Monthly Archives: May 2012

5 on Friday

1.  I stood in my living room last night wearing extra large USA basketball shorts that I liberated from a guy friend in high school and one of my college rugby t-shirts.  I had just shoveled cheese pizza into my mouth, was drinking whiskey on the rocks out of a red solo cup and swearing like a truck driver.

I had the following 3 thoughts:  I understand why people have questioned my sexuality before.  At least at this very moment.  (Note:  I clean up very very nice.)

Secondly, I don’t know if living in the frat house has A.) ruined me or B.) help me find my true inner self.  Maybe this version of me was there all along and they just helped my true colors shine.  Roommate B first said I’m great just the way I am and then after another wildly inappropriate conversation in which I participated said— maybe you should move out.  We’ve ruined you.

And last, it’s really going to take a special special man to want to marry me and love me just the way I am.  So there is that.

2.  I signed up for Cars2Go yesterday* for the sole purpose of cruising around town in a Smart Car yelling– zoom! zoom!  I had a Zip Car Membership for practical things like going to the grocery store for the past year and didn’t use it once.  My Cars2Go membership will purely be for joy riding and looking awesome.

3.  Those cars look extremely tiny and being that I am an extremely tiny person, I will have no problem fitting behind the wheel.  I am, however, curious how tall people will fair in a Smart Car and will be experimenting accordingly.  So if you are an incredibly tall human– I’m going to need to see if you fit in my rented ride.  Danny Mac, I’m looking at you.

4.  Roommate B has already stated his refusal to ever get in a Smart Car ever ever ever.  He will not date a woman that drives a Smart Car and would rather walk 80 miles alone than get in one and look stupid.  I am going to test this theory by leaving him in Bethesda on a Sunday afternoon when it’s raining.  The thought of red line on a Sunday alone should be enough to change his mind, but he’s stubborn as hell.

5.  I kept forgetting all week that we had Monday off, which was the best surprise every time it was brought to my attention.  I plan on eating a whole ton of hot dogs, drinking a moderate amount of beer and enjoying the hell out of the Memorial Day Parade.  Because there is absolutely nothing in this world like a good marching band.  Right, Mom?

Hope y’all have a good weekend!  Back at it Tuesday at 9AM.



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How to: Never Smoke Another Cigarette

I had a really tight connection getting home from Texas Friday night– a 35 minute layover in the Detroit airport and the last flight of the night to DCA.  I tried to get on an earlier flight that morning, but Delta was booked solid.  Which I understand.  I wanted to get out of Texas too.

I was on a tiny plane out of San Antonio.  So small in fact that all of us with a decent sized carry on had to dump our bags on the jet bridge for the flight.  They were not checked to our final destination.  We had to pick them back up when we arrived in Detroit.

Timeliness was key to my success.  We had to burn some jet fuel for about 15 minutes and then fifth in line for takeoff– so we got a little bit of a late start, but were pinky-promised by the pilots that we’d make up time in the air.  We were even going to get in early!  I thought fondly of all the snacks I was going to buy before I leisurely boarded my flight to DC.

A couple hundred miles out of Air Traffic Control slowed us down.  We were set to land 5 minutes after our scheduled arrival time.  I banged my head against the window a couple of times.  Our wheels touched down in the great state of Michigan at 9:02PM.  My next flight left at 9:30PM.  We landed at gate 61.  My flight to DCA left out of gate 10.  So much for my snacks.

I waited on the jet bridge for 5 whole minutes for my carry on, watching as many suitcases that were not mine slowly made their way out of the plane and up the moving ramp.  I had my face pressed against the window waiting to see the tell-tales sign of my silver ribbon.  I put my hair in a pony tail, secured my large purse across my body, got into position with one hand ready to grab my carry on and the other to shove bitches out of my way like a relay runner on the final leg.

And when my hand firmly grasped the handle of my bag, I took off up the jet bridge at a full-blown sprint.  There was no way in hell I was getting stuck in Detroit.  No way in hell.  Not when I’d spent an entire 5 days in San Antonio.  And it was the weekend.  And I had no more clean undergarments.  Or enough self-control to not have a complete and total meltdown in the airport should I miss my flight.

