Category Archives: weekend update

25!

Happy birthday to me!  Yesterday I turned 25 years old– one whole quarter century.  I spent the weekend in Chicago following a work trip to Wisconsin and left feeling exhausted and full and slightly hungover after 4 days of excellent quality time with friends and family.  I’m a damn lucky girl.

WISCONSIN

Wisconsin was as you can expect Wisconsin to be– full of cheese curds and Leinenkugel and locally made meat sticks.  It was mostly uneventful, but involved a highlight or two.

There was a net set up in the backyard where we were staying.  After a BBQ Monday night and a handful of beers a piece, we decided to try our hand at a friendly game of volleyball.  First play of the game, old co-worker KT hit current co-worker K smack in the face in an overhand serve.  They were on the same team.

It’s a good thing K wasn’t hurt because it was a whole 5 minutes before we’d composed ourselves to ask if she was OK.  Another 10 degree turn to the head and she would have had a broken nose for sure.  And none of us were the least bit curious about seeing the inside of the Wisconsin hospital.

+

We rented out a bar Wednesday night for a work party.  Part of the deal was that we were in charge of manning the door, so I got to try my hand at bouncing.  Which was not nearly as awesome as I’d imagined it to be.

The cops came mid-way through the night.  Not because we were causing a ruckus, but because there was a black Mustang that needed to be moved.  I was sitting at the door, minding my own business a half hour later when an old man came up to me and got all up in my face.  Might I add, he’d recently eating a whole shit ton of crackers.

“YOU’RE BREAKING FIRE CODE WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE!” he said.

“Huh?” is what I responded.  Because yeah, there were a lot of people in the bar, but I’ve seen worse.

“There are people everywhere!  There is no aisle to move!  The cops were here!” he yelled angrily.  Crackers flying everywhere.  Mostly into my face.

It took me a minute to realize he wasn’t fucking with me and then as politely as one could be when one is getting spit on and within 4 feet of one’s CEO, mumbled something about the Mustang and that he should maybe leave if he didn’t like it.  His buddy pulled him out by the shirt collar mere seconds before I lost my patience.

I know one thing.  If that old man, I believe Ernie is his name, shows up on the same red polo next year I will 86 him before he steps foot in the door.  No one over the age of 2 is allowed to spit in my face.  And that’s final.

CHI-TOWN

Chi-town was everything I needed it to be– fun, relaxing, fun, drunk.  I like to joke that Chicago is where to go when I need to be around the people who love me the most (save for my parents) and this weekend did everything to support that statement.

Lou and I had a whole tartare course (steak and salmon!) at a fancy restaurant located directly across the street from where they park the city garbage trucks.   I drank beers at my college hangout with my little brothers.  Took shots of Jameson.  Read my book in bed until late in the morning.  Enlightened by my 9 year old cousin that when she grows up she’d like to be either a singer, Broadway performer, lawyer or president of the United States.  Watched She’s All That on the couch.  Gifted a wonderful pair of new boots.  Smiled until my face hurt.

Essentially– an excellent excellent weekend.  I left feeling completely whole.  And damn, did I need it.  Thanks, friends.

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Hey Guys!

KARMA

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.)

MATCHMAKER

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.

USA! USA! USA!

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.

BETTER LATE THAN NEVER

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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Back (we all hope)!

THAT’S WOMEN’S WORK

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.

SPEAKING OF MY HOUSEHOLD

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 dointhegrownup@gmail.com if you’d like more details.

WEEKEND UPDATE

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.

AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST

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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Weekend Update

DON’T MESS WITH TEXAS

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.

WE’RE THE WHITE TRASH HOUSE ON THE LEFT

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.

AS LONG AS

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 dointhegrownup@gmail.com. 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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Weekend Round-Up: (almost) Burning Down the House

My bad, y’all.  Last week was a series of work-related cluster fucks combined with a very long to-do list.  Once I finally got the boss out of town Friday morning, it was all I could do to not put my head down on my desk and wave a white flag of surrender.

But on to my weekend.  I am fairly certain no one will ever ask me to house sit again, as I quite literally almost burnt my house down.  Saturday evening in a fit of domesticity, I decided to cook a pot of lentil soup to freeze.  I had cleaned the kitchen and was waiting for the soup to finish up when I got a text requesting I meet a friend for a drink around the corner.

