screaming and ran out the front door. Its legs are moving in double time now. I cant squish it. The crunch sound will make me throw up. My heart is in overtime too.

Did I kick it and not realize and that's why its belly up? Jesus. What if it flips itself over and runs away. How can I sleep knowing that its in my house somewhere...in my bed...at my feet. Im freakin out! Does anyone care!?!?!? I have approximately 3 minutes before my roommate comes home.

Oh and the neightbors arent home. I checked when I ran out the front door like a sissy.

I have now placed a cup over it. So if, in fact, it does turn itself over it now cannot attack me in my sleep.

Seriously, look at your thumb (Dani - your toe) its that long. No joke. No exaggeration necessary.

My Mental Health Day.

Some of you may have seen that today I am taking a mental health day. Actually, yesterday I was taken off the victim of immaculate conception list and got my period. I thank God because I really was not prepared for a child; especially the child being the future son of God/Mankind.

If you need me I'll be in bed overdosing on extra strength Tylenol and munching on the cupcakes I got Raquel for her birthday (sorry Raq) while watching a vicious marathon of ANTM.

To sum it all up "Mental Heath Day" sounds a hell of alot better than "I'm a big puss and can't handle my monthly flow."

Three Things.

1. I have bathroom relief for approximately 2 weeks and couldnt be happier. "The Culprit," as we will now refer to him, has gone home to the motherland for two weeks!

2. I mentioned before that my neighborhood is a tad ghetto fab. Well it's turning into an episode of Homicide: Life on the streets. I say this mainly because there has been a homicide on my street. I know this because I walked by this tree that was covered, leaves to roots, in stuffed animals. Usually seeing this sort of scene would make one think; car accident. We've all seen them on the side of the road with the crosses, flowers, teddy bears, etc. I also knew it was a shooting because I heard it said in a passing conversation. There were TONS of middle school aged children hanging around the memorial and I heard one say "yeah yo, those bitches shot him and ran like a motherfucker."

For some reason, this didn't scare me at all. I guess it really didn't sink in until I walked by today and there was a reward on the tree along with all the memorial paraphernalia. REWARD: $25,000 to anyone with substantial information regarding the homicide of this person (picture).

This brings me to another thought. A baffling one at that. Let's discuss memorials of unfortunate deaths such as a shooting or car accident. Flowers, I get. Crosses, Im right there with you. Teddy bears and other stuffed animals, I do not understand. What are we at a carnival? Six Flags? What is up with all the oversized, flourescent kiddie toys? The person that passed, at least in this homicide situation, was not a child. I feel like the street vendor across the street should switch from hot dogs to cotton candy and funnell cakes. Shit, let's send a 3 ring circus down the street while we're at it.

3. I feel sorry for anyone that crosses paths with my PMS alter ego today...I feel real bad.

Inauguration Rejuvination Revisted.

Inauguration weekend I had the pleasure of being invited to the Green Inauguration Ball. Raquel and I, already being a pitcher of Margarita's in when we made these plans, created for a difficult planning schedule. Somehow we drunkenly ventured to Pentagon City and purchased ball gowns. Raquel, Bo and I hail a taxi and are on our way to the Mellon Auditorium on Constitution Avenue. We got to the ball just in time to avert a hangover setting in.

I am completely stoked to attend the Green Ball. I am so into the hippie lifestyle. If I could live my life as one of the Chicks that set up house in the treetops of "Without a Paddle," I could die a happy gal. Everything at the ball was organic; the food, the drinks, the table linens, everything. The theme was "Maximum Celebration, Minimal Impact." We most definitely celebrated Mr. Obama's Presidency to the fuckin' max. Hayden Panitierre gave a save the whales speech and Wyclef performed.

All the older guests donned long, gray braided hair and no one shaved their legs. I fit right in. I met several interesting people who were really passionate about recycling, water preservation and other humanity issues. I imagine people from Greenpeace were amongst the crowd as well as some cast members of Whale Wars.