I want to tell you I ran like the wind but more so, I ran like a lunatic trying to make her flight.  An absolutely crazy person with two heavy bags, wildly out of shape and who hates running with all her heart.  A crazy person that had spent an long afternoon in San Antonio drinking at an empty bar to kill time.  And smoking cigarettes because she was bored.  And in Texas.

By gate 42 it was more of  a half sprint, walk quickly, try not to die.  It was amazing to me how many people were actually in the Detroit airport at 9PM on a Friday night and how many of those people did not notice me barreling towards them at top speed.  I’m not ashamed to say I might have ran into a couple of them.

At gate 30 I saw a clock (9:15PM) and a sign (Federal law requires all passengers to be on board 20 minutes before departure) and couldn’t decide between running faster or giving up.  At this point I was sweating.  My hair was a mess.  It wasn’t great a great look.  But I was so close!  By the time I made my gate and saw the door still open, I wanted to actually jump for joy.  If I could’ve gathered the strength to do so.

I handed my boarding pass to the gate agent and said between deep, heavy, gasping breaths said — I (wheeze)  made (wheeze) it!  If he looked in any way friendly or impressed that I’d just ran 51 gates, I would have tried to high five him.  I couldn’t figure out if I was going to pass out or throw up for the first half hour of my flight and my lungs actually hurt for a full 24 hours.  Which is not great.  But so worth it.

So my idea is this– if you’re trying to quite smoking, book a 35 minute layover in an airport in a city you’d never ever want to spend the night in.  Have a couple drinks before your flight, smoke a cigarette en route from the bar to the hotel to pick up your suitcase, fear with every bone in your body missing your connecting flight and then run at a full speed for 51 gates.  You may never want to smoke again.

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10 on Thursday – Ain’t Happening

There will be no 10 on Thursday this week because I can’t think of 10 things to write about. I’ve been sitting in a hotel room in San Antonio since Tuesday bored as shit and therefore, the 10 things I can think of to share would also be boring as shit.

Because do any of you care that my hotel room is the longest hotel room that ever lived? Or that I’m in the “new building” so I have to take 2 elevators and go on a brief jaunt across the universe to get to my room? Or that I’ve eaten ALL the tacos? Probably not.

I found “Don’t Mess with Texas” postcards. That was exciting. And San Antonio old fashion sherifs pins with my last name on them. So I bought 3. All at CVS! See, told you this was boring.

Everyone I’ve talked to before I left said “oh, San Antonio, I hear the River Walk is nice.” And don’t worry, guys, your suspicions are true. The River Walk is nice. The Alamo is old. And the weather beautiful. And I have yet to find an actual cowboy. Huge bummer.

Back in DC tomorrow night, y’all. Behave yourselves.

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Weekend Update


Hey y’all– I’m coming to you live from a hotel in downtown San Antonio. I have not left the hotel since I’ve arrived, but I’m told the River Walk is nice. Maybe I’ll see it.

I’m moderately ashamed of myself, as I ditched my cowboy boots in DC in exchange for fitting the work projector in my suitcase, as promised. Do you think I’ll be shamed out of the state in my Toms? Maybe. On the bright side, the hotel conditioner is sub-par, so I’ve got really really big hair today. That’s a step in the right Texas direction.


For whatever reason, we’ve decided we don’t like our backyard. It’s a perfectly fine backyard, but we have started wheeling the grill to the front of the house and posting up like we’re scoping out the freshmen on move-in day. I’m just waiting for the boys to install a rusted bench press machine.

We had a cookout at the house Saturday afternoon– our chairs in a circle, the grill smoking on the sidewalk, music blasting, beer and hotdogs in hand. All of the dudes had either taken their shirts off (sun’s out, fat’s…I mean gun’s out) or were rocking t-shirts with the shirt sleeves off.

Like I said, we’re the classiest crew on the block. And I assume arranged in this fashion on Saturday afternoons for the remainder of the summer– so if you see us, stop by for a beer.


We were housesitting the oldest black lab ever this weekend. I adore Rowdy and would be very pleased to big spoon him if he could make it up the stairs to my bedroom, but also petrified that he’ll drop dead when we’re in charge.

