Monthly Archives: August 2012

10 on Thursday

1.  Today is my LAST DAY of work.  I’ve been bored to tears more or less since I gave notice, so I’m pretty excited about this.  The idea of going home to clean the shit out of my house is actually appealing because it will be productive.

2.  I have about 10 days off before I start my new job and I am extremely excited about this, because many exciting things are happening (in addition to cleaning the shit out of my house) before then.  My cousin Josephina is coming to visit this weekend and then I’m flying home to Minnesota for Gigi’s wedding.  We did the stag party right, so I assume the wedding will be equally as awesome.

3.  Josephine is one of the best house guests ever because she loves a solid nap as much as I do.  Or if I look at her and say–listen girl, welcome to DC.  It’s raining, so we’re going to watch a movie, she’s all for it.  Or– listen girl, my rugby friend from college is in town so we’re going to take car bomb shots at 1PM on a Sunday.  Equally down.  That’s a good cousin and house guest.

4.  But prior to Josephine’s arrival, after I clean the shit out of my household and sleep until noon and wrangle every article of business attire I have to the dry cleaners, I’m doing something even more exciting than mid-day car bombs– I’m going trapezing!

I’d like to say that I’m going to glide through the air with the greatest of ease, but realistically speaking I’ll most likely suck at it.  I’m not the most coordinated person on earth and while I’m sure I’ll talk a whole shit ton of game, I’m sure I’ll climb up the ladder and be real scared.

5.  I promise to take pictures.  And probably video.

6.  With the completion of my job is also the remove of my electronic tether.  I handed over my blackberry to the new assistant yesterday and my iPad this morning.  Everything feels so light when you only have one phone to carry around and you instantly feel like less of an asshole.

There was once I was checking something on my iPad, responding to my boss on my blackberry and calling a co-worker on my personal phone at the same time.  I’ve never been so ashamed of myself.

7.  Or super proud of my super business lady multi-tasking skills because we all know that was a rough start.

8.  With that said, I’m without a computer or any means to blog for about a week, so bear with me.  It might also take some time to adjust to the new job and their expectations of internet usage during the work day, so bear with me there as well.  Feel free to call or e-mail if you’re worried I’m dead.  I won’t be.  Just extra busy running around town in a power suit and running shit.

9.  I do have Tuesday and Wednesday off in the District next week before heading to the 612.  Does anyone have some great must do daytime activities holler at the girl not working for me?

10.  I’ve literally had this song in my head for about 3 days now.  And I’m only a little bit ashamed.  And that shame has mostly to do with posting the Bieber version of the song.


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The Case of the Raccoons

Editor’s Note:  This actually happened last weekend, but I was too lazy to edit and post.  Do you ever get to such a state of boredom that even the things that can entertain you, beyond facebook and googling movie stars from your childhood, seems like too much work?  That is what life is like once you’ve given two weeks noticed and trained the new staff assistant to replace you.  And this story is equally traumatizing over a week later– just so everyone is aware. 

I spent Saturday night hanging at my co-worker Bree’s house just off H Street.  We had just finished a delicious summer meal– grilled pork chops and corn, fresh bread spread with a mixture of ricotta cheese and pesto– and had retired to the porch to gossip and watch the neighborhood go by.

I had my boots kicked up on her railing, talking to Bree and her sister about some random thing, when what I thought was a cat skulked out from under a red truck parked in front of her house.  It took to me a minute to realize that the cat was actually a raccoon.  And it wasn’t just one raccoon but six that crept out from under the car and started tussling with each other 5 feet away from my person.  Did I ever mentioned that I’m deathly afraid of raccoons?

While Bree stood on the chair, like a rational person, and started clapping and yelling at them, I started freaking the fuck out.  Back against the house, blood pressure rising, flailing my hands in the air and mentally creating a game plan in case one of the raccoons decided to climb up on the porch.

They ran up the trees and down the tress, came precariously close and seemed completely unphased that there were two women– one on the verge of a straight up panic– standing on the porch incredibly shocked to see them.

After they’d made their way up the block and out of sight, Bree and I both scrambled back in the house where I continued to holler a string of words that made little sense along the lines of– fuck fuck fuck and gross gross gross while shaking out my whole body like a wet dog.

“Wow,” Bree told me a couple minutes later as I’d settled somewhat, “I’ve never seen you bitch out like that.”  And bitch out I did.  The fear coursing through my body was so real that I’m not even embarrassed.

I got to work Monday morning and another co-worker asked me about my weekend.  “We got attacked by raccoons at Bree’s house, ” I said.

“So they walked by?”

Yeah, pretty much.  Fuck raccoons.

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Good Housekeeping

My mother loves her children dearly.  She tells us everyday.  Counts down the minutes until we’re all under her roof for holidays and long weekends.  We are her pride and joy, dammit, and she can’t wait to see our three shining faces across from her at the dinner table.  That is–  until we all actually make it in the front door.

One of my mother’s greatest complaints about her three beautiful children is that we’re pigs.  Now that she’s an empty-nester, her house just the way she likes it.  It’s so clean.  There is so much food in the refrigerator.  Two whole cases of beer in the basement.  Not a drop of water in the bottle of vodka.

And then we come home.  And we destroy shit.  Expand our belongings all over her household and forget how to clean up after ourselves.  We also instantly regress– manners of a 5 year old, but legally able to both drink and drive (although certainly not at the same time).  Which makes for a good combination.

My favorite activities when I arrive home is to drop my suitcase in the front hall and then, mostly to spite her, spend the duration of my visit to Minnesota getting dressed and undress in the dining room.  Because you know, I’m an adult.

