Archive for October, 2006

Lesson learned

October 22, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“No matter where you go or what you do, you live your entire life within the confines of your head.” ~Terry Josephson

I’m in a list making mood as of late, because I find them cathartic. Sometimes it’s easier to get things out without fleshing them out in pristine paragraph form. Sometimes, when hurt or angry or in desperate need to just sit and think, it’s much too trying on the psyche to make things flow.

1) I make a kick ass linguine with white wine clam sauce.

2) When purchasing white wine for said linguine, solely for a recipe, I cannot just use the opened wine for cooking. Because it’s open wine, why let it go to waste? So, what do I do? I drink half the bottle. Again, waste not.

3) Watching Love Actually and/or Somethings Gotta Give and/or any movie that alludes to any sort of love (unrequited or not) is hard enough without the added feeling of wanting to stab the object of your ‘like’ between the eyes with a spork. Hard.

4) There’s nothing sexier than an interception. Especially a Barber doing the interception.

5) I’ve probably said this over and over again, but DC has a great blogger scene. Though some find it cliquey and pretentious, I find it fun and we have MONTHLY happy hours. Because a drunk blogger is a happy blogger. There also can be slight drama from time to time. I’m awful at recapping each HH because I’m too hungover in the morning to write anything comprehensive or cohesive. Wait, that’s every morning. Regardless, this past one was most stellar and only furthered my questioning of why people feel the need to hate. Jealousy perhaps? Who knows. Whatever the case, well played, DCB & Sally (yes, I do heart you) and the lovely V.

6) The above is probably because I’ve stopped giving a shit about what people think about me. Yeah, I’m weird and quirky and I really have no time or energy to care about whether or not you approve of what I do. Period.

7) So that we’re all clear, I’m nowhere near 24. I have a solid 368 days until my 24th birthday.

I’m such a fucking Scorpio. It’s scary.

To Do: For next year

October 19, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Wisdom doesn’t necessarily come with age. Sometimes age just shows up all by itself.” ~Tom Wilson

With just a few days until my 23rd birthday, I’ve been put on notice that there are things that I need to work on apparently. In such, I’ve decided to condense them all to a single list of things to check off as the next 365 days go by, in hopes of bettering me for society. Notes and letters may be fictionalized for dramatic purposes, humorous effect and because I am a Scorpio.

***

Oh precious daughter of mine,

Pay for it your own damn self

Love you the moon and the stars,
Mom
P.S. Alcohol expands your waist line.

***

Heather,

You’re egregious mistakes and annoying behavior, make us want to choke a bitch. Stop. Please and thank you.

Cordially,
The World

***

To the Owner of the Mercury Sable at the corner of Wisconsin and M:

We wanted to take the time out of our ever busy schedule of catching murderers and rape suspects to question your decision of parking in a metro bus zone. Really? In a metro bus zone? The hazard lights were a nice touch, but no.

Here’s a ticket to add to your collage,
MPD

***

HB,

We love and adore you. But we’re so.much.better.than.you. Stop being lame.

Love,
Your friends

***

Beanie*,

I wanted and received a girl. Now, if you could keep from calling during football games solely to discuss every single solitary detail down to the formation of the ribs on the plate and the flavor of the barbeque sauce, then I might actually enjoy talking to you.

Love,
Dad

***
To my soul mate and most beautiful woman in all the land,

I give to you my heart and the $10K I won last week. Also first dibs on my collection.
Marry Me?

Love,
Michael Knight**

***
To my host organism,

Cirrhosis of the liver is so not sexy. Why must you treat me this way?
If you don’t stop, I’m jumping ship.

Love,
Your liver

*no, really, he calls me Beanie. What’s worse? Peg calls me “Beanie Barbum”. But neither are as bad as “HeathBar Crunch”
**I don’t know who won yet. I won’t know until 4 PM EST. If you tell me before that time, I cannot be held responsible for what I might do to you.

The relationship expert

October 17, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Right now everything is great, everyone is happy, everyone is in love and that is wonderful. But you gotta know that sooner or later you’re gonna be screaming at each other about who’s gonna get this dish. This eight dollar dish will cost you a thousand dollars in phone calls to the legal firm of That’s Mine, This Is Yours.” – Harry Burns*

The title there is a straight up lie; a relationship expert, I surely am not, which may or may not be a surprise to most of you. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m the least knowledgeable person ever. This due to a myriad of things including, but surely not limited to: misanthropy, a protection mechanism, lack of social graces, and narcissism. Most days I’m pretty sure I’ll end up in a convent. That is if a convent would accept me and forgive my rampant use of the f-word, but then I’d have to accept strictly wearing black and white for many years, and that just wouldn’t work out either. But I digress.

Anyway, my lack of experience has been plaguing me for some unknown reason as of late and in that same vein, many of my friends – perhaps too many for my liking as they should all be happy and not have to deal with bullshit – have been having some relationship woes of their own. The beauty of this is that they are then willing to share their vast knowledge with me. Given that most are both older and considerably wiser, I appreciate it, listen and take copious notes. In fact I have even taken the liberty of printing them out to read as my mantra over my morning coffee:

If you sleep with your ex and then the person you’re seeing asks you if you did, do not give off the tell tale signs of liars (read: growing nose), while denying it.

OR

If you do something particularly unsavory to your significant other and s/he in turn, breaks up with you, do not call/IM/communicate via courier pigeon/fax/send smoke signal messages of love and desire between the hours of 12:30 AM and 7:30 AM.