Watching him sit down or walk up stairs is like watching your grandfather get off the couch– slow, painful and arthritic looking. But sure as shit, the postman showed up and sparked something in Rowdy– he barked and came alive like we’d never seen before. Good dog. She never brings us anything but junk anyways.

Hope y’all had a good weekend. And if you’ve got any good recommendations for what to do in San Antonio, shoot me an e-mail at Or you can Tweet at me @dointhegrownup. Or send an owl. I’ll be here, hollering about how I voted for Obama, until Friday.

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10 on Thursday

Dudes.  By no choice of my own I have been up since 2AM (insomnia!).  We are in the mists of our board meeting at this very moment and my sole goal for the remainder of the day is literally trying to keep my eyeballs open and a smile on my face.  So this is a little cracked out, but 10 thoughts about this board meeting as follows.  And sorry if I didn’t edit whatsoever.

1.  I had to meet my co-worker at our hotel yesterday morning at 7AM.  Both of us had a rough start to the day.  She fell in a puddle.  I missed the city bus and in a fit of holy-shit-I’m-late-panic, didn’t wait for one of the two other buses on the same route, but shoved my suit jacket in my purse and hopped on a Bike Share.  I showed up exactly 1 minute late sweating, dirty and due to the humidity that literally made the air feel wet, the biggest hair of all time.  Go team.

2.  I called one of our board members by the wrong name.  The name of his former partner.  A former partner that he doesn’t get along with.  So that was special.

3.  And then I almost did it again this morning, so I’ve decided to never ever address him by name again.  Problem solved.

4.  I’ve also decided that I should get a gold star every time I keep my somewhat sassy comments to myself around my superiors.  I would have netted at least 5 gold stars yesterday and maybe a silver for a near-miss.  I managed to keep half of my thoughts to myself in that particular situation, so that has to count for something.

5.  “North Carolina: where you can marry your cousin, just not your gay cousin.”  That state officially sucks in my book.

6.  I walked the 45 minutes from my house to the hotel this morning at 5AM– because shit, I had already been up for 3 hours.  It was colder than expected, so I grabbed my jean jacket off the banister and put it on over my $300 Banana Republic suit as I was leaving.  I pretty much looked awesome and extra professional.

7.  I was walking next to my co-worker who was carrying a latte in each hand this morning when she said, “my nose itches”.  Instead of just taking one of the lattes form her hand so she could scratch her itch like a normal person, my immediate response was to try to itch her nose for her.  Who does that?!

8.  We’re not done yet!  My last meeting wrapped at 1PM, but for some reason I thought it would be an extra fun idea to go to a black tie dinner tonight.  I still can’t believe I’m old enough to attend such events and have absolutely no clue how I’m going to stay awake after some mass-cooked chicken (which is totally my favorite– not kidding) and a glass of wine.

9.  My arm is less numb and stupid  than usual, but still acts up once in a while.  I was pressing my head and forearms against the wall (a magical yoga pose that has saved my life) in a House Office Building last night trying to relieve the pressure wearing a business dress and Toms.  I looked so stupid.  Worth it.

10.  I came home unhappy the other night after a long day of prep at the office and Roommate B offered the following music video to improve my mood.  There is no way you can watch that and still be pissed off.  New rule.

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10 on Thursday – Big Southern Wedding Edition

Sorry I’ve been MIA, y’all.  Turns out I’m not high functioning on muscle relaxers or Vicodin.  If you need me, I’ll be laying on the floor of my office trying to make the feeling come back in my arm.  I know pinching a nerve isn’t something you can necessarily help, but if you can– avoid at all costs.  And thank goodness it’s not contagious.

My mood has been ranging from poor to moderately poor this week as well.  The combination of lack of sleep, travel and a generally higher than usual stress environment at work (board meeting time!) prompted me to literally stomp my way out of the office at 7PM last night.  I went to TWO grocery stores searching for rotisserie chicken at 9PM after I ran errands and made it back to the Hill.  That’s a lot of grocery stores.

As I whined like a 4 year old on the phone to my mother en route from Harris Teeter to Safeway, she asked when I’d eaten last.  A tried and true way to start raising hell in my family– low blood sugar.  We got sent to our rooms when we were being shits as kids just so they could trick us into eating.  We’d open our bedroom door, eat the banana at our feet and then waltz back downstairs the most charming kids on earth.