The most interesting character was one Bo befriended. He was a langly older white man sporting a blonde curly afro. We find out that he is a retired porn star. Now it all makes sense! Several pictures are taken because this guy is clearly the joke of the evening. Please see Bo and "Shaggy" the retired porn star below.



Flash Forward. I go to get my hair done today at PR and Partners in Metro Center. We decide on my hair (touched up the roots with some honey highlights-I know you were DYING to know) and I pick up Glamour and start to relax a little while, LaTrece, who specializes in "ethic" hair, goes to mix the color.

I am prepped to be primped. I look around to take in the scenery of the trendy salon. When I see something ASTONISHING. SHAGGY, in all his pride and glory, was sitting across from me getting a permanent. Yes a fucking perm. DIE. I am DYING.

If I would have had my phone I would have speed dialed everyone I knew. Here I am, getting my hair did, sitting across from a retired porn star who is in the process of getting a perm. I'm living on top of the world. Wait, I am the king of the world.

I go to get shampooed and recieve my complimentary head massage (which I check marked relaxing in my consultation). There he is, next to me again. He has his cotton swab around his hairline and a moist towel on his face (haha-moist). The stylist assistant is gently applying the chemical mixtures to the baby pink rollers in his dirty blonde hair. I can now openly stare and laugh as his face was covered. I AM DYING!

I head back to LaTrece's station for the cut. I forget about Shaggy for a while. I forgot mainly because I saw about 5 inches of my hair being chopped to smithereens. Suddenly, an extra from Saturday Night Fever enters the room all blow dried and permed up. I wish I could say he was wearing a leisure suite, pleather platform tuxedo shoes and doing the hustle under a glistening dosco ball. Hey, a girl can dream cant she?

I think I just added 10 years to my life from the enjoyment I had this evening. I am so satisfied, I am staying in. Well, maybe I am staying in because LaTrece styled my hair like Sally Field in Gidget but that's for me to know and you to find out.

A Shit-aaay Situation.

Now I need to vent. Someone is about to seriously go down here. Just for ONE day, I would like a normal bathroom experience but some fucking dipshit over at the office next door keeps royally ruining it for me.

I drink alot of coffee and water throughout the day so I go pretty regularly. I would also like to add that our porters (fancy term for janitors) clean this restroom every two hours. YET on several trips throughout the day I find piss all over the toilet seat, all over the floor surrounding the toilet and random pubic hairs in the general vacinity. There are sometimes vomit stains also. If that's not enough to make a gal toss their cookies, then I dont know what will.

The worst part is I have come to take a few seconds to decide if I can stomach to clean it for this particilar use or venture to another restroom. Most of the time I wipe the seat (if there are no hairs) and continue on with my business. If I am wearing pants, I abort the mission completely. I have learned on one too many occasion that piss rimmed pant legs don't make for a comfortable afternoon.

Why not use another restroom you ask? This is the only one on my floor. The issue is that my favorite restroom is unisex. In an ideal world, I would lightniing bolt myself up the stairs to the next floor and use the facilites there. The problem is there is a gate that only allows people to come down and not up. So no stair option.

I turn and press the button to the service elevator. The office joke is that the people on the bottom rung of the ladder use this elevator. In a similar fashion to the help using the back door. GODDAMMIT, this takes forever. By now, I am usually dancing. Some Porter, Engineer, Contractor, Mailman must be blocking it.

So I book it to the main lobby with a panic look on my face. The Concierge always gives me a wierd look. I press the button to go up and wait...wait...wait. Its lunchtime which constitutes high elevator usage. I am praying to GOD I make it.

