Monthly Archives: August 2011



Rachel’s mission to eat vegetables and go to the gym is going well to moderately well.  The hour I spent at the gym last night grinding against a folding chair was immediately canceled out by the pizza I had when I returned home, but I’ve decided that is 100% OK because the pizza had mushrooms on it.  And it was delicious.

Turns out that the skill required to grind against a folder chair is not like riding a bike– I am way out of practice and so sore today it is all I can do to not lay on the floor of my office in the fetal position.  I did win the booty bouncing contest though– so I’ve got that going for me.  Not bad for pasty white girl.

IT’S [enter all of the sports here] SEASON!

We’ve now reached the trifecta of sporting seasons in my house– baseball, college football and NFL.  If the Yankees and Jets and Clemson/South Carolina (depends on which roommate you’re talking to) are winning, we have a happy home.  When those teams lose, we’ve got problems.  I was on the phone with my dad during a particular Yankees loss last year and Roommate A was doing so much hollerin’ that my dad thought I was at the bar.

We’ve decided that our new roommate, Roommate R, looks like this dude who plays for the Red Socks– Jarrod Saltalamacchia.  In addition to apparently being married to his high school gym teacher, he has the best last name of all time.


I’ve pretty much had this song stuck in my head for 8 million days now.  I hope to have more exciting things to tell you tomorrow.  I really do.


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Weekend Update


I slept with the windows open and fan on last night– in August!  In the swamp that is Washington, DC!  Thank you Irene for bringing down the average tempurature.  I feel like alien weather gods have abducted us and plopped us down somewhere north of the Mason-Dixon line.  And I am way into it.

I was wide awake at 5AM this morning for no good reason.  I even worked out yesterday which in my universe usually = sleep like a baby.  I finally got up and went to the gym around 6 and worked out vigorously, which has left me an exhausted mess at the office.  After chugging 3 cups of coffee, I can finally string a sentence together.  Barely.


We obviously survived Hurricane Irene.  Everyone told us to buy water and batteries and fill our bathtubs up with water– the boys and I bought beer and Triscuits and called it a day.  I made a quiche so we’d have breakfast if the power went out– but that was mostly because Roommate B had a craving.  I think the majority of the hurricane related damage was actually sustained inside of my household, as me and 5 boys decided to bide the time with multiple games of beer pong.  Ok, they played beer pong and I took many many naps.

My series of events Saturday as follows:  wake up, watch Mad Men, nap, eat mac & cheese, nap, watch Mad Men, drink bloody mary, watch Mad Men, nap on living room floor, eat more mac & cheese (Trader Joe’s brand for round 1, Velveeta round2) drink beer on front porch, drink another beer, watch boys play beer pong, nap.  That was it.  For about 24 hours.


I’ve decided that September is going to be the Month of Exercise and Vegetables.  I got on the scale this morning and was momentarily shocked– until I decided that was just probably all the new muscles I just acquired from the 10 minutes of weight lifting.  At least that is what I’m telling myself.   So in September, I’m going to make valiant attempts to quite living off of Toki Underground and cheese balls from the Pug.  And salami.  I will stop eating macaroni and cheese twice in one day.  I am going to use my gym membership!  And eat a vegetable once in a while!  And am going to be so freakin’ bored!



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Rachel’s guide to surviving natural disasters


1.  Realize it is actually an earthquake (after ruling out drunkenness, metro explosion, bomb).
2.  Don’t evacuate– you’re already outside enjoying a late lunch!
3.  Find co-workers.
4.  Stand very close to office building.
5.  Smell gas and walk to park.
6.  Get bored in park.  Find bar that has un-evacuated.
7.  Have cocktail.
8.  Go back to work.
9.  Note Metro running 15MPH.  Wonder why this is the one day you didn’t ride bike.
10.  Decide to walk home, high heels be damned.
11.  Make it to Chinatown.  Buy new shoes.
12.  Walk all the way to Capitol Hill.
13.  Stop for an entire bottle of wine.
14.  Right two fallen picture frames.  Retrieve toy pig off floor.
15.   Go to bed.