But otherwise, I bring to you very much delayed 10 on Thursday — The Big Southern Wedding Edition.  Because if you remember, the frat boys and I drove to Frankfort, Kentucky this past weekend for Former Roommate C’s wedding.  And Former Roommate C and his wife wouldn’t dream of throwing anything less then the best damn southern wedding a Yankee from Minnesota has ever seen.

10 on Thursday

1.  It’s about an 9 drive from DC to Frankfort, most of which spent in the lovely state of West Virgina.  Ever seen a hill billy toothbrush (nails on a piece of wood) or a hill billy attitude adjuster (wood hammer)?  I now have.

2.  I had my very first horse race experience at Keeneland the day before the wedding.  I had to take an unofficial Facebook poll as to what is appropriate to wear to such an event, as the poll around my office gave me answers I wasn’t interested in– hats and pastels.  I look stupid in hats and refused to wear high heels tailgating, so settled on cowboy boots and an orange sundress*.

3.  Tailgating started at 11AM.  Drinking started at 11:01AM.  A couple vodkas and sprites and I was a little bit drunk before we’d even made it into the race track.  Which meant I was 100% ready for a hot dog.

4.  My friend Brad got the race booklet and started to explain betting to me.  Math is hard for me on a good day, but betting and odds and stupid horse names that are supposed to sound cute just confused the hell out of me.  My solution was to hand Brad all my cash ($3) and see what happened.  We kept winning, so we kept betting.  I think he still owes me money actually.

5.  It was a couple hours later I realized that I didn’t see a single person I was staying with.  There was a crew staying in Lexington that night and a crew staying in Frankfort that night.  I was staying with the Frankfort crew and drinking beers with the Lexington crew.  It was at that moment that I realized every single one of those bitches left me.

6.  Now while being left at a racetrack is not great, it did bring me a particular level of fame over the weekend.  The southern mothers kept coming up to me later that night at the hotel bar and saying– Oh, you’re that girl that they left at the racetrack!– in their delightful southern drawl.  I was famous by the end of the weekend– because who gets left at the racetrack by their roommates?  And I’m a Democrat!

7.  By the time I got back to the hotel (have you ever taken a $70 cab ride?!) Roommate A had gone to the rehearsal dinner and Roommate B had fallen asleep.  At this point, I was a little bit sunburned, a little bit drunk and really had to pee.

I realized when I got to the room that I’d lost my hotel key, so I went back to the front desk and got a key, went back to the room and Roommate B had LOCKED THE LATCH.  So I kicked it a couple times and went in search of first, a bathroom and secondly, someone else that I knew in the hotel.  They were all asleep too.

So I returned to my hotel room, sat outside the door and started calling Roommate B over and over again.  He woke up on my 15th straight call, opened the door to the hotel room and said, “Oh, hi.  What are you doing here?”  We sat in our respective beds for a full hour alternating between yelling at each other (mostly joking) then went out for pizza.  Best friends for LYF.

8.  Former Roommate C’s mom gave him a Barack Obama commemorative plate and a bucket full of change one year for Christmas at a joke.  So I bought him a Barack Obama card and $50 in one dollar bills.  I thought I was hilarious.  The southern mothers agreed.  Until they realized I voted for him.

9.  First rule of road tripping with boys: keep yourself actively dehydrated.  Because you can drink as much water as you want, darlin’, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to stop because you have to pee.

10.  I recognize that this is just a whole bunch of shit, but I’m a bit rusty.  The moral of my stories is this– Congrats to Former Roommate C and his new bride!  The wedding was beautiful, the weekend wonderful and the bourbon a-flowin’.

The second–  if you can spend from 2PM on Thursday until 9PM on Sunday with two boys– eating together, driving 19 hours together, sleeping in the same room together and still like them a whole hell of a lot upon your return home, you should never move.  Boys, we shall live in the frat house forever and ever.  Get comfortable.

And in honor of the last dance at the wedding, the song of the week:

*A color that looks shockingly nice on me given my hair color.

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