Archive for March, 2007

You’ve come a long way, baby

March 31, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, Socially Awkward Barbie™, The District Of Columbia

“A man has to live with himself, and he should see to it that he always has good company.” ~Charles Evans Hughes

A few weeks ago, I spent some time perusing my archives. Not necessarily looking to bask in the glow of my brilliance but looking for a post highlighting my socially awkward behaviors. A post that screams: You KNOW you want to be friends with me even though I mumble. Anyway, during my quest, I came across one of my first pieces to adequately show off how I let anticipation run rampant through my life and psyche thus forcing me to stick my head between my knees and kiss my ass goodbye, when faced with a potentially awkward social situation. In this case the famed DC Blogger Happy Hour: The monthly event in which we speak less of blogging and more of the gossip and best practices for taking shots.

Given that I find most NEW situations with NEW people to be particularly frightening and I face it with a rapid fire ‘What if?’ round of questioning, usually starting with “what if they hate me?” and ending with “what if they think I drink too much?” Though most importantly, “what do I do when they decided that they hate me?” Because they will hate me, they have to hate me and maybe if I drink myself into a stupor, I won’t notice the seething hatred spilling out of them. I must say, thank the Lord that it’s a blogger happy hour, for they are the only people able to handle this extreme level of narcissism.

My first HH was an act of experimentation. Balls of never ending nerves and a shaky hand trying to hold a martini glass perfectly steady. That was the happy hour when Cookie and I bonded over double fisting chocolate martinis before Dragonfly’s drink specials ended (I am nothing if not excellent in getting more bang for my buck). It was the happy hour before I knew of the drama that those surrounding me could endure and involve themselves in, stupid shit that need not be detailed. Mostly because my attention span is a grand total of 2.8 seconds. It was the happy hour during which I realized that everyone needs a few drinks to relax themselves, thusly I am not really that much of a lush, just completely normal.

This past Thursday was I-66’s last stint as social chair. We went to Buffalo Billiards. Kassy met me outside with hugs and a kiss on the cheek. We beelined for the restroom and then to the bar, for we are two girls who have our priorities. We were cornered at the bar by a man who wanted to express sincere adoration for us and we in turn, wanted to hug…during which she was gracious and I made my “oh my fuck…there’s better shit to read” face. But it was his sincerety that kept me from awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other. An Argentinean Jew greeted me with a real hug. And these two are not nearly as scary as one might think, in fact it’s there whole “I don’t give a fuck” demeanor that gives me more inclination to love than hate. She thinks I exude smarts and I’m positively giddy each and every time I see her. They’re both hot and fucking brilliant and I want to pet their heads because they like me, they really like me.

Imagine walking into a room and being totally at ease. The ability to approach someone with “Oh….we were trying to figure out who you were” without the recipient punching you in the nose for being so damn rude. It’s not about whether or not they like me or what I had to do and have to do to keep the others for finding me terribly annoying and bull in a china shop-esque. Though I’m sure that the monthly bribes do help a bit. I don’t know what happened or the when or the how, but I suddenly find myself to be gregarious and freely meandering and laughing through waves of people. Genuinely happy to see and meet, while staying out of the fray.

Is it possible that my socially awkward phase is finally abating? Is it that I’ve slowly grown into feelings of comfort and affability when with this particular group? That all remains to be seen. But I can say with complete certainty that there is no such thing as too much drinking at HH. In fact we embrace the drinking whole-heartedly and as the reigning Biggest Lush, that first drink, is on me.

Slippery slope

March 28, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology

“The Internet is the most important single development in the history of human communication since the invention of call waiting.” ~Dave Barry

Tuesday morning I prepared for work as I would any other day. Including getting up and out by 6 AM so that Fergie could spell ‘delicious’ and ‘glamorous’ out loud for me while I trudged along on the elliptical, a shower and then off to work. The only difference being that I left my keys on the dining room table for my guest: Schnozz.

Growing up during the AOL chatroom era wherein we kept the IBM laptop weighing in at a hefty 27.8 lbs in the middle of the kitchen so that El Madre could peak over pre-teen shoulders to make sure there was no A/S/L going on with some 38 year old posing as a 16 year old. For the internet was a scary, scary place full of pedophiles and stalkers, thusly I was raised to believe that the only people using the internet were balding white men between the ages of 45 and 65 and teenagers using fuchsia for inside jokes on their AOL profiles. I did at one point learn the hard way that the internet was and could be a terrifying place, complete with raging lunatics, but for awhile there it was ‘la dee daa’ and the whirring sounds of dial up.