Deciding that the soup would be fine sitting covered on the stove for an hour while it cooled and confident in my abiliity to get the soup into tupperware upon my return home and thank god, someone to entertain me because I’m so bored– I traded my flannel shirt for a sweater, put on some mascara and biked myself out into the world.  Did you notice what I forgot there?  TURNING OFF THE BURNER.

Completely sober and not in a hurry, I managed to do the one thing I have feared for the majority of my life.  I can’t even count the amount of times I’ve returned home to check the stove or make sure the door was actually locked and not once was that the case, but I guess there is a first time for everything.

When I got home a couple hours later, it took me a full beat to realize what I’d done.  Because I don’t do shit like this!  I rushed to turn the stove off, put the offending pot on the front porch (now with a solid couple inches of lentils burnt to the bottom) and opened the windows.  There was nothing I could do that night, so I just went to bed before sending extremely apologetic text messages to the one roommate that was in town.

The next day I attacked the smell from all angles– I bought a shit ton of scented candles (lavender and clean laundry smell compliment each other nicely, for the record), vacuumed, dusted, mopped, cooked a meatloaf, fried a half pound of bacon and every hour on the hour Frebrezed the shit out of that bitch.  I’ve literally gone through a half a bottle of that stuff.

When I picked Roommate A and B up from the airport last night, I tried to mentally prepare them for entering the house along the lines of– hey dudes, I almost burnt the house down this weekend.  Literally.  But I made meatloaf!  Luckily the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and I have been forgiven for the near-miss.

So that is what I did this weekend.  There was also some baby puke, the Hunger Games and another meal that I successfully cooked without setting anything on fire, but all of that is less exciting than a pot full of burnt legumes and my shame.  Moral of the story: put my shoes on and get out of the kitchen.  Order take-out.

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Hey girl HEY!

SKIN SOFTER, SMOOTHER AND MORE BEAUTIFUL

I bought a Clarisonic Mia yesterday, which is the single most high-maintenance purchase I’ve ever made in my life.  But as a girl who has had a continual throw down with my skin since puberty hit, money is no object.  Most women look longingly at other women’s big breasts or thin frame.  I look at other women and think– oh, to have pores that small.

I was sitting around with the frat boys last night when I pulled my new very expensive face washer out of the box and started to read the directions.  Hearing the sound of the vibrating brush head they looked at me in confusion and started to make jokes that I was actually reading the directions for a different variety of vibrating accessory that women own.

The jerks.  They can make fun all they want.  But they’ll be jealous when my skin is radiant and glowing.  GLOWING.

HEY BRO, WHAT’S YOUR MAJOR?

There were underage kids at the bar Saturday night—which shall remain nameless in order to save the Georgetown students’ local spot.  The frat boys + company and I had been drinking dollar beers mostly uninterrupted since early evening, so I was surprised when the bouncer gave me a paper wristband to designate that I was over 21 around 9PM.

And if on cue, they swarmed– baby faced boys and girls WAY overdressed considering that this particular bar is about as divey as it gets.  In the course of five minutes, I had been approached and talked at by a 20 year old that wanted to discuss his future professional baseball career and a 17 year old who asked for repeated confirmation that his yellow button down shirt was “so fresh”.

Let’s be real– I was drinking in the bar at a very young age as well, but I couldn’t believe how young these kids looked.  And yes, I’m sure I looked that young once, but damn!  I very promptly left said dive bar and made my way to H Street to drink with the grown-ups.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JO!

I was a jerk and forgot Josephina’s birthday.  And she in turn had a really crap day.  So, my dear girl, I dedicate this very adorable picture to you.

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Weekend Update

I was working!  I’m sorry!

FRIDAY

The boss man had 12 performance reviews, 2 outside meetings, a conference call and lunch to attend to Friday.  I had him scheduled literally from one minute to the next.  I wasn’t sure when we were going to pencil in bathroom breaks.  This was for the whole enchilada.  Shit was going to get real.

I had prepped the rest of the staff the entire week with specific instructions– long winded people were told to be brief, tardy people were instructed to be on time, this-is-never-going-to-happen haters to step off.  I was in charge.  I was the boss of the office.  I was going to make shit happen.

And then first meeting didn’t even start on time.  I spent about 5 minutes really caring about my already fucked scheduled, poured myself another cup of coffee and opted for the win some – lose some attitude towards the day.  I’m happy to report that even though the meetings went off with many many hitches, they all got done.  And only 3 hours behind schedule.

