Thursday, August 31, 2006

You know you're old when...

When I first moved to DC, fresh out of college, I moved to Dupont Circle, where all the action is J I lived in the top floor of the oldest, most terribly decorated house imaginable. My apartment was a one-room palace complete with a 4-story walk up, peeling paint, an ant infestation, and about 5 minutes of hot water every morning.

I thought it was the most fantastic place I’d ever been! I was living smack-dab in the middle of Washington, DC, two blocks from the Metro, living my dream…living in a city, albeit poor as hell, working, and making it on my own (think the Mary Tyler Moore opening – and no, I didn’t throw a beret up in the air).

And long the way I discovered the Front Page – and bucket ‘o Coronas night. And my roommate and I…never missed it. Oh how I loved my Thursday night. We closed the bar down every Thursday, crawled into bed or the bathroom floor and then picked ourselves up on Friday morning, off to work with only a few hours of sleep, sometimes hung over, but mostly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed! I even started dating one of the bartenders, my roommate dated the DJ. And I thought, I will come to Corona night Thursdays forever! I will never get old! Ah yes, good times *sigh*

But somewhere along the way, I either had busier Fridays, needed more sleep, switched beer brands…but whatever it was, I took a couple of weeks off from “The Page” Thursdays (perhaps I broke up with the bartender and needed space?? I don’t know).

But I eventually returned to The Page with the great anticipation, remembering Thursday nights to be such a fantastic time. But as I stepped through the doors, something had changed. Yes, it was the same young, laid-back crowd with the boys that were trying to hard to be cool and the girls trying to look like they weren’t fresh off the campus lawn. But something was definitely different. For one, I coughed at the Marlboro/Camel light haze hovering over the crowd; I didn’t liked being pushed and pulled in the crowd; and when someone spilled their drink all over me, I didn’t laugh. What was wrong with the place and the night I had loved so much?? No longer the urban professional paradise I remembered but a jungle full of undomesticated, groping, crazy wildlife!

So imagine my surprise when my oh so young and adorable, 21 year old roommate asked me if I wanted to go to “The Font Page” this evening because she heard they have Coronas by the bucket! And I smiled, and said ‘no thank you, I have to be at work early. you have a great time.’

So you know you’re old when you opt for viewing the wildlife at the National Zoo instead of your local watering hole…the baby Panda is cuter than most of the guys anyway :)


College Football Appreciation Week

It occurred to me this week that college football is one of the only sports that doesn't have some sort of season kickoff extravaganza/spectacle, like college basketball's Midnight Madness, the NFL's annual Bon Jovi or Sheryl Crow concert, baseball's Opening Day festivities and hockey's ... actually, it's usually weeks before I realize the hockey season has started. Ladies and gentlemen, I hereby proclaim this to be the first College Football Appreciation Week. Below are just a few reasons why College Football rules and the NFL will never inherit the earth:

1) Fight songs performed by actual, live bands and written prior to 2003.
2) Tailgating at The Golfcourse rather than some municipal parking lot.
3) Cheerleaders without silicone.
4) Stadiums without retractable roofs.
5) Players who actually make mistakes sometimes.
6) Star players who actually care about practices.
7) Coaches who actually talk about things other than safety blitzes from time to time.
8) Coaches who go for it on fourth-and-2.
9) Rivals that only play each other once a year.
10) Teams that still run the option.
11) Mobile quarterbacks who are actually allowed to run.
12) Walk-ons.
13) Students who dress up to go to the games.
14) Students who can roll out of bed and walk to the stadium.
15) Games with national-title implications in September.
16) Games with national-title implications in October.
17) Bear Bryant barking from a JumboTron seconds before Alabama takes the field.
18) A Seminole on a horse riding to midfield and throwing a flaming spear.
19) The Vol Walk, The Tiger Walk, the Dawg Walk, et al.
20) Every other tradition at every other school I haven't already mentioned.

Tuesday, August 29, 2006

The OC in DC

It’s over….my 9 month stint living as a fabulous, single woman living alone in the nation’s capitol has come to an end.

Now before you break out the keg stands and silly string, I would like to clarify that I am STILL fabulous, STILL staying in DC, and alas... STILL chronically single. I am however no longer living alone.

AND before you gasp in horror, wondering how I could ever end my domestic celibacy after the St. Patrick’s Day Massacre of 2006 chill out. (For those of you who don’t know, my last roommate went crazy and beat me to a bloody pulp before checking herself into rehab for substance abuse problems and anger management issues.*) The rising cost of tea in china, and a 20% rent increase along with a strong aversion to packing and relocation were all contributing factors leading up to my decision to invite a relative stranger to live in my home.

I was prepared for the transition (or so I thought). I leased a storage unit in the building, (since all my winter clothes, holiday decorations, beach chairs, and boxes ‘o junk including mardi gras beads, random pictures and souvenirs of a sorority days-past; were all being kept in the 2nd bedroom). However, last week was hectic…and Friday night is a blur but I thought “it’s ok. if I sleep off my hangover I’ll get up this afternoon, move the stuff out of the room and clean the apartment in time for her arrival on Sunday.” Great plan.

Until I awake to some god awful ring-tone Saturday morning (while drunk, apparently I thought it would be funny to set my ring to “oops I did it again”). The caller ID flashing I number I didn’t know so I shut off the phone, shoved it under my mattress and attempted to resume my “Let’s ALL take shots!” coma. I was almost successful, when I hear my apartment door open.

#($ @(!& @#)(#

Even redheads have bouts of blonde-like brilliance – and apparently this was mine. Yep, you guessed it, the roommate had scheduled a Saturday arrival and the Britney ring was her calling to tell me she was on her way.

GASP - #()$*@( #(%)@(#*$)(@$*(#

I sit straight up, look in the mirror and cringe – Let me paint you a picture:
big, sexy hair from the night before was definitely still big, but nowhere NEAR sexy. Instead it was frizzy and smelled of Marlboro Lights; apparently I didn’t have time for eye makeup remover as I resembled Ricky the Raccoon (oh you know the look, you know it well); top it all off with an oversized, faded t-shirt that, yes, you guessed it, I had put on backwards and inside out (and I’m actually impressed that I managed to do THAT!).


I threw on some shorts, a hat on the sex-hair, ran my face under the faucet along with a quarter container of Noxzema, swiged some Listerine and let’s not forget the citrus- mango body splash (college shower, anyone?), open the door to my room, and there is not only my new roommate but her boyfriend, her boyfriend’s sister, brother-in-law AND their two week old infant!


What could I say? “Welcome to my apartment. My name is Red. I am hung over, my sh*t’s all over your room, there are empty bottles of wine on my counter…and I look like the creature from the black lagoon. But please, do come in.”

I was, of course, wildly apologetic, and started cleaning like a French maid on Viagra.

*Sigh* – not to fret, all is well. We christened our domestic union over a bottle of Zin and bonded over a mutual love of dry humor, salacious gossip, sex & the city, well constructed blogs and fat-free desserts.

Luckily my new roomie, a vision in Lactose and Lily Pulitzer, is very forgiving (a trait I’m sure she’ll exercise more than once living with me). Oh! And she looks exactly like Rachel Billson!

Sorry, fellas, she's taken

So welcome, roomie with your brightly colored bedspread, big smile, caffeine addiction and love of discounted, fabulous footwear.

Truly the OC has come to #1403.

*I’m serious, I looked like a battered house wife in a Dolly Parton video

Monday, August 28, 2006


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