Monthly Archives: June 2012

Hey Guys!


I turned in a wallet I found walking into my Metro station last week and didn’t even think about stealing her $6.  That guarantees me good karma for a solid week, right?

(Wow, it just took me an extra long time to figure out how to spell guarantee.  Maybe that’s why I failed the GREs this weekend.  Oh, you think you can’t fail the GREs?  Allow me to rephrase: SOMEONE has to be in the 5th percentile.  Maybe I should have studied.  High five.)


I was at Iron Horse this weekend after shoveling a shit ton of pasta into my mouth in celebration of Roommate A’s birthday and struck up conversation with the gentleman standing next to me at the bar.  After establishing that he was single, seemingly normal, gainfully employed and easy on the eyes (and not for me), I told him that I had the perfect woman for him– Friend B.

I worked wing-woman skills like you’ve never seen before.  I showed him Facebook pictures of Friend B, quizzed him on likes and dislikes, creepily took his picture (with his consent, otherwise would just be stalker-level creepy) to send to Friend B (who gave the nod of approval) and got his contact information.  I sent them both an e-mail of introduction yesterday afternoon and suggested they grab drinks.  They are doing just that tomorrow night.  No big deal.

I’m INCREDIBLY proud of myself.  I wish them a life of happiness so I can forever take credit.  No pressure though, guys.  No pressure.


I spent the majority of Friday night watching the Olympic diving trials.  Hard to have a conversation when men with 0% body fat are on the big screen in Speedos.  I’m sorry– what were you saying?  He just did a back flip and now he’s all wet.

I would never say that I’m un-patriotic by any means.  I love fireworks and hot dogs and will drink Bud Light if it’s in front of me, but wouldn’t say I’m super super into American pride by any stretch.  But during the Olympics, I get all excited and American as hell and resist all urges to run around town yelling USA! USA! USA! at the top of my lungs.  I’m so excited.


Happy birthday, Roommate A!  Your gift is another year of sheer bliss living in the same household as me.  The feeling is mutual.



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10 on Thursday – A Lot About Animals

1.  My supervisor’s last day is tomorrow.  I refused to RSVP to her going away party in protest.  I would equate my feelings of her leaving to something along the lines of my newly-popular boyfriend dumping me for the head cheerleader, but that analogy seems like a lot of work to spell out.

2.  Duluth, Minnesota (from where my family hails) is completely underwater.  I’ve heard horror stories of water coming out of basement light fixtures, up from drains and pouring in back doors from my relatives.  But the most shocking and awesome of all– the seal making a break from the zoo.

3.  What the shit is up with this heat, DC?  I keep walking outside and thinking– hey, this isn’t that bad and then 2 blocks later I feel like my face is melting off and I’m dying.  I knew that mild winter was going to backfire.  And it has in the form of gigantic hair and shiny faces.

4.  My cousin likes to say August in DC is the great equalizer because EVERYONE looks like hell.  Look like that will actually just be the summer motto.

5.  Many many skateboarders just skateboarded down 14th Street.  What where they doing?

6.  We had a cleaning lady come to the frat house this week and I can’t even being to explain the happiness it brought me.  I just wandered around checking out all the dust-free surfaces and inhaling deeply saying– can you smell that, dudes?  Can you smell that delicious delicious scent of industrial strength cleaning supplies?  Ah.

7.  I just got a mass e-mail asking if I’d like Tim Pawlenty to come speak at my company’s next event with a subject line “Pawlenty continues to wow audiences”.  I would like to respond with this very appropriate website link.

8.  Two things to improve your day:  21 Pictures That Will Restore Your Faith In Humanity and this.  Seriously, that lion gets me every single time.

9.  Remember that one time my dad lost his tortoise and ex-K and I spent hours and hours and hours (OK, like 1 hour but it was really hot) looking for him?  It happened again!  Turns out Louis went missing at roughly 8PM last night and was found at 6:30AM this morning safe and sound wandering around the backyard.  Dad, maybe it’s time to get these tortoises homing devises?

10.  And our song of the week!  (It sounds like they’re talking about rhinos.)

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How to: Throw a Bachelorette Party

1.  Agree to plan bachelorette party for friend.  Decide on weekend that best works for you and bride’s schedule.  Buy $400 airline ticket home before anyone else can provide input and forces you into scheduling conflict hell.

2.  Figure out how to plan a bachelorette party.

3.  Send out mass e-mail to 10+ girls you don’t actually know inviting them to your mother’s cabin in Northern Minnesota.  Promise them a fun-filled weekend complete with a paddle boat and sauna and girl talk and penis straws.

4.  Make bad ass spreadsheet of all invitees personal information, current location and whether or not they’ll be attending.  Mostly because you’ve been up since 6AM and have drank SO MUCH coffee.  Also to impress bride so she doesn’t get nervous that her last hurrah as a single woman will involve bingo night and wine coolers.

5.  Buy penis straws.

6.  Make grocery list and booze list (the booze list being most important).  Buy booze whole sale.  Think you bought too much.  Think you don’t have enough.  Drink all the wine purchased on the first night and sample all the liquor varieties in this world the following night.  Cue really fucking terrible hangover*.

And then nap like this:


7.  Purchase life-sized cut out of groom.  Take photographs such as this one:

8.  Have impromptu dance party with cut out groom.  Swear to never ever post said photos on the internet.

9.  Spend the weekend with 9 girls– most of which you didn’t previously know.  Consider the following sing-a-long options are the fire your last night together: kumbaya, the Girl Scout song about friends.  Settle for high fives because they’re all pretty rad.

