Archive for March, 2007

Investing in a car and driver

March 20, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, Oh The Stupidity You'll See

“The best car safety device is a rear-view mirror with a cop in it.” ~Dudley Moore

Only when it comes to the important things has my date of birth ever been a source of complaint and woe. Though now the next milestone to hit, in terms of legal activities, is the ability to walk up to the Avis counter and rent a car, just like all of the big other kids.

Getting my driver’s permit was a breeze. I was then relegated to the parking lot at Walmart to drive circles and eventually graduated to the SUNY Albany campus loop. Then came merging and driving on windy roads past the horse farms then rain, flurries and eventually the big test; snow. In fact a few weeks ago during a brief fluffy flake wintry mix, I drove LB in ye old sable to and from upper Northwest. As the heavy flakes came down, she who hails from Phoenix asked whether or not it snowed like this in upstate New York. I laughed and replied that in upstate New York, if it snows a couple of inches, you shovel and go on with your life. In upstate New York, we have these things called blizzards and speak of snow in measurements of feet. I’d trust an upstate New Yorker with a crap ass sable that shakes when you try to brake to drive me to and from AU Park in heavy snow, before I’d trust a Pasadena native with a fully equipped, four wheel drive hummer to drive me from one side of Capitol Hill to the other.

It took only two tries for my license. The first time the failure was due to sub par parallel parking skills, which I find most interesting given that I now live in metropolitan area that requires regular parallel parking between a Porsche and a BMW. Though now I can do it while eating sushi with a chai latte between my legs and walking it out to Unk.

Six days after I got my license, I drove to the Key Bank and attempted the very tricky maneuver of switching lanes. Though did you know that when trying to switch lanes, it helps if there is more than 5/8 of an inch between your bumper and the car in front of you? Well I was not aware of this and rammed my minivan into another minivan and subsequently pissed all over myself because my mother was going to beat the ever living shit out of me.

But she did not. Instead she saved that hostility for my coup de grace of one sunny day after school when tooling around in Walmart, I shoved my license plate under a parked car by running into it while I, myself, was parking. She beat the ever living shit out of me for not being able to discern between an empty space and a parking space with a Honda Accord. Tricky stuff there. Until today, I have denied doing that until I was blue in the face because somehow my plate had disappeared and miraculously ended shoved into someone else’s rear bumper. Then the Easter Bunny shot out of my ass and sprinkled fairy dust all over my little boo boo.

On Monday I was in a fit of excitement and kissing the US Air gods for placing me in their good graces long enough to get me home in time to run a few midday errands. There is nothing that gets me off the way that grocery shopping in the middle of the day does. I get chills just thinking about it, which is why I willingly sat in the center seat from Palm Beach to DC smiling giddily because I would have first dibs on all the frozen brown rice and vegetable flax seed tortilla chips, I could ever want.

In the thrill of the moment, that prospect of all of the bags of frozen organic peas I would acquire and so instead of slowing down two blocks from a yellow light, I decided to rev it up to 60 and whip a left hand turn out of fear that the peas would be all gone and then what? Of course to my right there sat a member of the metro police department. Who noticed my fast acting turn – for the peas! – and turned on his lights behind me. I silently prayed and flashed my cutest smile and apologized profusely. He let me off with a warning to slow down. I smiled and went on my merry way carefully stopping at each light and sign between my apartment and the next two blocks.

Literally 47 seconds later, I rear-ended a DC Central Kitchen van while getting onto 395. 20 minutes later, I almost rear-ended a parked Harley.

Tomorrow I’m going to try something basic, like walking and chewing gum at the same time and I will be sure to let you all know how that goes.

Feel for me

March 17, 2007 | Filed under: Gruyere With That Wine, Va-cay-cay-cay

“No man needs a vacation so much as the person who has just had one.” ~Elbert Hubbard

As I recall, last year, Marci returned from Boca Raton exhausted. And I thought well, that’s a load of bullshit, boo fucking hoo. Go cry in a corner you tan whore.

Then I went back to my lame ass life to cry on my bed about how the world and Jesus are out to get me and if this isn’t Hell, then I don’t know what is.

While it seems highly incredulous and baffling, it is entirely possible for one to completely tire of South Florida. With the sun and perfect weather and pristine beaches and shit and the looking up in the sky and finding it mystifying that it could be snowing enough somewhere to cause flight cancellations because the Sun is fucking shining.

Marci’s ditched me in Florida, where I am ‘stuck’ until Monday to wallow in my sadness of being ‘trapped’ at a five star resort to tan.

But I swear on my life, if I see one more motherfucking Bentley (not mine) or Ketel One and tonic (most certainly mine) I’m going cry. I’m going to cry the real tears of horror and sadness that one cries upon realizing that she might have to go to the spa. Again.

Emboldened

March 13, 2007 | Filed under: Just Add Alcohol, Mmhmm That's Right, Va-cay-cay-cay

“Vacation used to be a luxury, but in today’s world it has become a necessity.” ~Author Unknown

Raise your hand if you need to be up in eight hours to finish packing in order to make your flight to Boca so that you can flaunt a really lovely citrus scrub in Marci’s face while she works.

