Monthly Archives: June 2011

A mouse ate my M&Ms!

The frat house has had a mouse issue on and off since I moved in.  It’s worse during the spring and summer, as opposed to the little mice moving in mid-November to stay warm, which I find amusing.  Even mice don’t like the DC heat!

These mice have evolved into smart little suckers.  They sneak the food out of the trap without actually get  snapped up and they are very bold– blatantly hauling ass across the living room when we’re all watching TV.  I long ago convinced myself that I was safe in my bedroom due to the fact that I sleep soundly on the second floor and everyone knows mice can’t climb stairs!  (Yes, I know they go through the walls, but I’m coping here).  But I was wrong.

As I was getting dressed for the gym Monday, one of the little buggers poked his head out of my closet.  I hollered at it, stomped down the stairs to get Roommate A and spent 5 whole minutes poking the shoes haphazardly shoved in my closet with lacrosse stick.  I then spent 10 whole minutes concerned that he had taken up residency in one of my Frye boots, tossed some moth balls in the closet and went to pilates.

This morning I noticed a dusting of what looked like blue and orange confetti on the floor in the corner.  I had swept up a similar mess of Friday– I was confused as to what it was, but not overly concerned until the same mess was back. Leaning over to investigate, I pushed closed my closet door to get a closer look and more of the confetti looking stuff fell to the floor.  I started sifting through my purses hanging on the door knob and made my very traumatizing discovery.

One of the mice (because where there is 1, there are many more) found a rogue bag of M&Ms in my favorite pink purse and eaten every last one and half the wrapper.  The “confetti” was the outer shell of the M&Ms.  Turns out mice don’t like that.  Just the chocolate center.  I momentarily freaked out before sweeping up the mess before work.  Gross and strange for the following reasons: (1) The mice was in my purse.  And I love that purse.  Disgusting.  And (2)  Who leaves bags of M&Ms in their purse?  I need to rethink some things.


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Give and Take


At the start of this year I made a decision that I was going to steadfastly expect people to treat me the way I treated them.  Seemingly a simple decision, but a difficult undertaking for a girl who likes to give and doesn’t always take.  I picked some fights and lost some friends as a result, but both were for my own benefit at the very end.

I quickly realized that applying this to my dating life was most essential.  I’ve always had a small affection for the bad boys and everyone and their mother knows that doesn’t get a girl anywhere.  There is a difference between buying me dinner and asking about my day– and ultimately, I’d prefer to split the bill and be able to talk about my many feelings, as opposed to eating a $36 entree.

K is kind to me.  He makes me feel comfortable.  He asks me how I’m doing and let’s me steal the covers at night and once when I called him out for being an asshole— he apologized.  And I was shocked.  For weeks after we first started dating I waited for the ground to fall out from under me and then it took a couple more weeks to accept that it wasn’t going to.

I’ve been in so many tumultuous relationships that thrived on one-sided or hurt feelings, I actually had to sit myself down and give myself a pep talk.  Do not fuck this up.  This is good.  My friend Kagan (who has known me since I was a kid and stood by me in both my finest and very worst moments) exclaimed– it’s about time you learn to like a nice boy.


I have always been a caretaker– whether it was for my friends or brothers or family or other peoples’ children, I have always taken great care of others’ lives. Moving to DC and being solely by myself was the first time in a long time I felt I got to be selfish.  I had to take care of me– just me.  I would fix every problem and change every diaper and listen to every meltdown again in a second, but being in DC was the first time I didn’t really have to.  I didn’t do anything I didn’t want to do.  I answered only to myself.

It’s been years since I’ve had a boyfriend.  Being on my own for as long as I’ve been makes navigating the world of relationships and compromises a very new endeavor but in no way unwanted.  TB says a relationship is just one big compromise, but with lots and lots of benefits.  I’m enjoying both.  And because I’m enjoying both and because K is nice to me and because I’m happy in this very moment– I have nothing to write about.