1.  Swear to yourself that you won’t drink a hurricane during the hurricane. 
2.  Plan party.  Invite friends. 
3.  Buy liquor and beer.  And ice for beer in case power goes out.
4.  Note that despite growing up in a foreign land (Minnesota) that called for getting in bathtubs during natural disasters (think tornado at a cabin with no basement), co-worker from the North Carolina is telling me to fill bathtub up with water.  Remind oneself– don’t get in bathtub!
5.  Cross fingers.

That is all.

Being that me and the boys could be locked in the house all weekend potentially without power, potentially without flash lights since the odds of us forgetting to buy batteries is good and potentially surviving solely on liquor and salami– shit could get real.  Good luck fairing the weather, East Coasters.


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I know!


I’m settling into my new role as executive Assistant, or as I prefer “main bitch”.  I have business cards, an office with a door and a blackberry I can almost work— meaning that I am now 75% more grown-up than I was as a staff assistant.  And have 100% more to do.

I’ve been so busy I’ve essentially been shirking the majority of my other life duties  such as laundry, exercise, shaving my legs, blogging, calling anyone back and eating vegetables.  I finally mustered up the will power to do laundry on Saturday for the first time in weeks and needed a 4 day break in order to put my clean clothes away.  Life is tough, yo.

That isn’t to say that I don’t like my new job.  I just spent 20 minutes color-coding my boss’ calender with the help of Outlook 2010 and I was into it.  I know that sounds nerdy and boring as hell, but I’ve got to get my kicks where I can these days.


As many of you know, we had ourselves a little earthquake in DC this week.  I got a call from 2 friends who live out West last night.  While they swore they were calling to tell me they missed me, I am convinced it was to continue the Biggie-Tupac style throwdown that is going on between the two coasts at this very moment.

East Coast:  OMG, an earthquake!

West Coast:  You’re all a bunch of pussies!

That throw down.  I calmly explained to my West coast friends that  I work 3 blocks from the White House.  Earthquake was my 4th thought– after I ruled out that I was not getting the drunks spins, a Metro train crashing under my feet was unlikely and that the White House hadn’t been bombed.  A brief and relatively insignificant natural disaster is what I landed on last.  So suck it, West Coast.


Secret Service threatened to arrest me this weekend, which is no big deal.  I was on a frantic bike ride around the city on Sunday afternoon– hair in pig tails, head phones blaring, dodging tourists from my house down to the Mall and then up towards downtown.  As  I biked across the Eclipse side of the White House, I saw a barrier gate that was paritally opened to allow a grounds crew vehicle to get by.  Seeing the tourists stacked on the corner, I decided to go through that gate cutting about 3 feet into the White House security perimeter.

Secret Service rushed out of their little hut, started yelling and all I could think of to say was “I’m sorry”.  I got a lot of sorry-is-not-good-enough talk as I slowly realized the potential shit I had just gotten myself into.  Resisting the urge to just yell “I voted for him!” as a defence, I said “I’m really sorry” and biked off before the Secret Service dude changed his mind about not arresting me.  That would have been really hard to explain.




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We’re all OK!

I get a pass for an earthquake, right?  My co-worker and I were having a late lunch outside when the earth shook.  It took us a whole minute to realize that the earth should not in fact be shaking (after I spent half that minute reminding myself I wasn’t in fact drunk) and that we might want get away from the gigantic buildings looming over our heads.  After finding our the rest of our office safe and sound– we relocated to the bar for an “official meeting” until our building reopened exactly 1 cocktail later.  Jo has been renaming the event:  ZOMBIE APOCOLYPSE, EARTHQUAKEOLOPOLYPSE, EARTHQUAKE AGEDDON.