While I contemplated losing my shit more times* then I’d like to admit, Bree patted me on the head throughout the day and rewarded my good behavior with a espresso vodka spiked latte at 5:30PM.  I had my review (and got a raise!), got dressed in my office (having time to run home before the black tie dinner – HA), put on some lipstick and got my 7th wind.

And I’ll remind you, we looked good.  Just as wearing a suit makes me feel like I’m playing dress up in my mother’s clothes, black tie affairs make me want to yell at the room full of grown-ups wearing tuxedos and ball gowns – TRICKED YOU!  I still eat Ramen noodles for dinner and call my mother “mommy” in public.  I’m not an adult!

Instead I smile, network, shake hands and make every effort to think before I speak– that is until I decide it’s a good idea to tell my CEO’s wife she’s a babe.  But I’m fairly certain she appreciated that overstep.

SATURDAY

One of my oldest friends Kagan showed up in DC Saturday afternoon.  We’ve known each other since the 1st grade, or as we like to describe to people after many cocktails– we’ve known each other since we were both very ugly**.

Once we started drinking, Kagan and Roommate B feel into a magical bromance and spent the rest of the evening starting sentences with ” I know we’ve only known each other for 5 hours but…”.  It was adorable.

SUNDAY

I ate the best omelet of all time– mashed potatoes, bacon, cheddar cheese and sour cream.  Go to Tunnicliff’s in Eastern Market IMMEDIATELY if you have never eaten the breakfast food straight from the heavens.

*I had been wide awake staring at the ceiling since 2AM.

**He had a rat tail.  I had very short hair that often got me mistaken for a boy– I wouldn’t let anyone brush it so they chopped it off.

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Chi-Town Round-Up

Y’all, 6AM flights are the worst.  4:15AM wake up call, 4:40AM cab, 6AM flight delayed just enough to miss the morning staff meeting at the office– OK, I could have made the tail end of it, but Starbucks was obviously more important.  My sole goal for Monday was keeping my eyes open, my sole goal for Tuesday doing everything I should have done Monday and now that it is Wednesday, I will tell you about my weekend.

THURSDAY

My friends have all moved out of the neighborhoods that we once lived and stomped in, so the majority of my quality time with Barrington after he picked me up at the airport was him trying to give me directions.  Most of which I promptly forgot the second he stopped talking.  Louisa and I met up after she got off work around 11, firmly strapped on our drinking shoes, hit the town and bonded like mother fuckers.

At 2AM I was incredibly proud of myself that I was still awake.  At 3AM, I started patting myself on the back every half hour for not being a complete and total loser.  At 4AM, I insisted we go back to her place to “open her birthday presents”– in actuality, I feared I would hit my wall and desperately need to be horizontal and in my PJs within a matter of minutes.  By 5AM, we had opened our second beer at home.  At 6AM Central Standard Time I had been awake for 24 hours and was so proud of myself for digging deep and being a cool kid.  And then passed out.

FRIDAY

We woke up around noon, ate 100 tacos and then went shopping.  Naps on the couch followed shopping in preparation for another night on the town .  At 9PM– we were still on the couch in our sweats, ordering pizza and watching Hook.  Shit, Lou, maybe we are getting old.

SATURDAY

Saturday we made the best quiche of all time– brussels sprouts, bacon and an entire block of cheese, with many many bloody marys on the side.  I walked over to hang out with Barrington around 4PM, knocked on the door, announced I was drunk, insisted on talking about how great my butt looked in my new jeans and then fell asleep on the couch.

Later that night while preparing for our fancy birthday dinner, Louisa and I danced to Spice Girls like nobody’s business.  I can only assume this moderately annoyed her boyfriend.  Nate– I must say, you are a scholar and a gentleman (and have a very high tolerance for shenanigans) for putting up with the two of us for 4 days.  You are for sure a keeper.

SUNDAY

I ate some Thai food with my cousins, ate some burgers with Barrington and then attempted to locate all of my belongings that at this point spanned the length of Lou and Nate’s apartment.  See, mom?  I don’t just do that at your house.  I leave my shit in everyone’s dining room.  Including my own.

FIN

All and all, a wonderful weekend in Chicago, but save for our 6AM morning, one of the tamest we’ve had.  Not once was I so hungover I wanted to die and  I made it back to DC with all my belongings and without any new tattoos.  I’d call the weekend a success.