(And heaven help me, I hope I didn’t just jinx myself.)


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An Open Letter to Kathryn Elizabeth Schifsky

Dear Kathryn Elizabeth Schifsky,

We’ve been friends for a long time you and me.  Remember how it started that spring 13 years ago?  We were on the same soccer team.  I had short hair and was often mistaken as a boy.  I think you played mid-field.  We lost touch after I quit, but then rekindled our friendship at the freshmen bus stop.  You used to give me rides to school once you got your drivers license and I’d make you listen to Shake Ya Tail Feather over and over again the entire way there.  Isn’t it funny how your parents always thought you were behaving yourself if you were with me?

Recall that I convinced you to move to Chicago– where you found ulimate happiness and a slightly ridiculous affection for Jameson.  We spent 3 months together in a studio apartment, Kate.  A studio.  We ate so much brunch and swam in the apartment complex foundation and watched a grip of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.  You know each and every liquid I like to consume when I’m hungover.  We are friends.  Really good friends.  Yet– you’ve never been to visit me in DC, Kate.  And that hurts my feelings.  And you know how many feelings I have.

I know I convinced you to move to Chicago and then left you there, but do you know how many times I’ve visited Chicago since I left?  6 times.  6 whole mother fucking times I have gotten in a car or on a plane to come see you in the past 2 1/2 years.  Not coming to visit me in DC is unfair.  It addition, it is also un-American.  Elected Members of Congress send dick pics from DC, Kate.  How could you not want to visit here?

I direct you to the following websites to help you in your endeavor:

1. 2 Birds 1 Blog’s 6 reasons you should want to live in DC.

2.  Orbitz, hater.

I’ll be anxiously awaiting your arrival.



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Odds and Ends

I’m doing pretty good at being a human being lately– which makes blog material hard to come by.  I’m not falling on my face or flashing my superiors or drunk dialing my mother.

These things have happened:

-We found a dead baby bird in my gigantic basil plants, which is both sad and gross.  The plants have since been disposed of and I spent a brief moment mourning both my future pesto and the life of the baby bird.  Even mother nature doesn’t want the frat house to be classy.  That’s so fucked up, mother nature.

-We found a new roommate!  Roommate R, welcome.  I  hope you are comfortable with my airing your dirty laundry to the internets.

-Your father, don’t go anywhere without him!  I’ve taken to inviting my father everywhere I go– both because he gets such a kick out of it and because I’m at an age that having your father chaperone is no longer sooo lame, dude but funny.

Saturday we went BBQ hoppin’ and last night he attended my friend Matty’s birthday at a gay club in DuPont.  I really think it is every girls dream to hang out with her straight father and boyfriend in a gay bar one day.  Check!

-My reproductive organs are not going to fall out!  I had my appointment yesterday (thus the absence) and the doc said everything looks fine.  Of course I started crying the second I entered the exam room and didn’t stop until I had exited the doctor’s office, walked down Connecticut Avenue, ordered a latte at Caribou Coffee and shopped the sale section of Feline’s Basement.

Not my finest moment, but turns out that is my new coping mechanism as a non-smoker.  Every moment of anxiety or stress that I used to remedy with a delicious Parliment Light, I now just cry it out.  Hopefully in public!  I decided taking a sick day and laying in bed for the remainder of the afternoon was much justified and did just that.

-Also, happy birthday to Roommate A!  I look forward to eating pizza with lots of garlic butter dipping sauce with you soon.

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Costa Rica!

This is going to be annoying!  I finally found my camera cord and discovered that I took about 100 pictures in Costa Rica– mainly of stray dogs, monkeys, water and my multiple injuries whether they be bike or sunburn related.  For your viewing pleasure–

This is the dog I wanted to take home with me.  She loved me very much.  And loved that I had a purse full of crackers.