Now the above are all quality things to know and because I’ve been fortunate to receive these gems from my very dear friends, I, being the kind hearted person that I am, have decided to share them with you. And in turn I ask that you share any relationship advice with me, because I am severely lacking. My only request is that it’s good and helpful and something that I wouldn’t readily think of by myself. Because really, how would I know not to date a possible homosexual**?

And…go.

*From the date movie of all date movies

** I almost did that once. He seemed straight years before, but apparently not. Awesome.***

*** Speaking of awesome, how apropos is this?

District of Columbia

October 16, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Clearly, then, the city is not a concrete jungle, it is a human zoo.” ~Desmond Morris, The Human Zoo

I make fun of the tourists. I do. Because they’re just so damn entertaining traipsing through the capital in their shorts and sandals with socks while stopping in the middle of the sidewalk at the Supreme Court to get a view of Antonin. I mean really? What’s not to love about these charming individuals?

They also get to take these great little trolley tours and the duck tour (Converts from boat to bus. Yippee!), which I’m sure are great and possibly informative. Then they take their little trips to “I’m rich and shopping and too good for you” land AKA Georgetown (but I don’t hate, I love me some Georgetown). And they think that they’re seeing the real nation’s capital. “Look, Honey! There’s Tim Russert! In his Lexus” Then they get happy when they see Sam Brownback on the street and it’s all la-di-fucking-da. (“DC is so fabulous. Let’s stay forever”)

The tourists miss out on the awesomeness that it is to live here. From up on high in their tours, they miss the black man in an old Mercedes Benz being chased by police at 12:45 AM through Shaw. Hell, they probably don’t know where Shaw is. Here’s a hint: Not near the Jimmy Choo in Chevy Chase! They’d also miss out on the joy of driving home on a random Saturday evening and lo’ there is police tape. And what is that on the ground? AHA! Of course, a body. An actual dead person on the ground. (“DC is so charming! Such lifelike Halloween decorations!”)

Which means that they’d also miss out on the joy of trying to console oneself after viewing said body on the ground. Thus they would never get lost at 1:45 AM and inadvertently drive to Landover. But then, they would miss out on the joy of seeing where Redskins play (READ: Lose) or realize the wonder that is Pennsylvania Ave. - in SE, not that safe 1600 block at Northwest- at 2 AM (READ: Holyfuckingshitballs, I could have died!)

So really, it’s all in jest. I actually feel bad for the tourists; because they have to miss out on all of this joy and wonder of living in this spectacularly wonderful city. It’s like the happiest place on Earth, right next to Disney World. That is if Disney World had a high crime rate and Mickey and Minnie were its very bitter (yet brilliant) residents.

What’s in a name?

October 12, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith.” ~Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.

The idea of a woman changing her last name to be that of her husband’s, is often a rather contentious debate. Will she or won’t she? Hyphenated? Some sort of hybrid perhaps? It’s something that I’ve always been on the fence about. I’m content with my full name. Though it is rather bland, it just works; Peg and El Padre knew what they were doing. I suppose would depend on what I would be changing it to and the complication of going about such a thing. Hell, I have a hard time going to the DMV just to register my car, so I’ll be damned if I’m going through any bureaucratic cesspool to change my Social Security card, credit cards and subscription to Washingtonian. There’s also the question of why we live in such a patriarchal society where this is still rather expected of women as the norm. And the question of whether or not we as women want to have the same last name as our children or get the peculiar looks of complete strangers as to why little Bobby and I do not have the same name (Quick answer: None of your damn business).

Whatever name I end up with if – big IF - I get married, I want it to flow. I want to have a good meaning. I don’t want to marry a man whose last name is ‘Bundy’ because I don’t want to spend the rest of my till death (or divorce) do you part days, being associated with a serial killer. It needs to be a good strong name with deep roots possibly related to some old money, but I won’t be too picky. It’s just been on my mind as of late, not that there is a possibility of marriage anytime in the near future, but I suppose that in a way, I do have prospects; Men whose names I would gladly take:

Heather Knight: Has a nice ring to it, no? It represents good style and fashion design. A husband full of good nature and he’s the fan favorite. I don’t even mind the braces. It’s hip hop goes to St. Tropez. It’s a ray of sunshine in a world of cloudy, serious ugly and that’s what really matters. I’d be married to a man who loves his mother and knows a woman’s body (so to speak). A real keeper. A WINNER.

Heather Barber: It represents good blood. Very good looking, good blood. Strong family ties and the ability to run, many yards. Which is the key to any relationship. He’s willing to go the distance and celebrate a little in the end zone. I’m confident that he would pull through more often than a guy with a last name of Shockey.

Heather Manning: Though a newbie, the name represents quality and a strong family background. Important in a spouse. Competitive and loves his older brother, thus the reason for why he would never think to wipe the field with is ass, though he was very tempted. Yeah, he may fuck up a bit – what man doesn’t – but he always pulls through in the end. And even when he doesn’t, it’s the southern accent that gets me.

Heather Sheffield: Again, just because a man isn’t perfect, doesn’t mean that things will go to hell in a hand basket. Because here we see OVERALL quality, which is more important than being really good at one specific thing. And name one person who wouldn’t want to be married to a man in the Hall of Fame. Either way, he’s good at what he does.

Heather Washington: The original. The first man that I knew, just knew, that I would marry. And if I had married him, it would make him an adulterous cradle robber, which is not something I look for in a husband, but with those teeth and that smile, so be it.

Though they might be prospects, I feel like I would do well as the future Mrs. Michael Knight.