More news tomorrow.  I pinky promise.



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3 Fails on Friday


24 is far too old to have skinned knees (especially when one has an office to show up to) but alas, I do.  We got our butts kicked Wednesday night at kickball and I once again got tackled protecting my base.  I think it is the rugby player in my that demands– Block the base!  I don’t care if it is against the rules, girl!  Form tackle!

Anyway, this time I got some body part to the head and 2 skinned and grass-stained knees.  A girl on my team looked concerned following my tumble.  “Don’t worry,” I said, “I played rugby in college.  I got hit in the head A LOT.”  Wonder if that explains some things.


I was standing on my friend’s porch a couple weeks ago when her neighbors walked by.  I spent a couple minutes chatting with husband and pregnant wife when husband stops mid-sentence and looks at wife.

“Honey, did you get the dog out of the car?” asks husband.

“No, I thought you did,” responded wife. 

I looked at her pregnant belly.  “Bad sign, guys,” I said and shook my head. 

(Quickly followed by clasping my hand over my mouth and running back inside.  I’m sure they’ll be great parents!)


My cousin Mina sent out the following e-mail a couple years ago right after I’d graduated college:

My lovely son John threw my cell phone in the kiddie pool (which I had kindly filled with warm water for their bathing pleasure).  He told me “mommy- phone swimming”.  So please send me your phone numbers”.

I accidentally hit “reply-all” responding to all of my family members, her in-laws (including her mother in-law), friends and other parents in mommy & me type class:

That was the best thing I have heard all day.
Your dear cousin who is now a fucking college graduate

Everyone thought that I was announcing that I was fucking a college graduate– as in having sexual relations with a gentleman who had graduated college, not that I was a recent fucking college graduate. 

So yeah– punctuation, swears, reply-all.  I win sometimes at life. 

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breaking up is hard to do

When K and I first started dating I always introduced him as just “K”.  Not my boyfriend K, or my main squeeze K, or this dude that I was currently hopping into bed with K.  Just K.  I asked him if it bothered him one night after he’d first been introduced to a handful of my friends.

“I hadn’t noticed,” he said, “but why do you do it?”

“Because if I tell everyone you’re my boyfriend,” I responded, “odds are I’ll have to tell them all your not my boyfriend one day.”

It was a moment of honesty between us, both about my insecurities of dating and what you’re not supposed to talk about with your new boyfriend– the day you might not be dating anymore.  I haven’t been in a lot of serious relationships over the course of my life — so I was learning about how to be a girlfriend at the same time I was learning how to be K’s girlfriend.  And honestly was surprised about how much I enjoyed being in a relationship.


I miss the day-to-day activities we shared.  Even though K and I had only been together for a couple months, I quickly got used to our routine, our jokes and almost constant communication.  A co-worker of mine recently ended a relationship as well.  Her and her boyfriend used to send cute pictures of Corgi dogs like this one as a joke*:

Somewhat silly but it was their “thing”.  I miss those things too.  Once I brought home a tub of basil that you squeezed out like toothpaste that K thought was absolutely ridiculous.  I wanted nothing more to text him that afternoon that I spread the tub basil on my salami sandwich and the result was fucking delicious.  But I didn’t.


Our break-up was a result of being in two different spaces in our lives, bad timing and different expectations, but my relationship with K taught me that I was wholy capable of this girlfriend thing.  Because a part of me was starting to wonder if I should just start collecting in cats now.  I really do love that kid– just wasn’t our time I guess.

*I used to send K pictures of fish heads from the supermarket.

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[insert relationship cliché here]

It’s not you, it’s me.
We’ve just drifted apart.
We’re at different places in our lives.
Let’s just be friends. 
I don’t want to be in a relationship right now.
I’ve got to work on myself.
I’ve got to focus on my career. 
You want more than I’m prepared to give. 
You’re going to make someone really happy someday. 
I need my space.