This is the second dog we tried to steal– what we thought to be an easier endeavor than the lab because he was so small.  Turns out he wasn’t a stray beach dog, but someone’s actual pet.  She wanted him back.

This is another picture of me snuggling a monkey.  We also considered stealing one of these.

A monkey in the wild– you cannot in fact catch them and spoon them in the wild.

An animal I thought was very cute until I was told it was a raccoon.  Then it was no longer cute.  Raccoons are the grossest thing on the planet.  I almost got eaten by a raccoon once.

And they are mean!  He is trying to eat the sloth!  (I know they are just playing…but seriously, raccoons are gross).

The cutest animal in the whole entire world.  We weren’t supposed to touch them, but pet the baby sloth quickly when the people weren’t looking.  I didn’t go alllll the way to Costa Rica to not touch a sloth.

That tiny little black spot is me having the tiniest of meltdowns due to my bike accident— as I was scrubbing it off in salt water.

This is the dumbest sunburn I’ve ever gotten.

And this is paradise.  Also why my pictures are so crap.  I was too busy staring at this view for a week to be a more successful photographer.

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A day in pictures

While standing in the kitchen Friday afternoon shooting the shit and shoveling Triscuits into our mouths, as we often do during the 4:30 to 5:30  hour of pain that is the last hour of the work week– I asked my coworker K what her plans were for the weekend.

“I’m going to shave my cat.”  Literally.  That is what she did.

Who needs a neighborhood sex shop when you have your neighborhood CVS?  Right here in Washington, DC!  I’m 99.9% this is a vibrator.  For the low low price of $29.99 and located right next to the Trojans.  Good to know.  I almost bought it just to tell people I bought a sex toy at the local drug store.

Also, sagging is so in right now.  My mother is morally outraged by sagging and was always yelling at my brothers to pull up their pants.  Her response to this picture was “I have no words”.  And she almost always has words, so you know she was appalled.  I had to resist all urges to serenade this kid in the H & M fitting room with the musical stylings of 2 Live Crew Dance!  Too much booty in the pants!

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I somehow managed to get myself up, showered, dressed, out of the house and on to the train an entire hour early this morning.  When my phone alarm started going off one station away from my house to reveal that it was 7:40AM, not 8:40AM I had an how have I survived in life this long? moment, got off the train and went grocery shopping.


Tonight will be the last official night that Roommate C is a member of our household.  He’s taking off like a prom dress down to his new life in Birmingham, Alabama with his lovely bride-to-be and fancy new job bright and early tomorrow morning.

C– we won’t miss you coming home drunk and undressing in the front entry way, or that ridiculous porch swing, but we’ll surely miss you.

COMMENT OF THE DAY (well, the comment from yesterday)

My male co-worker:  I hate baby showers.  They are supposed to be awesome– a bunch of women showering, but they are not.


During a fit of speed shopping a couple months ago, I very accidentally bought a bunch of underwear at Victoria’s Secret with interesting things written on the rear end.  When K and I first started having sleepovers, I got an “um, pardon?” look when I undressed to reveal a pair that read I get around.  Now I make sure strut the Taken drawers in his presence.

That’s all I’ve got.  Readjusting to 9-5 is tough post-vacation.  I’ve still got my vacation zen though.  Have a good weekend y’all!

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A lot of random thoughts


About twice a year in a fit of panic I schedule doctor’s appointments for every conceivable thing I believe is wrong with me and then spend a couple of days 2 months later explaining to doctors:  when I made the appointment, I (insert ailment here) .  This morning I had an appointment with the dermatologist– which I scheduled in the mist of an acne outbreak most likely due to the change in weather and my new found ability to make-out whenever I wanted.  Or as I perceived it, the fact that I will have the skin quality of a kid going through puberty for the rest of my life.

He informed me that 50% of adult women experience some form of mild acne and prescribed me no less than 4  medicated solutions.  Plus 1 for my now moderately infected bike accident wound– which started oozing gross things this morning.  I actually thought was very considerate of my wound to do so when I was conveniently in the dermatologist waiting room.  Let’s hear it for having health insurance!