Raise your hand if you need to do the above and you’re four martinis deep.

Also raise your hand if you’ve been an ornery, pissy, bitch as of late and you’re pretty damn thankful that you’re friends haven’t thought of interesting and non-messy ways to off you.

Raise your hand if you’re semi-cautiously optimistic but your pessmism sometimes trumps any remote optimism.

Finally, raise your hand if it took you 139 tries to spell optimism.

Pot o’ gold

March 11, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, Fotografias, Just Add Alcohol

“When after the Winter alarmin’,
The Spring steps in so charmin’,
So fresh and arch
In the middle of March,
Wid her hand St. Patrick’s arm on…”
~Alfred Percival Graves

When I was little, my mother would take us to the Jazz Festival at SPAC. An all day affair that meant fried chicken wings and my mother’s onion dip. It meant sitting outside on the grass and eating by day and James Taylor by night indoors. On occasion we’d be walking around and see my father on the opposite side of the grounds where he’d have a tent and a grill set up. The difference between the two parents was that my mother would be filling up on coke while my father enjoyed an Amstel or three and cognac. It was during one year that I was given my first sip of Coor’s and promptly swallowed with a look of pure disgust. A look that conveyed my disappointment and bewilderment towards grown ups and their obsession with the fermented drink and why on earth would one enjoy drinking in the middle of the day.

I probably also believed that Santa Clause shoved his fat ass down the chimney and that an adult woman flew through my window to take my grimy baby teeth in exchange for a bright and shiny half dollar.

I’m practically a small child therefore I do not do well during an all day affair. I get tired and need a nap or a place to just put my head for a short while. I’m not really a marathon take it easy, yo, type person. Which is why my feelings towards an offer of VIP tickets to Shamrock fest* was met with trepidation, even though it meant free beer all day long (!!!) Which meant rejoicing for any day that begins with Bass and Heffevisen is a day to be extraordinarily grateful for.

I’ve been trying to piece the events of the day together, so as to come up with a comprehensive Pulitzer Prize winning recap. And yet the lasting effects of an innumerable amount of drinks, has left me mildly slack jawed that yes in fact I did say that. OUT LOUD. I only wish I had been a little more prepared and better with my copious note taking skills.

While I’m not completely sure how things are in other cities heavily populated by bloggers, I know that we DC bloggers are notorious for our coveted abilities to drink as much as possible without passing out or puking. Shockingly enough I am not an all day drink fest type girl. I’m more 5K than 26.2 miles if you catch my drift. Thus the reason for why I tend to stick to happy hour. ‘Hour’ being the operative hour. I almost vaguely remember DJ AM being there and that anytime someone said ‘falafel’ I had a pavlovian reaction and began drooling immensely. My eyes lit up because oh my hell, food. And this children, is why you should say no to the beer. Well that and because too much drinking often leads to fashion faux pas. It was almost like a throwback to the college days – for they were so long ago – when I mastered in keg stands and watching sorority girls show off their pink thongs. Those days were good.

Ahh memories.

And it seems that over the years I’ve gotten over my disdain for adults who drink in broad daylight. In fact, I now EMBRACE it. With two hands to boot.

*Many thanks to I-66, KassyK, Arjewtino, and Freckled K for putting up with my drunk ass all day long.

Reason #357 for self medication

March 8, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, Straight Jacket

“Many of our fears are tissue-paper-thin, and a single courageous step would carry us clear through them.” ~Brendan Francis

I’m sure that when I announced that I was leaving on a jet plane yesterday, you all assumed that it was to somewhere fabulous. Alas it was only a night in Albany. During which I indulged in Fridays and Friendly’s, because that’s just how I roll.

Returning home just now, I decided to try on a brand new dress from Anthropologie. My rule when dealing with my body, is quite simple: If I can wear clothing from Anthropologie with ease, then it’s all good. The end.

I began glancing at myself in the mirror. Sticking my hands in the side pockets and twirling. When out of the corner of my eye….and I’m loathe to write this…I see a dark spot on a sticky mouse trap in the corner of my closet. I step closer, over the massive pile of clean clothing and there they are. THEY. THEY. THEY. TWO WHOLE MICE.

Just laying there. In the fetal position. One probably got caught and then the other probably came to save its best friend. Which makes me revisit that whole being there for my nearest and dearest thing. One could die in the process.

In lieu of actually picking up the trap with the advised three plastic bags and a broom theory (courtesy of my brother and my pal), I’m sitting here with a rum and coke. Two and half shots of rum to be exact. I’m partly sad for the little critters and partly disgusted beyond belief that they are laying in my closet just dead. And I’m in a fleece and my dress and some Uggs.

Suddenly I remember the quick effect that rum and coke has. It’s powers are magical and I almost don’t remember the reasons for why I stopped partaking in the rum. But I’m sure I will in the morning.

Speaking of drinking and uh randomness….Shamrock Fest this weekend! DJ AM, Carbon Leaf, Flogging Molly at RFK and me drunk and busting out the Irish in me while retelling this story! People, y’all don’t even know the debauchery and fun that is about to ensue.

I promise more fun and excitement than mice in a closet.