Whatever the reason– it still mother fucking sucks.  K and I broke up.


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Shower Schedule

Roommate A is once again employed– we’re very proud!  After months of diligently job hunting, he received and accepted a job offer that sent him back to work yesterday.  And with his recent employment, a new shower schedule must be maneuvered.

That’s right– we’ve got one bathroom.  One bathroom that must shower and shave 4 people each and every morning (I shave my legs!  Sometimes…) before sending us out into the world.  We’ve gotten it down to a refined science that involves some banging on bedroom doors in the morning and waterproof watches.

When Roommate C moved out a couple months ago and we were Craig’s Listing the replacement, we asked “what time do you prefer to shower in the morning?” before even start to question whether or not the potential new roommate was a serial killer.  And quite frankly, the shower thing was much more important.

For a couple of months last year, Roommate A and I had to be at the same train stop Monday – Friday by 9AM.  Before he decided to just get up earlier and I decided I was just going to add a little hustle to my morning– there was a couple of weeks that we were essentially doing our showering etc. together with the safety of a opaque shower curtain to protect us.  I would shower and he would shave.  He would shower and I would brush my teeth.  Up close and personal roommate bonding.

We eventually straightened it out– he would shower first and start making us breakfast while I got dressed, I would clean up breakfast if I didn’t have a fashion crisis, he would often yell from the bottom of the stairs “hurry the fuck up”.  We’d eat our egg sandwiches and walk to the Metro holding hands in the morning.  Just kidding, we didn’t hold hands, but it was still very adorable.  I’m looking forward to having my morning buddy again and very happy for you, Roommate A.

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Survival of the Fittest


Last week was essentially survival of the fittest–and being that I was solely competing against myself (a meltdown vs. no meltdown battle), it was a tough go.  I cried in 2 parks, 1 street corner and during 1 frantic bike ride around my neighborhood out of grief, frustration, sadness, you name it.  I had all the feelings running rampant last week.

I was so distracted– first full week in my new position at work, my uncle passing, a fight with K and the other minor things that build up solely to push you over the edge– I actually walked out on my bar tab Friday night.  90% sober after 2 beers and an order of chicken tenders and I walked out because I simply forgot.  This may be usual for some but I don’t walk out on bar tabs*.  Or forget to pay bills.  Or my credit card.**  But I walked right out of the pub after saying my goodbyes and didn’t remember until noon the next day.

So, yes, last week was real rough.  But I’m trying that whole “keep calm and carry on” thing, because it turns out laying on your boss’ floor and complaining that the world is not fair and everything sucks and nobody-likes-me-everybody-hates -me-I-guess-I’ll-go-eat-worms gets you nowhere.


2 things– one, I just got this e-mail response to a proposed BBQ on Saturday:

I’m in!  My Saturday is as wide open and unstructured as the GOP field! 

And that kid is a Republican!  And secondly, I forgot to share my ultimate favorite sign from Wisconsin:

Bikini nights!  Thursday, Friday, Saturday (and sometimes Wednesday)

That really cracks me up.  I don’t know why.  What may or may not happen on Wednesdays?  But you must keep in mind that during the time I found this to be absolutely the most funniest thing in the history of the world, I had been surviving on nothing but Wisconsin beer and cheese curds and living in a house full of all my co-workers for the better part of a week.  We were all very confused.


Confidential to Duluth, MN:  Infinite X’s and O’s to you all.


*The only other time I’ve done this I had consumed about 5 too many bloody marys and distinctly remember getting about a half a block away from the bar, remembering I walked out on my tab and promptly disregarding the suggestion to go back.  The bartenders tipped themselves real well that night and kudos to them.  I deserved it.  Bless the drinking establishments that don’t keep your cards– just all your information.

**I may leave my debit card in ATMs in foreign countries once in a while but it is ridiculous that some ATMs keep the card in the machine and others don’t.  I am not really a forgetful person.


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