1.  I ran over a crab on my bike in Costa Rica.  Oddly, it is the second animal I’ve ran over with my bike.  I hit a squirrel dead-on in college.  We both swerved in the same direction and the poor thing got crushed.  Running over a squirrel is both kind of squishy and kind of gross.

2.  I’m a big city biking gal.  I’ve been doing it long enough that I can say with confidence I will not hit your person when I make the decision to bike on the sidewalk– which is trying because pedestrians don’t walk straight.  It’s ridiculous the amount of stumbling around they do.  If I didn’t know better (because it is 8:30AM and they are wearing suits) I’d think everyone was drunk and/or just learning how to walk.

I also love it when pedestrians see me, panic and stop moving.  You’re far easier to hit as a still target, rather than a moving one.  Keep moving, yo!  I swear I’m not going to hit you.  (I’ve only come close once, but my breaks weren’t working properly.  Instead of hitting the nice business woman, I just bailed.)

3.  Conversation with the elderly accountant in my office this morning–

Accountant:  Did you have a nice bike ride in this morning?

Me:  I did.  [How does he know I bike to work?]  Did you see me biking?

Accountant:  Yes.  Why were you biking from NW?  I thought you lived SE.

[I spent the night forcibly making K watch “Grease”.  Which is obviously the best movie in the history of the world.  He did not agree.]

Me:  Um…I stayed at a…friend’s house?  [Smile.  Walk away.]


A very happy birthday to my Costan Rican companion!  I wanted so badly to bring her back a stray beach dog and/or baby monkey for her birthday present, but was afraid I’d get detained and arrested at U.S. Customs.




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2 things —

When biking in NYC, don’t wear a skirt!  (I could never live there for this reason).

And also, fair warning for our aviation enthusiasts:








That’s all she wrote for today.  I’ve been spending my time Facebook stalking potential new roommates and catching up on my blog reading.  And when life is temporarily boring, so is this blog.

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Little Miss Drama Queen

The first voicemail I listened to upon landing at Dulles was from my lady business doctor asking me to schedule an appointment.  “You’ve got some abnormal cells,” she said.  “We just need you to come in for a routine, painless test in the next two months.”

I interpreted this message as:  We’re fairly certain you’re dying.  You need to come into the office immediately so we can torture you with our evil doctor tools and give you a dire prognosis.  We believe you are at risk of your uterus falling out.

When in doubt, always assume the very worst.  I called my mother, a former nurse and the blessed woman who is always willing to talk me off my many many cliffs.  “Hi, I’m back from Costa Rica.  Yes, tons of fun.  DID YOU KNOW I WAS DYING?!”  She just sighed.

I’m not sure at what point in my life I became such a hypochondriac.  I spent an entire twenty minutes with a co-worker yesterday discussing the symptoms of toxic shock syndrome and whether or not we believed she had it.  And thought it was a perfectly normal conversation (Side Note:  We’re waiting to see if her organs fail).

Why call a doctor when you have Web MD and irrational fears?  Why believe your doctor with a medical degree and many years of experience when you have Yahoo Answers to guide you?  A headache?  You probably have a brain tumor.  A bit tired lately?  Mononucleosis!

With hypochondria also comes a touch of drama queen.  Again, assume the worst!  After I lost my water bottle, sunglasses and debit card in Costa Rica– then proceeded to fall unceremoniously off my bike, I was positive shit was escalating.  And when things escalate in foreign countries near large bodies of salt water, what is the obvious next step?  Shark attack!  Bree had to spend several moments reminding me that Costa Rican sharks had no teeth and I could not in fact be gummed to death.

My Googling privileges having been revoked for the remainder of the day and I’ve been instructed to write on the chalkboard 100 times:  I know I’m not dying, I know I’m not dying, I know I’m not dying…(at least not yet).


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