Anyway, one should not have to go through this in their work environment. It is stressful and I am really surprised I have not developed any kidney disorders at this point. I KNOW who the culprit is. Yes, I know it's you, you short little indian man. Your office and mine are the only ones with a key. I know you piss all over the place, NEVER lift the damn seat and I have been told on more than one occasion you dont wash your hands (I use paper towels to open the door and kick it shut with a swift jujitsu of the foot). This is a Class A fucking building and we are now paying our porters OT to clean up your mess. This should not be one of my main concerns throughout the work day. So in conclusion, I am literally in a "shitty" situation. haha get it? A shitty situation....

Your Money Spot.

This is an excerpt written for one of my friends who is an airline pilot and had to miss this week's Ep of Idol. Yet another reason Canada sucks...here goes y'all!

You're missin something special Tom! Its the 300th episode. Besides it being the hometown visits, the contestants will sing two songs; one of their choice and one of the judges choice. There will be six performances and most likely a commercial. I will number everything for you. Danny's up first.

1. Paula chooses "Dance little sister" I, personally have never heard of it.

The judges responses:
Randy - "Dope"
Kara - "We saw your "money spot" but no gyrating please." Money spot Kara? For some reason that coupled with the word gyrate simply makes me uncomfortable.
Paula -" Im a choreographer and you did fantastic." We have come to expect nothing less from Paula. Although, I am still having nightmares from her performance last week.
Simon - Agrees with Kara - The dancing was desperate but vocally very good and lets loose the toy saxophone next time."

Danny retorts, "Whatevs I wanna SANG that SONG!"

Simon punches Paula in the left breast and we go to the first commercial break.


2. Kara and Randy pick "Apologize" by One Republic for Kris. I noticed at this point that he has neon blue nail polish painted on half of one of his thumbs. He starts at the piano and I am instantly turned on. They zoom in on his hands playing the piano and the polish is gone. The applause is more distinct than Danny's was.

Randy - "This is your genre. It shows us who you can be in the future."
Kara - "Confident. You need to swing it out of the park at this stage of the competition. You should have made it more your own."
Paula - "Right range for you. One bum note but Im proud of you anyway."
Simon - "You just contradicted yourself Paula. Kara, you chose that song and then blamed the horrendous arrangement on him. You contradict yourself as well"...i.e. You're all idiots.

I think another boob punch may be on the way. Kara has her hands suffocating Simon's mouth. Someone may die tonight.


3. Here's my boy...Adam Lambert. Simon chooses "One" by U2 (one of my personal fave's). He has on the same nail polish as Chris on ALL of his fingers. His influence astounds me. It was Bono's pleasure to have Adam sing the song. Now Bono is practically GOD so I raise the roof to you Adam. The first "one love" sounds like Angels watching over me...great I just shed a tear. "We ARE one!" I feel you babe.

Randy - "You in da zone. Hot since day one. You went to far off the melody." This immediately constitues a boistering BOOOO from Simon.
Kara - "You're a strategist. You changed it all around and made it unbeliveable."
Paula - "Im miserable sitting next to Simon gloating. It was brilliant. I am staring at an Idol ight now."
Simon - "I may be biased but that was a brilliant song choice. You did brilliant. Everything was brilliant. You are brilliant." What's the word of the day? Apparently brilliant.

"Adam...if you rewind the song back at home and listen to the lyrics...they are really beautiful." Yes, yes they are. That song is my hope for the world.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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The fight agaist malaria featuring Carrie Underwoood. The scene is set in Africa and the idols are in the backround singing none other than Toto's "Africa." Idol has raised 250 million (The number could be wrong). Carrie spouts out some statistics on Malaria, bednets, children...America is crying again. Again, we are one. Idol gives back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

4. Its the last chance for GOGO GOKEY to make an impression before the finale. "You are so beautiful" by Joe Cocker. The pride of Milwakeee.

Randy - "I love you showed you are here because you can really, really, really, really sing.
Kara - "Everything you didnt do in the first performance you just did...nothing else to say."
Paula - "You left us breathless. You did magic to that."
Simon - "Wrong arrangement. Otherwise that was a vocal masterclass."