After 24 hours, I’m certain she takes one lap around her now-messy house, glances at the crew of kids on her back porch drinking all her beer, trips over 12 pairs of shoes that we’ve piled in the middle of the living room and then takes it all back.  She loves us dearly– firmly established in our own homes and far away from her’s.

We like to expand.  Not pick up after ourselves.  Stake our claim.  At least that’s what I’m realizing at this very moment.  It’s a very quiet day at work, so I decided to do some spring cleaning.

I’ve found the following in my office: a cocktail dress, a suit, a suit jacket, 4 pairs of shoes, a bathing suit, a towel (because why wouldn’t I be prepared to go swimming at all times?), 5 socks, a scarf, a pair of sunglasses and half a pharmacy.

Mom, I want you to know that it’s not just you.  I do this everywhere I go.


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Icebox is a girl!?

I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned, but it’s been my summer goal to be able to do ONE pull-up.  A goal that I’ve mostly failed miserably at.  But I’ve still got a couple weeks.

T-Bone and I were at the gym last night taking turns benching the bar, as we do (45 pounds!), when this 5 foot nothing blond girl with solid muscles pumped out ten pull-ups in a row a mere 10 feet from our person.

Let me tell you how it feels to be only physically able to bench the bar, the bar specifically designed to hold the additional weights one is supposed to lift, with a girl banging out pull-ups like it ain’t no thing next to you– intimidating as hell.

We watched her do her various impressive things for a couple minutes before I looked to T-Bone.  “Screw this,” I said, “let’s go drink some wine and eat some salami.”  And prayed we don’t see her in the locker room because she could have totally kicked our asses.  Show off.

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10 on Thursday

1.  I would like to formally thank 3M for the invention of post-it notes.  I’m not certain how I would survive my day-to-day office duties without them.  I know that’s a lame intro, but whatever it’s true.

2.  I had to drive my CEO’s wife’s car to our office yesterday and found it oddly satisfying to listen to really loud rap music in her car.  I have no idea why that it was so satisfying, but it was.  I do know that mid-afternoon DC traffic calls for really loud music, so you better believe I was jamming.

3.  Speaking of jams– Brother Ali is coming to the 9:30 Club in September.  First question, does anyone in the DC area know who he is?  Second question, does anyone want to go with me?  I went to Brother Ali’s first headliner show way back when I was in high school.  And then may or may not have skinny dipped in a public lake after the concert.

4.  Roommate B discovered an app called I’d Cap That that provides random captions to your pictures.  It pretty much amused me for the majority of Saturday night.  Mostly captioning pictures of my brother Jack.

Before you get all– I can’t believe you’d say that about your brother!– on me, I’m here for the gangbang is from a movie, y’all.

5.  I was so engrossed in my book last night (I’d say it was more engaging than actually quality literature) that I got on the blue line going the wrong way and ended up at Foggy-Bottom.  I’ve only been going the same direction to get home for 2 1/2 years.  It’s a learning curve.  It’s OK.

6.  Roommate B was out late on a school night this week, which is a rare occurrence.  At 10:30PM, I texted him to make sure he was still alive and then promptly fell asleep.  That’s how much I care about Roommate B.  Safety first!

7.  I tried to make my favorite meal– bacon/brussel sprouts with a side of mac and cheese– for dinner Sunday night and made a mess of it.  First off, frozen brussel sprouts are the grossest things in the whole world ever.  Second, melting cheese in the microwave and mixing it onto buttered noodles does not macaroni and cheese make.  You heard it here first.  Buy fresh and out of the box.

8.  We turned out the Olympics after the staff meeting this afternoon and started to speculate about the happenings of the Olympic village.  Apparently it’s something along the lines of 25 condoms per person that are being distributed and I’m assuming used.

“That’s a lot,” my co-worker said, “because hypothetically, one condom can be used for two people.”

9.  I’ve started systematically deleting facebook friends and it’s surprisingly fun.  Annoying status about HaTiNg AlL tHe DrAmA?  Deleted!  Can’t remember who you are for 20 seconds?  Deleted!

10.  Our song of the week.  Because I had this stuck in my head all week.  And there is something about his voice that makes me OMG I’ll give you all my dollars.  Cash or check?

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I’m still feeling content from my weekend in Chicago.  It was one of those delightful weekends in which everything works out as planned.  Everyone enjoys each others company.  The hangovers are manageable.  The food delicious.  All of a sudden you’re having so much fun you drunkenly agree to move back if you don’t have a new job by Christmas.

My brothers and I spent an evening on the patio of a bar I once frequented.  A bar I realized, while paying my tab, I’d started patronizing 7 years ago (don’t do the math– it wasn’t entirely legal).  The bar is mostly the same, save for the bartenders recognizing my little brothers before they recognize me.  The EL train still spits water onto the patio when it goes by every couple of minutes and the noise forces for a pause in conversation.  I’m still only charged for a fraction of what I drink.

I insisted my brothers to pose for a photograph.  The man drinking next to us, a dentist who graduated undergrad the same year I did, the photographer.  “You’re a beautiful family,” he said.  Slurring his words slightly, while smoking  a bummed cigarette.  We smiled.  We tend to think so too.


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Athlete Monday

The Olympics have been everything I’ve wanted them to be and more.  The competition, the Patriotism, the athletes that all look like they could kick my ass (save for the ping pongers and the speedwalkers), a swimmer’s mommy accidentally claiming her son has lots of one-night stands.

And while I will never ever have the athletic ability to be an Olympian (if my run/brush with heatstroke yesterday was any indication) and have yet to reach my summer goal of doing ONE pull-up (Hey, there’s still August!), at least my super badass mother and aunts can do this.  At the same time!

P.S.  Go google speedwalking if you missed it Saturday.  Quite possibly the dumbest sport ever.

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