Some 11 years later, I get an email from Schnozz - someone whose existence I’ve been aware of since November - that she will be flying through Dulles and my only trepidation is that my bedroom looks like the Titanic dining room but without the water and Leo’s baby blue eyes to stare at over the immense piles of debris. Other than that I told her to come on down without a single thought of fear or worry save for the fact that she might tell the internet that I snore loudly and shed enough hair to cause the average shower drain to clog on a regular basis. This is probably a bit of an improvement from most bloggers I meet, for I always fear greatly that I will either pass out or vomit or a lovely combination of both.

A sordid experience ages ago left me somewhat terrified of the internet and yet now I find myself blogging endlessly while willingly befriending and vodka tonic-ing with people whose last names I don’t even know and all without that gut feeling that someone is going to kidnap me and sell my internal organs and pearls to the highest bidder. For there is the 41 year old republican who said “I’ll be in DC for work, lets drink” and so we did and we have ever since, each time even more hilarious than the last. There’s my neighbor whose keys I have who has no problem with me running to her apartment for safety at the sight of a tiny mouse. Then there is the infamous one who leaves me with her child with nary a second thought. When I mention these occurrences to those who have made the very wise decision not to broadcast their every thought to the internet, they give these incredulous looks and find it all very abnormal. Which I’m sure it is on some level and of course I still am fairly wary, yet there is still this odd sense of comfort and lack of uncertainty; for am I the only person who finds most bloggers to be fairly normal so of course I’ll hang? Is it OK to say to a virtual stranger Of course you may sleep on my couch and eat my food and drink my wine and prance around with my panties on your head! Why Not?!

Shock me, shock me, shock me

March 26, 2007 | Filed under: Whoopdie Doo, You've Got Guests

For every surprise event I’ve attended, that is one more that I’ve wished for myself. Younger HB always felt that the lack of surprises meant that she wasn’t cared about or for with the same force that others cared for their loved ones. Older HB gets queasy and jittery complete with butterflies flying in perfect formation in her belly at the thought of a remote surprise. I’m one of those people who flinches at sudden movements. I’m one of those people who apparently was beaten far too many times as a child thus, my startled state when someone moves their hands to emphasize a point in close range.

I do not do rapid, unanticipated things. They scare me.

But apparently I do, for in just a few moments, I’m getting a spontaneous visit. And now I’m going to shock the shit out of myself and both make my bed, vacuum and pick up my W-2 from off of the floor.

No Pasa Nada: we never cease to amaze you.

Par for the course

March 25, 2007 | Filed under: Gruyere With That Wine, Straight Jacket, The District Of Columbia

What a good country song is made of

March 22, 2007 | Filed under: Gruyere With That Wine, Just Add Alcohol

“Every path hath a puddle. ” ~George Herbert

Kimber invited me to partake in a few drinks in Chinatown and given my faulty relationships as of late, I decided to give up a night of misanthropy for a pitcher of sangria.

The sangria being mostly weak and Kimber being my esteemed counterpart when it comes to all things fermented, we decided on an Irish bar down the street for she wanted to partake in ‘real drinking’ and I am nothing if not a ‘real’ drinker.

Upon approach of the second establishment an ID was required and none was produced on my part. Though I shook it off and we decided on Clyde’s. Though annoying and with a royal stick up it’s ass because of it’s claims on popularity, it’s there and easy and there wasn’t a burly black man at the door with a blonde Mohawk. So off we went.

We sat at the bar. I batted my eyelashes and smiled to pilfer a bar stool from two gentlemen who then proceeded to check out my ass. The bartender took our drink requests, Pilsner, Bud light…and before getting to me, he requested an ID.

Never have those words yielded such a look of pure pain and sorrow and essentially heartbreak. I stammered and stumbled something about taking my license out of one bag before putting it in another as I had recently been flying.

He responded with the look of ice cold seriousness that he needed an ID.

I ordered a diet coke and proceeded to look away in order to fight back tears when he actually produced a diet coke that tasted like ass flavored water, while those around me enjoyed the fruits of Czech labor. I literally went from jovial to humming a little diddy about how my man done left me and my ID has gone astray. A very sad and lonesome tale of a poor girl trapped in a bar unable to enjoy her much needed ketel one and tonic because she didn’t have proof of age*.

But by the look on my face you would have thought that my dog just got run over by a hummer just minutes after finding out about an unplanned pregnancy and a tornado done blew my home away. What can I say? I take my drinking very seriously.