I can't really give you my opinion on this one as I soberly blacked out during this performance. That should tell you enough.

"I came out here with a fresh mind and a fresh heart and i did what I did!"


5. "Heartless" by Kanye West. I am soooooo nervous. Wait!!!!!!!!!!...he is strummin on that acoustic guitar and I think I actually like it. "In the night, I hear them talk.." In the night I just lost my soul to Kris Allen.

Randy - "Toughest voting night in idol history! Better than the original!"
Kara - "Why didnt you do that with Apologize? Acoustic guitar = Fearless. Hot! Hot! Hot!
Paula - "You are the bravest because you sang a song about Simon. I commend you. Bravo!"
Simon - "I thought the song choice was lame and I had written you out of the competition. That, however, has changed after that perfomance."


6. What the hell is Adam Lambert going to pick??? Aerosmith. My heart just skipped a beat. I can already hear Steven Tyler's shrill scream. What Danny should have sounded like last week. "Cryin'" "There was a time when I was so brokenhearted"...not when you sing lover. The backround singer is taking over and i want her to shut the F up. Thanks. aaaaahhhhhhhh...

Randy - "Yo, dude. You one of the best we have ever had. Charismatic...please rock me you rock star!"
Kara - "How do you hit those notes and still talk the next day? We'll see you at the finals."
Paula - "Steven Tyler would have nothing to mentor you for. Your frequent flyer miles will be taking you anywhere you want to go." WTF???
Simon - "Im not going to suck up. Its easy to assume that you will sail through to the finals. So America do not assume and Vote for Adam."

It's up to you America...to choose the next idol.


Here are the numbers once again

For Danny:
1 866 idols 01
1 866 idols 04
1 866 idols 07

For Kris:
1 866 idols 02
1 866 idols 05
1 866 idols 08

For Adam:
1 866 idols 03
1 866 idols 06
1 866 idols 09

So clearly I will have my usual bout of insomnia this evening pondering who is going to win. If you need a recap tomorrow just let me know bro.

Ovie Wan Kenovie.

So apparently there is an insect problem in our apartment. We had to have an exterminator come and put down traps and sprays and all that lovely stuff. I guess this is what comes of living in a basement in DC. One of the main bugs (besides spiders, slugs, ants) are moths. They are constantly flying around everywhere; in my clothes, in my face, all up in my biz-nass. You can imagine my shock and horror after I have been on the subway for 20 minutes this morning when a moth flies out of my purse. Embarassment #1.

Saturday I went to dinner with two of my gal pals. After dinner we met up with more friends at Caddies for a cocktail in Bethesda. I then left Bethesda and went back into the city to meet up with Amanda at Tattoo Bar. Upon entering, I meet up with Amanda in the restroom line and the owner asks us if we would like to sit on the private balcony. Obvi!!!!!. Hand me a bottle of Grey Goose and smack me silly! I walk up the stairs and onto the balcony to find none other than Capitals hockey star/stud/god Mr. Alex Ovechkin! He introduced himself as "Ryan" to us, which I found sort of odd but hey I can roll with the best of them. I mean shit I got my first black eye at the age of 11 playing street hockey. So if you're interested in a role-play type situation, Mr Ovechkin, we can sure work something out!

At this point, I discover something new about myself. I get mute around celebrities. Like a bumbling retard, I cant speak. I was about as taken aback as the time I first noticed I had vericose veins. I stood in the corner dancing by myself while Amanda did all the talking. She's pretty good at charming the pants off people; literally. I, on the other hand, was trying to do some sexy, provacative moves but looking back on it...I probably looked like a drunken episode of intervention. Picture it: Arms flailing in the air grabbing things in it's grasp; the ceiling, the D.J., the crowd. After about 10 minutes of my Elaine Benes thrusts they kicked us out and threw in a batch of new girls. Ego buster/Embarassment #2.