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Weekend Update

This post is mostly a list of my weekend activities.  Fair warning.

FRIDAY NIGHT OF CHAMPIONS

Knowing that the frat boys would be elsewhere, I decided to very intentionally spend Friday night home alone on the couch with a bottle of wine and a straw.  I added my new leggings for good measure and spent about 6 hours watching trashy television.  I decided to call it a night when I was watching the Notebook for the second time and was not even ashamed of myself.

*And refused to participate in any activity for the remainder of the weekend that called for real clothes.  Gap leggings are the bomb.

JUST CALL ME MRS.

I got domestic as hell Saturday afternoon and was actually quite impressed with myself and my dish pan hands.  I cleaned, cooked, I did laundry, I grocery shopped, I drank a bloody mary.  I even baked!  Brownies out of a box, but still damn impressive.  I not only cooked one but TWO kinds of soups and even served them to a friend for dinner– so we know for sure the soups were edible.  Martha Stewart, watch out!  I learned how to follow a recipe.

MOUNTAIN WOMAN

T Bone and I hiked the Billy Goat trial (perfect legging activity) Sunday morning and it was packed.  Like balance-on-top-of-a-pointy-rock-until-the-Boy-Scouts-pass packed.

As we were going rogue off-trail looking for a way down the rock face that didn’t involve waiting for 20 people to come up first, we passed a woman who was going up the way we were attempting to go down.

“Are we going to die that way?” I asked her.

“That depends,” she said, “are you rock climber?”

“No.  Are you?”

“Yes,” she said, while raising an eyebrow and obviously judging me for my inferior rock climbing skills.

I resisted the urge to yell “show off!” and slid down mostly on my butt.  But safely, thank you very much.

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Weekend Update

SCOTTIE 2 HOTTIE*

My friend Scott (used to live in DC but has since relocated to Bloomington-Normal, IL) rolled into town this weekend almost completely unannounced.  We all received text messages Thursday afternoon saying– I’ll be in DC this weekend!  To which we all responded– Great!  Thanks for ALL the notice.  He kept claiming it was a super “last minute” trip which I declare to be bullshit, as he purchased the plane ticket a couple weeks prior.

Scott and I worked together at my first job in DC.  It was an awkward business model that I’ll explain at a much later date but one that called for my co-workers and I to spend about 60 hours a week together for 6 months straight.  We slept in hotel rooms together, worked until we were delirious and completely irrational human beings and over the course of that 6 months– became very close.  Which was good considering we spent entirely too much time together.

Scott was the very first friend I made not only at that job, but in DC.  The two of us spent a lot of time drinking at Union Pub, dancing to MGMT, chain smoke cigarettes in his tiny kitchen and then wake up innocently spooning (and dressed I might add) in his single bed.  When he rolls into town, we try to recreate as much of that as possible now that we are both non-smokers and his girlfriend was traveling with him.  Which means we just drank a lot.

*No one actually calls him that, for the record.

THEY ALWAYS LEAVE YOU

Scott is an example of one of the things that I hate about living in Washington, DC.  People always leave you.  I think I’ve burned through like 145 different groups of friends since I moved here almost 3 years ago and not because people don’t want to be my friend (because I’m AWESOME) but because those bitches keep moving on me– grad school, law school, better job, administration changes etc.

Needless to say, if you’re going to live in DC, you best get used to making new friends often and fast because this isn’t a place in which people are like–  YES!  I would love to spend half a million dollars on a tiny house in a moderately dangerous neighborhood and then have to pay 15K for my kid to play with blocks in private preschool because the DC Public Schools are so bad.  No, they’re like– let’s move to Reston!  Or Milwaukee!  Or Bloomington-Normal!

RECAP

So yes, my weekend was lovely.  Old friends and I bonded like mother fuckers, I ate 2 cheeseburgers in the course of 6 hours (which was mildly concerning the next morning, so I ate some vegetables), drank oyster shooters (which are disgusting) and did a lot of laundry.

I spent yesterday curled up on the couch with coffee and vegetables and watched Love and Other Drugs.  It’s a very good movie, as it is 100% enjoyable seeing Jake Gyllenhaal half naked.  Although I must admit I was concerned about seeing Anne Hathaway half naked because she was a PRINCESS.  Seriously girl, what would Julie Andrews say?  Hard to take a former princess seriously with no top on.  Think about it.

 

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