10.  Send the bride off Sunday afternoon to her promised life of monogamous bliss.  And then nap like this again:

The end.

*When will I learn– white wine, tequila, champagne, gin and vodka 1403% do not mix well together.

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Rants & Raves (1 of each)


I’m heading to Minnesota tomorrow for a weekend-long stag party for my friend Gigi.  I agreed to organize and host so I could selflessly “offer” my mother’s cabin for the festivities.  When in reality that was my secret plan all along.  Ha!  I tricked you all into relaxing at a beautiful cabin in the woods on a lake in June!  Take that!

I can’t even being to tell you how excited I am.  It is the recipe for awesome (or disaster, depending on how you look at it)– 12 girls, a couple bottles of tequila, a large body of water.  There are rules of course.  Like life jackets after a couple shots.  Don’t burn the cabin down.  Wear sunscreen.  Respect yourself and others.  Everything else is fair game.


We’re currently trying to rent a room in our house (interested? e-mail me at and wading through the Craig’s List responses can get annoying.  I reference some pretty specific things in our ad, such as we need someone for July 1st.  I could care less if you are there are not on July 1st, but your share of the rent has to be.   People who want to move in on any other date automatically get deleted.

I’m sympathetic because I was once a recent college grad looking for an apartment in DC, but I don’t want someone to move from their parents house to the dorm to my house.  So no thank you.

Also from a scheduling view-point, what part of– The three of us still in the house all have 9 – 5 jobs, which makes the morning showering tricky with 1 bathroom. We stick to a weekly shower schedule roughly from 7:20 – 8:20AM, so this would be a great fit for someone with an alternative schedule/works nights— do people not get?  I think that’s pretty clear, right?


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Back (we all hope)!


The church ladies in my neighborhood like to go door to door on Saturday mornings about once a month to recruit.  Despite my lack of religious upbringing or beliefs, I’m totally into it because the church ladies have phenomenal hats and I’m way into other people praying for me.  Because I certainly need it.

A couple Saturdays ago I was sitting on the front porch drinking my morning coffee checking out the neighborhood when Roommate A walked up to the house and started yelling at me, “WOMAN!  I thought I told you to mow the damn lawn*!” along with some other expletives.

I opened my mouth to respond in kind when I saw the two old biddies across the street, canes in hand, hats on head, clutching their church pamphlets to their chests and looking at us in horror.  Roommate A and I, both raised with a whole lot of “respect your elders” and a moderate amount of Catholic guilt, felt our eyes go wide and slight panic course through our bodies.

We both started to wave frantically, smiling as broadly as we could and yelling “we’re joking!  Totally joking!  Have a nice day!” before running back into the house to hide.  I doubt they’ll be inviting us to church anytime soon, but they’ll certainly be praying for the disrespectful white kids on 17th Street.


Does anyone want to move in?  We’re losing Roommate R at the end of the month to the Peace Corps.  The rent is cheap, the house is falling apart, there are sports posters on the wall, but our house is a home, damnit.  And it’s filled with love.  And football.  And Miller Light.  E-mail me at if you’d like more details.


Welcome home, Jimmy Q!  T-Bone’s boyfriend returned home from London this past week and we welcomed him back to the great District of Columbia by allowing him to make us all dinner on Friday night.  With him came a whole bottle of Icelandic liquor, which was straight rye.  That LITERALLY will put hair on your chest.

There was an official welcome home party on Saturday evening that I never made it to.  I had spent the entire day at the Gay Pride Parade and then was fed the largest plate of spaghetti in the history of the world upon my return home by Roommate B.  I was laying on the couch in OMG-I’m-so-full misery when I got a text around 9PM asking when I was showing up to the party.

“I don’t know,” I responded, “I’m really full and Finding Nemo is on TV.”  I was going to head out once the movie finished around 10PM but Aladdin directly followed, so obvious I stayed home.  The hottest Saturday night of all time for the win.


I’d like to state in a formal environment that Hilarity In Shoes is the coolest human on the face of this earth and certainly the most talented.

*I use the term “lawn” loosely.  It’s more a plot full of weeds.

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I’m still here


I feel like I’ve been walking around my office for the past two weeks saying either “it’s not my fault!” or “how in the hell did I manage to screw that one up?” over and over and over again.  As my father would say, my head is not in the game.  But I don’t know where the other heads are at either.  I know I’ve been a very poor little blogger girl, but shit’s either getting real or all WTF?! on me and I don’t like it.  I don’t like it one bit.

I’ve deemed this professional summer fever.  Everyone else– my teacher friends and little brothers alike– get summer break.  Why do I have to go to work?!  In heels and grown-up clothes and with my hair brushed.  It’s not fair.


Life’s not fair–my mother’s favorite line.  Followed by this conversation:

Me:  But Ellie’s mom lets her do _____.
My mother:  Do I LOOK like Ellie’s mom?


Also, remember that song You Can’t Always Get What You Want by the Rolling Stones?  You know the lyrics– You can’t always get what you want / But if you try sometimes well you might find / you get what you need.

I rewrote it as a kid to– You can’t always get what you but if you just say please it will all work out.  Good manners for the win.

I think that’s enough whining for one day.  Just wanted to let you know that I’m still alive and kickin’.  Just not at full speed.

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