Can I complain about my co-worker really fast? Thanks. It's just because he keeps interrupting my bloggins. His last name is Gafeller (pronounced GAY-feller). For REALS, I kid you not! He comes in the office and just stands there and doesnt speak, mute if you will, sort of like me and Mr. Ovechkin. He stares and breathes LOUDLY through his nose. He has three phrases he says and thats it.

1. Havin' fun yet? I told him I AM NOT AND WILL NEVER respond to this question EVER again, yet he still asks me if Im "havin' fun yet" 472.3 times a day. I just look at him with a blank stare.
2. Alrighty then! Its annoying from Ace Ventura and its even more annoying coming from you. He always says this when he is exiting the room. It usually constitutes an eye roll from me.
3. Yippee!!!!!...what are you 5?

He argues EVERYTHING with you and is a major Debbie Downer. Thanks for listening guys and sorry my rants never have anything to do with previous topics.

ALLLLLLLLLLLLRRRRRRRRRRRRI

IIIIIIIIGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHTTTTTTTTYYYYYYYYYYY THEN! -I'm out!

"Dude, What happened to your face?"

Happy Earth Week! I decided to kick off the start of Earth Week celebrating in the correct way. Three of my girlfriends and I meet at Federal Triangle, dressed in workout attire with a full picnik lunch on our backs. Our plan was to rent bikes and complete a self guided tour of the monuments. $25 bones for the entire day!

We began at the Washington Monument. The day was absolutely gorgeous and my expectations were high. Immediately, I am taken aback by the beauty of our Nation's Capitol and have never been so proud to be a DC resident. We travel to the Lincoln, Jefferson, WWII, walk through the Depression memorial (not so depressing!)and somehow end up in Arlington Cemetery.

Feeling a little tired, we find a romantic spot for our picnik lunch. We all enjoy a nice glass of organic wine (it comes in a neat recycled carton), several types of international cheeses, and finger sandwiches. After soaking up the rays for a couple hours, we decide to head on back (I am redder than a fire ant at a picnik on a hot summer's day ).

I was enjoying the last leg of the tour when tragedy suddenly ensues. Directly in front several crowds of tourists surrounding the monument, my bike skids, slips on some gravel and rockets me towards the concrete. It sort of reminded me of getting thrown from a horse; much like my sister did when I used to drive her to her riding lessons. Luckily my FACE broke the fall and I slid about 5 feet along the pavement.

The first thought that goes through my mind other than "Am I alive?" is THANK GOD I checked the "Yes I would like a helmet" box on the security waiver or I 'd probably be even more brain damaged than I already am.
My injuries involve:

1. A busted face. My chin has a large scab from the pavement across the entire thing. I am self concious about it because it is also very swollen and bruised. When I was a freshman in HS, Colin Loughlin told me I had a "Jay Leno Chin." Now probably even more so. I still hate him for that.

2. A busted right shoulder. My shoulder also has a large scrape/scab mark and my rotator cuff is pretty sore from the impact - much like whiplash in a car wreck.

3. My right breast - also mangled. I am assuming that upon inpact the concrete shoved my sports bra down. Was I exposed?

4. The worst is my knee. It is swollen to the size of a golf ball and hurts to walk.

On Earth Week, the Earth and I most definitely threw some boes but I kicked Earths ass. Here's why. Sometimes when life pushes you down you just gotta get back up and keep goin'. Thats what I did. After taking a short breather, putting the chain back on my bike, straightening out the front wheel and trying not to burst into tears. I got back on and I finished the race. Take that Earth! I don't go down without a fight mutherfucker.

My FML point. I was totally ready to go into mayjah groupie mode on Friday...get some dirty, bearded rock-n-rolla ass BUT I look like the victim of a domestic dispute. If I do achieve my goal of meeting K.O.L. they'll probably just ask me the same question that EVERYONE has asked me since the incident "Dude, what happened to your FACE?"